Twisted Vows: Lurking Shadows

ARIA I heaved a sigh of relief when my father eventually fell asleep. These few weeks had not been pleasant at all. We had visited the hospital numerous times that I could not even keep count. First, he would be rushed to the hospital, his sugar level would stabilize, and then he would be discharged, only to return a few days or even hours later. I stood up from the old brown couch I had been sitting on for hours. I could hear the old rusty springs creak as I stood. I walked to the bathroom to wash my face, turned on the water faucet, and then splashed water on my face. I let the droplets run down my face, my neck, and down my chest. It felt superficial, quite cold, and did not do much good at all. I looked up at the mirror in front of me. Gosh! My hair was a big mess. I had eye bags and red eyes. I looked pale. The stress was indeed telling on me. My face horrified me; the situation was too much for me. My dad, my emotions, Mirabelle, Selena and... Darian. The thought of his name brought a tingling to my whole body. The fact that he had not bothered to return my calls or messages made me burst into hot tears. I watched myself in the mirror as the tears flowed. I could hear my phone beeping from the sitting room. Instinctively, I turned on the water faucet again, washed my face, wiped it with a blue face towel that complemented the white-colored sink, and then applied a little serum. I looked at myself again in the mirror and giggled. It felt awkward hearing myself giggle. It sounded distant. The thought of me wanting to still salvage my look with a serum was funny. It prompted me to take a comb from the drawer, to loosen my ponytail, comb the mess on my head, and neatly style it again. "Great, I look better," I said to myself with a faint smile. My phone beeped again and I quickly left the room to get it. As I walked into the living room, I felt my heart beat a little bit faster. I felt chills and anxiety. "Could it be Darian?" I thought to myself. It made me freeze on my way. I swallowed hard, then walked towards the phone. I was tense. I summed up the courage to pick the phone. Jane's name popped on the screen. It brought a little bit of relaxation but at the same time disappointment. I hit on receive. "Aria, where are you? I got to the hospital and a nurse said your dad had already been discharged. Are you okay? I am on my way to your house." Typical Jane, saying a lot at once without even receiving a response. "I am fine, Jane, and yes, we are at home. He is fast asleep," I said, looking towards my father's room. "How is he?" "A bit better," came my response. "I will be there soon, take care of yourself," she said and hung up before I could say anything. I stared at my phone screen for a while, looking into blank space. I was indebted to Jane for her kindness. She had indeed proven to be a friend. She always had been proving it, but these few weeks had been different. We had taken shifts watching after my father in the hospital and at home. She had brought food and fruits for us, assured me that all would be fine, and with Darian, she had given a listening ear. She had not judged me. She gave me the consolation and support I needed at every point. It would have been very difficult to foot the recent bills if I didn't have a good-paying job. I didn't start in the position I wanted, but with time, I had climbed the ladder. I had heard so many times that it took an arm and a leg to even get a chance to be interviewed for a position at Mirabelle Fashion Company. It had been my fantasy to work there. I had pictured it all in my head: me coming out to give a bow after multiple models had walked the runway flashed with lights and cameras under the spectacle of my audience, the signing of autographs afterward, the attending of corporate meetings in gigantic boardrooms bearing exquisite interiors and great air-conditioning. This was the kind of life Mirabelle could offer me. Alas! If wishes were horses, I thought to myself while dusting an antique in the antique shop I worked in. Business was quite slow and my company was the jingle that sounded from the radio system with my humming along. I stopped to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead with the back of my palm. The air-conditioning had spoiled about two weeks back and my manager, Mr. Moe, didn't see the need to get it fixed. The people who came into the store were mostly in their mid-30s to 60s. Some customers could be very annoying. I remembered the incident with an old lady; I think she was in her late fifties. She had walked up to me to ask if she could get an angel antique. I had shown her a bunch of antiques that fit into her description. She had been very indecisive. "I like this one but this... I like this one but that... It's too shiny, oh dear it looks too fragile," she had gone on and on with her buts and had eventually left the store about two hours later with absolutely nothing. Other customers like the lady gave me a hard time, the hot air irritated my skin, Mr. Moe's big bulging eyes gave me shivers, and the always dusty antiques made my nose run. It wasn't the best job, and I didn't like the fact that I worked there, but the little income was enough to keep me and my diabetic father afloat. After tossing from one end of my bed to the other, I made the resolve to give applying for Mirabelle a chance. I felt anxious when I sent the email. I felt my heart still panting about five minutes after I had clicked on the "send" icon. "Let me hope for the best," I had muttered to myself, trying to convince myself that it would not change anything if I got accepted or not. With every passing day and continuous refreshing of my email, my hope had been let down. Subsequently, I didn't check every day; progressively, I checked every three days intermittently and then once a week. It had been a month after I applied, a month since Jane had been trying to keep me expectant, since I kept trying to love my job as a janitor in a failing antique store, when I got a call from a private number. "Hello, am I on to Aria Bernneth?" came a feminine voice from one end of the line. "Yes, you are," I responded amidst curiosity and anxiety. "Your interview is scheduled for tomorrow at Mirabelle Headquarters. Time is 10:00 am. Please be on time." I pinched myself. It was like a dream, a fairy tale if I should say. I screamed out of excitement. Tears welled up in my eyes. It was like a big breakthrough. It was my opportunity to soar and I was not going to let it slip out of my hands. That was something with no bargaining, but the question of what I was going to wear for the interview was something I found difficult to answer.