Framed
1046 Words
CLARABEL
“Hold on,” a voice came from behind.
#Don’t turn, keep moving.# I warned in my head but still, my legs had other plans. They moved against my wish and I turned to find Monica standing there like she had every right to be, like she had already claimed everything I once thought belonged to me.
Her lips curled into a smirk as her eyes dragged over me, from head to toe, slow and deliberate, like she was inspecting something beneath her. “Clara, right?”
She walked closer and stopped, releasing a mocking scoff and tilting her head. “Really? So you are what Greenwood chose to replace me with?"
A soft, derisive laugh followed and it grated against my ears.
For a brief second, something inside me snapped. I wanted to slap her.
Not just slap her—no. I wanted to wipe that look off her face completely but my hand didn’t move because I knew.
The consequences would destroy me.
So instead, I blinked away my tears and forced myself to look at her properly.
Her eyes remained on me, arms crossed, posture relaxed—too relaxed—as though this was entertainment.
Her gaze swept over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. It was a slow, agonizingly judgmental scan. I kept my cool and said nothing, though my nails were digging into my palms so hard I thought I might draw blood.
I said nothing, not a word, and that only seemed to amuse her more.
“No,” she continued, her voice dripping with disgust. “Greenwood has better taste than this. He couldn’t have chosen you. You must have begged your way into being his wife.”
She let out another laugh, this one louder.
“This is how low-class, desperate bitches like you penetrate yourselves into higher places, forgetting a pig always remains a pig, whether washed or bathed. You are unfit to step into this Packhouse, let alone be Luna."
I swallowed hard, forcing my temper to stay in check. Her words kept sinking in like stones, heavy and cold.
Why on moon Mother Earth was she dropping venomous insults at me when she already won?
To think there was a time I had imagined her differently. I had believed that she was someone great and lovable that Greenwood had lost. Someone soft. Someone worth grieving. But this woman before me was neither.
I opened my mouth, ready to say something back to her, to defend my dignity, but the words refused to come out.
What could I even say? Nothing would matter. She had already won and she knew it.
The only thing I could do was to let her enjoy her moment, and that meant letting her insult the wits out of me.
The second she saw my silence, her eyes narrowed. "Are you dumb? Say something,” she stepped closer. “Did you really think you could replace me? In that cheap dress? With that clown makeup?"
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Greenwood is mine. He’s always going to love me. You were just a placeholder while I was gone. Now that I am back, find your way out.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to block her out, but her words hurt so much, like needles finding every c***k. I knew that responding was only going to end up making it worse. That's all she wanted. A crevice, something that would make me react so she would do the unimaginable and be justified for it.
She wanted me to fight and stoop to her level. She wanted a reason to run to Greenwood and make me the villain. I wasn't going to do that. All I needed right now was to leave and get out of this nightmare before it got even worse.
I turned to leave without saying anything to her, thinking she would feel like a fool since l didn’t engage. But that didn't cut it for her. Her hand shot out before I could react and she grabbed my arm in a painful grip. Her fingers dug in like iron claws.
"Let go, you're hurting me," I blurted out, glaring at her.
A smile quickly rose to her face, a dark, triumphant expression. "Yeah? I love how you're feeling the pain. You don't just get to walk away," she hissed before her fingers dug deeper into my skin.
In a trice, she spun me around and—slap!
Her palm struck my cheek in a flash, knocking my head to the side. It was sharp and utterly stinging. The impact sent a shockwave through my jaw, and it took a while before the ringing in my ears slowly went down. I gasped as my hand flew to my cheek, which was already beginning to throb and heat up.
My head was practically swimming. I looked at her, ready to finally scream, but before I could even speak out, she did the worst thing possible. She let out a piercing scream and, to my shock, she threw herself to the floor. She clutched her face as if I had been the one to strike her. She was wailing now, the sound loud enough to carry through the entire wing of the house.
"What do you think you're doing?" I growled at her, scared to the bones. My heart was hammering against my ribs. I knew how this looked—he would never believe me over her.
"Help! Help me! She... she hit me!" Monica sobbed, her voice high and trembling.
My mouth went dry. I stood there frozen, watching her performance. In an instant, the doors at the end of the hall swung open. Greenwood stormed out. His eyes were wild, scanning the scene, and when he saw her on the floor, those eyes began to burn with pure rage. I was finished. Monica was still sprawled on the floor, sobbing dramatically, covering the side of her face that she had used to hit me. Even a blind man should have been able to see through her act, but his judgment was clouded by her presence.
He stormed towards me and demanded, "What have you done to her?"
- Writer
