Chapter 69: Chapter 69

Chapter 69 They weren't for sorrow, nor pain, nor suffering

The wind gave way to my cries as I ran down the streets sobbing. Tears flooded my face, washing away a life that I had been damned to live. My tears washed away all the overly done makeup and with it, an identity that I have been trapped in for so long.

But these tears.

They weren't of sorrow, nor pain, nor suffering.

But they were of joy.

Pure joy.

Simply, because I was free.

I was free from a place that held me captive for so long. I was free from their cold hands of evil that wanted nothing more than to drag me down even deeper into the dark depths of despair. The pit of self destruction. The abyss of depression.

But they no longer will reign over me no more. They are no longer a king to rule over me, to control me and to command me.

But, I may be physically free, but mentally, I know my mind will haunt forever and cage me in a life that I once lived.

But will live no more.

And the first step to pushing forwards is to leave far from this place that has held me back for too long. This city has brought me nothing but burdens and bad memories, and now, it is time to leave.

But no matter how far I run, my memories still dwell within me like a flame. A flame that constantly burns and is constantly fed oxygen in order to survive. That flame has been there since the crash.

And it hasn't been put out. I'm convinced nothing could stamp out such prominent memories.

If the professionals and specialists couldn't do it, then who possibly can? It's just something I'm going to have to live with and deal with for the rest of my life.

It feels like I couldn't get far enough from the bad parts of the city. It feels like something's always creeping up on me, ready to pounce and drag me back into the shadows that conceal evil. I'm paranoid and I jump at every single sound.

I didn't know where I was running or even how I was running. Tears still blurred my vision and my body ached so tremendously that I felt faint. A headache pounded against my brain and I wanted nothing more than to sleep forever.

But I must keep going. And when I had sprained my ankle for the third time in the heels I was wearing, I gave up, and tour them off of my feet.

I left them behind in the middle of the street.

My bare feet pounded against the rough asphalt surface, and I could feel every little pebble, every rock, every sliver of glass, burying itself into my feet. I felt the wind through my hair and my tears dried cold against my cheeks.

Freedom burned my lungs and adrenaline filled my heart and veins. There was no stopping. I couldn't. Not when my past was too close behind me. My feet became raw and sore and my sprained ankle throbbed with a painful heat.

I was gasping for air now, I was groaning with each breath and my body felt heavier. I ran and I ran, until I could run no more.

I stumbled.

And fell.

The gray side-walk rushed up to meet me and my hands planted themselves firmly into a puddle that mocked me with my own broken reflection. My hair was disarrayed and my makeup was sliding down my face. I was hunched over, on my hands and knees, gasping for air and taking myself in.

The cold water of the puddle drowned my hands and threatened to swallow my arms whole. My reflection was distorted by the water.

But I could still see clearly.

I could see the dark bruises rising to the surface now that my makeup was almost all washed off from the sweat and water droplets that sprayed into my face. I could see that my nose was slightly crooked and dried blood hung from my lips.

My eyes were red from lack of sleep and swollen from the many black eyes I had received from the hands of my customers.

The tears came.

And when they came, they splashed into the water below, further distorting my reflection as ringlets of water rippled across the small puddle.

When I searched my mind to try to find out exactly why I was crying, I couldn't conjure up a reason. My mind fed me blank answers and I felt empty.

What I did know was that it felt good to cry. It felt good to drain myself of many pent up emotions that have been heavy on my heart. It let loose all the pent up confusion, pain, sorrow, and relief. It set free emotions such as anger and frustration.

At that moment of vulnerability, I was the spitting image of an emotional mess. I struggled to compose myself on the cold ground. I needed to get it together if I wanted to form a plan. I needed to gain back my composure if I wanted to survive.

Breathe, Lily. Breathe like how they taught you. You can't afford to fall into a panic attack right now.

And so I took a couple deep breaths to calm me. Daylight was fading and I needed to think fast. I did not want to sleep on the streets, but by the looks of it, I may have to. I slid down the brick wall of an old shop and buried my fingers into my hair, trying to think of some sort of a plan for the night.

But only one word came to mind.

Colton.

That name bounced around in my mind like some sort of a ball.

Colton. Colton. Colton.

He was the man of mysteries. He had a dark look about him - like he's dangerous, maybe, in a sense, evil. I just knew by a look at him that he was one of those men that roamed the streets and know nothing else besides crime in their lives.

But, despite that, he saved me. He rescued me from human trafficking. But why? He had paid for me, he had spent his own money and didn't take what he paid for.

That's what made him different from any other man I have come across. And that's why I don't understand. Why is he different? He looked like a criminal and sounded like a criminal. Had I judged too quickly?

Perhaps, he isn't who I think he is.

Perhaps, he's someone much different.

Or, perhaps, maybe he is precisely that - a criminal. But maybe, he isn't completely darkened and rotten to the core. Maybe there is a man that exists who isn't completely evil and has some sense of morals.

Don't get your hopes up, Lily.

With a sigh, I push myself off from the wall. My wounds ache but an idea has popped into my head. Maybe, my parents will except me this time. Maybe they have realized their mistake of rejecting their own child.

Maybe I can finally go home.

I hadn't seen them since I got out of prison. The memory of the cold tone of my mom and the way the ground seemed to shake when she slammed the door in my face haunted me, but I figured I might as well try once more.

It's a long walk to the rich neighborhoods where I once called home, and by the time I reach my destination, the street lamps light my path. I punch in the gate code to get in and then I stroll up the paved streets, that are still warm from the sun against my bare feet.

In the distance a dog barks, and the quiet hum of the nearby highway is heard. A fat raccoon wanders the streets in search for garbage.

In a world where life blossoms, life also ends.

I would come face to face with that reality as I walked up to the place I once called home. I missed it dearly, and I would do anything to rewind my life in order to correct my mistakes.

Wouldn't we all, though?

Doesn't everyone have something they wish they could fix, or perhaps go back and time in order to change the outcome?

I know I do. I have many things I would change if I could.

My hand shakes as I reach down to press the doorbell in. The soft ringing of the doorbell echoes through the house and it isn't long until a woman - one I don't recognize - answers the door. Her light brown hair is a mass of small curls atop her head and and her brown eyes are bloodshot, like she's on drugs or perhaps drunk.

Immediately, I notice a large sapphire ring attached to her finger as well as several diamond and pearl bracelets that climb up her arms. She's young, too.

"Who the hell are you?" She asks with a hint of disgust lacing her voice. Her eyes wander down the length of my body before stopping at my bare feet that have been blackened from the dark pavement.

I check the address sign next to the door to make sure this was the right house, and indeed it was.

"Uh, I could ask you the same thing. I-is Dakota and Ace home?" I ask, referring to my parents.

Both her eyebrows raise and her eyes harden. "I thought I told you whores to never come to this house again. You damn streetwalkers are the filth of this planet." She growls.

How did she know? Ohh....

Looking down, I realize I'm still clothed in the torn clothing of a whore. My black booty shorts and my black corset hugs my body tightly and my cheeks redden with embarrassment.

"I-I'm not....I'm not anymore just, please, get my mom and dad for me, please? Please do this for me-"

"Ace doesn't have a daughter," She says bitterly, "And haven't you heard?"

He wanted to forget me, too. This woman - whoever she is, has no idea who I am. "N-no, heard what?"

She sighs. "Ace! Someone is at the door asking for you!"

"Coming, sugar!" I hear him reply from the house.

What the hell is going on?

He kisses her cheek and she giggles. "Dad? What are you doing with a gold-digger?" I ask, my mouth wide open.

The woman clinging to him both looks confused and angry. My dad looks furious, and I notice his wrinkles now run deep and his hair is peppered with gray.

He looks much older.

He especially looks a lot older than the woman, perhaps separated by twenty-five years or so.

"Barbara, go inside, okay sweetie? I have something to settle with the whore."

I look down in shame, my tears prick my eyes, but I force them back. I don't dare to look up, even when the door shuts softly when that woman leaves my dad and I alone.

He takes slow steps towards me and only then, do I look up. I look up into his cold eyes. "W-where's mom? And what are you doing with that woman? She's using you-"

He slaps me.

His hand is cold and sharp against my cheek and neither of us say a word for a few moments. It feels like it's hours that we stand there in silence, and my face burns. I shake in fear and a tear drips free.

It splashes down onto the concrete below.

"Dad..." I sob, feeling broken. This is the second time he's slapped me.

His voice breaks my quiet cries. "That woman you call a mother. She's dead. Her own drunkenness took her."

"What?" I ask in shock.

"Are you deaf or stupid? She's dead!" My dad shouts. I catch a whiff of his breath and it reeks of alcohol.

She can't be dead. She can't be dead.

Even though my mom was cold towards me, especially towards the end, I couldn't bear the fact that we left on bad terms. That the last words shared between my mother and I were bitter and angry.

She was still my own mother.

The one who raised me.

And now she's gone.

And I didn't even get to say goodbye.

"Her grave? W-where's her grave?" I ask him. He scoffs. "Where granny is buried." My dad has become so cold that I can almost feel his ice sinking itself into my heart.

"You have three seconds to get the hell off of my property before I call the cops." My dad says angrily.

"But dad-"

"NOW!"

His anger echoes loudly in my ears, and with a broken heart and warm tears breaking free, I run back out of the gates and through the streets. The starts and moon hang above me like glowing lanterns and the wind around my cradles me in its cool arms.

Perhaps nature is my only comfort.

Or, so I thought.

Because I am not alone.

Because little did I know that draped in the shadows like a predator, was Colton, watching my every move, making sure I am not to be ripped away from my freedom again.