Chapterza
“DOLL!” I bellowed, my hangs bursting with terror, as I sprinted towards her, my heart racing with every step. My feet pounded the floor, echoing through the room like a death kawell.
My painful cry arrested the attention of the others, but Corwin’s response was a fury unlike any I’d ever seen. His eyes blazed with a fierce, crimson intensity, like hot cods burning with a fierce inner fire. He seized me by the collar, his fingers like a vice, and span me around to face him.
With a snarl, he unleashed a blinding punch that connected with my face, sending me crashing to the ground. My head exploded in exertion, stars bursting across my vision like fireworks in a dark sky. I struggled to regain my bearings, my mind spiralling from the impact.
As I lay there, dazed and helpless, I saw Dexter move with swift compassion, gently sliding a cushion beneath Karissa’s head, then carefully turning her ento her side as the comulsions subsided.
His soft, soothing words were a medicine to her fragile state, a gentle counterpoint to the chaos that had erupted around us. His voice was a gentle brook, calming and peaceful, as he spoke words of comfort, reassuring her that she was sade, that they were here for her.
I attempted to rise, but my legs betrayed me, buckling beneath the powerful energy of heartbreak. The searing pain that had taken up residence in my chest burned brighter.
My knees gave way, and I crampled to the floor, my head rebounding off the furniture behind me with a loud thuil. A fresh wave of agony radiated through mix skull, as it my very brain was being stomped alive.
My eyes, heavy with the weight of my despairs, struggled to remain open, but the battle was futile. My eyelids drooped, like petals closing around a wounded flower, as the exhaustion that had been gnawing at my mind finally claimed victory. My vision began to blur.
In my final moment of consciousness, I saw my hands, trembling with a desperate longing, reaching out towards my Doll, as if to snatch her back from
the clutches of fate.
But it was too late. Corwin’s figure, a dark silhouette against the fading light, was already carrying her away, out of the house, and out of my grasp. The image seared itself into my mind, a haunting reminder of my failure, as the darkness closed in, around me.
As I slowly emerged from the darkness, I found myself in my own bed, surrounded by the familiar contours of my room. But something felt off, a heavy, eppressive sensation wrapping around my head like a vice
I reached up to touch it, and my fingers encountered a thick layer of gauze, wrapped around my skull. The mirror on the wall opposite my bed reflected an image that made my stomach lurch, a bruised and bartered version of myself, looking like a victim of a brutal accident.
The gauze seemed to be pulling my skin, pointing the ugly discoloration on my jaw, where Corwin’s punch had left its mark
The skin was a deep, mottled red, with hints of blue creeping in around the edges, like a stormy sea. I looked like I’d been put through a wringer. The sight made me wince, discomfort greeting me as I struggled to sit up, my head spinning with the effort.
Dexter’s voice cut through the haze, his words dripping with a gentle concern that only served to heighten my wounds. “You hit your head, minor bleeding, but you need to be careful,” he said, his eyes avoiding mine as he spoke.
“Ka–Karissa.” I struggled to find my voice, my throat parched and raw, but finally, I managed to whisper a single word.
Doster’s gaze dropped, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of my plea. He cose from the armchair, his movements economical and deliberate, and approached me with a glass of water and a painkiller tablet.
I grabbed them from him, my hands shaking with a mix of desperation and despair. I gulped down the water, feeling it trickle down my throat like a weak attempt to extinguish the flames of regret that raged inside me. The tablet followed, bitter and acrid on my tongue.
The water did nothing to quench the inferno of guilt and sorrow that consumed me, only serving to highlight the wasteland of my emotions, 1 felt like a man dying of thirst, surrounded by mirages of hope that only vanished when I reached out to grasp them.
Dexter’s voice was a detached, clinicall drone, a stark contrast to the warmth and camaraderie that once characterized our friendship. “You need to ice the swelling twice or thrice a day and rest,” he instructed, his eyes betraying a hint of fatigue, his words laced with a professional distance that felt like a slap
in the face.
“It’s good that you don’t have any fractures,” he added, his tone a monotone, devoid of any emotional
Í grasped at his arm, my grip pleading, my eyes begging for answers. “Karissa, please, Dexter, where is she?” I implored, my voice cracking with desperation
Dexter’s expression faltered, his mask of professionalism slipping, revealing a glimpse of the exhaustion and despair that lay beneath. He sighed, his shoulders sagging, and ran a hand down his face, as if trying to erase the weight of his own emotions. His eyes, red–rimmed and sunken, met mine, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of the friend I once knew, before he looked away.
“She left,” his words send me flying out of bed, despite the dizzying protests of my battered body.
I ignored the throbbing pain in my head, the waves of dizziness that threatened to engulf me, and sprinted towards our room, Dexter close on my heels.
flung open the closet doors, sending clothes spilling out like a riotous tumble of colors, and tore through the drawers, leaving a trail of chaos. The dresser, once cluttered with her perfumes and trinkets, now stood bare and forlorn, its surface gleaming with a ‘sterte emptiness. The closet, once filled
Chyp 22
with all shades of all colors and textures, now hung limp and still, its racks and shelves haunting.
