Ep2

The thought sent a wave of shame washing over her, and she felt herself shrinking away from the world. She didn't know how she was going to face people again, how she was going to hold her head up high.

  The phone still clutched in her hand, she slowly got to her feet, her movements mechanical.

  She stumbled to the floor, collapsing onto it in exhaustion. She felt like she was going to collapse under the weight of her own emotions.

As she lay there, she couldn't help but think of Michael. How could he do this to her? Did he ever care for her at all? The questions swirled in her mind, but she knew she might never get the answers. The darkness closed in around her, and she felt herself slipping away, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

It took Diana months to believe that Michael had played her. She was a toy in every game he had played, both in love and kindness. She had blindly loved him, thinking he had the same feelings for her. 

  Missing school for the past two weeks because the viral video had become a public spectacle. She was now known as a "wasted product."

  Her door's room opened as Rita entered with a tray of food. Diana hadn't eaten in days, and everything around her felt like a threat. She had locked herself away from everyone - friends, family, and her own heartbeat.

"Mom, I'm not hungry," Diana murmured.

  "You've been saying that for the past seven days, Diana. Just a little bit, please. I know I haven't been a good mother. I shouldn't have let you have a boyfriend. I want to let you live like a free teenager now. My mistake, and so was yours," said a heartbroken Rita. Diana sobbed in tears.

  "He ruined me and left, Mom," she said.

  "He must pay for this, princess. He must, no matter where he's hiding now. Can you please eat for your mom's sake?" Diana managed to lift her head slightly, seeing her mother's smile, and she opened her mouth to eat. But the aroma hit her nostrils, and she felt an urge to throw up. Her mother brought the spoon to her mouth, but Diana's system rebelled, disgusted by the smell. She ran to the bathroom, throwing up all the contents within her.

  A similar situation had happened the previous day, and she felt her mother's presence behind her but didn't look back.

  "Diana, I don't want to believe it, but I think you are...," her mother stopped mid-sentence as Diana interrupted.

  "Pregnant?" Diana asked.

  "First, let's confirm," Rita murmured, hoping it wasn't what she was thinking.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  "Congratulations, Miss Rita, your daughter is six weeks and three days pregnant," said the female doctor. Rita emotionally grieved at her daughter's situation, and tears came crashing down again.

  "Thanks, Doctor. But Diana, do you wish to keep the child of that bastard?" Rita asked.

  Diana touched her belly and thought of an answer. Would it be right to abort this baby? She was too young to bear a child for a rapist. Even if she were to keep the child, her education would be affected. Being a single mother at such a young age would be hell. But she couldn't help but keep the child, no matter the consequences.

  "Any decision you make, I'll always stand by it, sweetheart," Rita assured, holding her hand in comfort. Diana lost in deep thought got up from the doctor's office.

  "I wish to keep it. I want to give birth to this child. I want to raise him or her and teach them what the world is like. He or she may not experience their father's love, but I will be both a mother and a father to this child. And to the extent possible, his or her father will become dead to him or her," Diana said, her emotions blank and filled with hatred for Michael. This child would never call him father. If destiny were to play its game again, she'd make sure he or she hated him - that was a promise she made to herself.

END OF FLASHBACK

  "Life has taught me a great lesson," she chuckled darkly, standing to her feet and opening a drawer. Her gaze pierced the silver gun. Lifting it up, she proceeded to a secret room, which was joined in between her mirror and the wall. She entered the cell before walking into the dark room, clapping her hands as the light went on. Moving forward, she stopped in front of a picture frame, glaring at the picture plastered on the brick wall. 

  Clicking the gun, she measured the target, shooting straight at his face - not once, not twice, but countless times, until her heart was out of its anger towards the flame of the person she had come to hate most in this world.

  Michael Dickson.