Chapter 8

SOFIA

"Where do I start from?" I stared at the suitcases with my hands akimbo.

I was looking at the boxes and suitcases that surrounded me. It took two days to successfully transfer my clothes and other things into these cases and boxes without letting Olivia know. It was easy because we had different wardrobes, she couldn't look into my own stuff and I couldn't too. The moment I made the decision to run away, I knew I had to do it, there was no going back and I didn't regret it even though there was nothing that was bringing me steady means of income.

"Too much to do." I muttered. I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. It had been days, or perhaps a week since I had run away from my stepfather and my mafia groom, and yet, I still couldn't bring myself to unpack. Part of me was afraid of what it would mean to unpack; it would mean that I was here to stay, and that thought terrified me. I had grown up with the constant fear of my step father's wrath, and the thought of being trapped in this new life, with no escape, and this was almost too much to bear. But then, I was here for something really important, something that had happened years ago; the mysterious deaths of my parents. And here I was, far away from home, I don't know how my step father will feel now, or how Olivia will, this was a crazy decision and it could lead to my untimely death, if Ronaldo found me, he would kill me, but then, I was miles away from home and it terrified me.

But another part of me was afraid of what I might find in those boxes. I had left my old life behind, or so I thought I had, but what if there was something left behind? What if there were reminders of my past, of my step father and his control, that I couldn't bear to face? I never wanted to see him again.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by suitcases. I took a deep breath. I knew I couldn't avoid this forever. I needed to face my fears and unpack these boxes, no matter how daunting the task may be. I didn't really take all my clothes, I took the ones that mattered, the ones I got with my own money.

Sorting the cases, I started with the smallest box, the one that held my most precious possessions. I opened it slowly, my heart racing as I peered inside. It was filled with photographs, mementos from my childhood, before my parents got divorced.

As I looked at each old picture, memories flooded my mind. I remembered my father's smile, the way he used to hold my hand, and the way he would whisper in my ears. He was that kind of father that loved his daughters equally, his love was like a warm blanket enveloped around my twin sister and me. He treated us as two unique and special individuals. He would play with us for hours, laughing and joking, his laugh was so infectious, and when it came to us, he never seemed to tire of our antics. He was always there for us and our mother, whether we needed a shoulder to cry on or a push to pursue our little dreams. He instilled in us a sense of self-worth and confidence that has stayed with us throughout our lives, except when Olivia began to change until evil now reigns in her. And as for father, even though he's no longer with us, his love and memory will always be a part of me. That brings me to getting his murderer and putting them behind bars.

I pushed those memories aside and continued to unpack. I found clothes, books, and even a few of the hair pins from my mafia groom. They must have stuck to my shirt that day when I hurriedly pulled off the wedding gown. As I dug further, I saw more items that brought back a flood of emotions, and I realised that I had brought more with me than just my possessions. I had brought my fears, my doubts, and my past. The raw memories of my stepfather's abuse flooded my mind. I had tried so hard to push them away, to forget all these years, but they were always there, lurking in the shadows of my head and mind. I couldn't help but feel resigned, like I was doomed to relive those memories forever.

I pulled out a long gown and was hit with the smell of my stepfather's cologne. It was a smell that used to make me feel sick to the pit of my belly, but now it just made me feel sad. And then, I found a broken picture frame, a torn piece of fabric from a dress he had ripped in anger. Each item served as a painful reminder of the life I had escaped and I hated him every day of my life. I hated that man so much ever since mum married him.

The unpacking process seemed to take forever. Time slipped away as I sorted through my belongings, trying to find a place for everything in this new tiny space. I stood up to have a little stretch and my eyes caught the clustered houses surrounding the little space I got. I was told we were ten tenants in this building and I got the smallest room because it was what I could afford. And then, this was New York, what did I hear them say about New York? The city that never sleeps, a place where dreams are made and broken. I thought about the towering skyscrapers that reached for the sky, casting shadows on the busy sidewalks below. The honking of taxis, the aroma of street food and the makings of street food, and the constant buzz of people filled my thoughts. New York was a city of contrasts, where diversity thrived and opportunities awaited at every corner. It was a place that demanded resilience and ambition, yet rewarded those who dared to chase their dreams. And here I was? New York City was often described as a vibrant and dynamic metropolis that captivates the imagination of millions. Its iconic landmarks such as Times Square, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty have become symbols of American culture and global recognition.

And this place, far away from home, was where I came to. How was I going to cope? In the few days since my arrival, my cash reserves had dwindled rapidly, I had just a few dollars and cents left and if I didn't do something fast, I might ne crawling my way back to my step father. The cost of living in New York was much higher than I had anticipated, it wasn't like home, and I knew that I needed to find a job soon to sustain myself. With each passing day, the urgency grew stronger.

I had spent hours surfing the internet and scanning job postings. The options seemed endless, but so did the competition. It felt as though everyone in this city was vying for the same opportunities and I was so tiny to be seen as a potential employee. For three days now, I'd walk around and then find myself sitting on a bench in Central Park, contemplating my next move. Doubt crept into my mind, questioning whether I had made the right decision coming here in the first place. I could go back home and marry my mafia groom but was that an option? I was sure that if I persisted and remained resilient, I would find my place in this vibrant city.

It was late by the time I was finally done unpacking and I was craving a beer but then I remembered the other night I came home drunk. That night at the bar had been both exhilarating and terrifying for me. I wasn't used to drinking, and the hangover that followed was more than I could handle. The throbbing headache and queasy stomach kept me away from the bar for days and I didn't want to go back there. But now, as I sat alone in my empty apartment, I couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for that connection, even if it's just a shot of a few cents.

The loneliness weighed heavily on me as I stared out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. It felt like an eternity since I had left everything behind and embarked on this journey of discovering my parents murderer. The fear of being alone in this vast city gnawed at me, but deep down, I knew that this was what I needed.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my courage. It was time to face my fears and step out into the unknown.