Chapter 2

White debris flies everywhere, and then a hand comes in through the cracks, unlocking the bathroom door from the outside. My father's presence is enough to pour gasoline onto the spark of terror within me, and then it turns into a flame.

He is such a rotten man. All I ever did was offer him my hand, a smile, and my heart, but this man can't be satisfied. My father is a perfectionist, constantly searching for new reasons to hate me, punish me for not being like her, the original Amelia.

"Did you think you could get away from me?" My father snorts as if someone had said something funny. My blood runs cold. "Looks like someone needs to be taught some manners!"

The imposing man approaches, and I hold my breath as the fight or flight response kicks in. Part of me wants to try skipping past my father, while the brighter part of my brain knows I can't win against him; he is too big and too darn strong.

Why did he even pick a fight, to begin with?

I haven't done anything wrong!

Does my father get a kick out of tormenting me?

The answer is probably yes. Welcome to my tragic life. My father stinks like the bottles in the bottom of the fridge, and his eyes that used to convey love only speak of hostility—we are the opposite of a picture-perfect family.

Sometimes, I wish I had never been created.

"You need to learn to respect your elders," My father grunts as he kicks away a roll of toilet paper. His shoes are dirtying the tiles. "The Amelia I knew never tried to flee or speak back to her elders! She wore dresses with a smile, but you-..." He glares me up and down as if taking in my tomboyish clothes. "You speak like a boy and dress like one too; there isn't an ounce of a lady within you!"

"I'm s-so sorry-..."I stammer.

"Don't speak back to me with her voice!"

Frightened by his tone, I crawl back against the bathtub, but there is no use.

Escaping my fate isn't a possibility—I know that, yet I can't stop myself from gripping at straws. Fear has clouded my mind already, and I don't want to end up with more bruises. Therefore, I close my eyes so hard it hurts and pray that I will wake up from this nightmare.

But nothing happens.

No matter how loud my heart cries, I have to face the truth: this is reality.

With that in mind, I shakily grip whatever is behind me and feel the cold porcelain grace my palms. I can almost imagine the entire room whispering: "This isn't a dream,"

"You're so pathetic," My father is shaking his head. "Look at you, thinking those tears will save you!"

The hands belonging to my father grabs the front of my t-shirt, yanking me up from the floor by force. A strangled complaint slip out through my mouth, but the ferocious look on his face silences me. I have to tiptoe not to get lifted into the air.

My palms carefully tap at my father's veiny arms, but I can't stop him from lifting me higher. He is about twice my size with whitening hair and relentless eyes. I didn't inherit his size, nose, or burlier frame—I look like a doll compared to my father. The only resemblance I can find between us is our eyebrows; we both got bushy ones.

"I hope this will teach you some respect!"

Quickly, my father lifts his free hand. My eyes shut close—I know without asking that he is about to deliver a punch to my face.

"What is happening in here?" Carmen's voice bounces against the walls, shocking even my father, who immediately drops me.

I descend to the floor and dry my lips with the back of my hand, grateful for the interruption.

"Nothing," My father brushes invisible dust from his chest and then clears his throat. His eyes are blood-shot red, probably from the alcohol he has consumed. "I was simply teaching my daughter a lesson,"

Carmen folds her arms under her chest. The woman is short, but her stance expresses confidence. "The poor thing is crying and shaking like a lost lamb—I think you taught her enough manners for tonight,"

"And who asked for your opinion? You're the housekeeper!"

My father tries to turn around but instead stumbles forward on wobbly feet. Carmen catches him right in time. She might look like a frail old lady, but it seems she is more rigid than she appears.

"Easy there, Mr. Davis," Carmen is letting my father use her shoulders for support. His arm is draped over her petite body like a blanket. "I will take you to your room. You need to rest and clear your mind,"

Slowly, I stand up to my feet and silently mouth: "Thank you," to the older woman, who briefly smiles.

It seems Carmen is taking the job of helping my father very seriously, but once outside the room, the black-suited bodyguards immediately rush to my father's aid.

"Sir!"

"What happened?!"

"Are you alright?!"

Stronger, burlier men crouch down to support my father while Carmen picks up a suitcase from the floor.

I watch her intently from inside my room. Carmen seems to notice and turns around. A smile touches her face.

"Good night, Amelia," Carmen bows her head before turning around to run down the stairs.

I stare after her. Carmen saved me from my father; perhaps I'm not entirely surrounded by bad people.

"Be careful, sir!"

"Don't try to stand so soon!"

"You're all fucking useless," My father is yelling, entirely red in the face with his eyes partly closed. "Someone go get my cane!"

My mood darkens seeing my father treat even his bodyguards like they are worth nothing.

I turn around and close the door behind me, not even caring that my father is in bad shape. He is still breathing, and that's enough to know he will survive.

My father has been taken to the emergency room countless times, but he never learns—he drinks as soon as he gets home.

I bend down to pick up the phone, brushing it off and staring down at my latest message.

Ryan: You there?

I laugh before typing a reply.

Amelia: Impatient, are we? Haha. I was just trying to come up with a good enough answer! My name is Amelia, but the truth is, I don't know who I am!

Ryan is already replying to my message.

Ryan: Do you want me to call you? I'm currently chopping vegetables, and I must say chatting isn't really my thing.

The idea of talking to a guy that might be closer to my age and not related to me sets my mind on fire—I'm so nervous!

Amelia: Sure!

I'm definitely not sure! And when my phone vibrates with Ryan's caller id, my heart accelerates to impossible speeds.

I suck in a deep, calming breath. It does nothing. "H-Hello?"

A deep, husky voice verbalizes on the line. "Good evening, Amelia!