ผัวแก่ 25++( nc ไม่อั้น )

Amelia

I was never supposed to find out that I'm not an original person but a literal clone of my father's daughter, who tragically passed away in a car accident. He gave me the same name as her, Amelia, and raised me like he had his precious daughter.

When I pick up picture frames, Amelia, the original one, looks so much like me that it disturbs me to the point I feel sick. Her chocolate brown hair had perhaps been a bit longer, reaching down all the way to her hips, but we share the exact thin and fragile figure because girls of our class are expected to sit still and play the piano, not run around like boisterous kids and play in the garden.

I believe the original Amelia preferred that tranquil life. And my father hoped I would turn out the same way, but what he didn't count on was for me to end up different—I love dogs and the outside world, while the original Amelia hated all animals.

Of course, that was only the beginning of my personality spiraling into another direction than my father hoped. When my distaste for dresses, fancy dinners, and a deep hatred for snobs came up to the surface, my father began to see me as a failure, and one day after taking to the bottle, the truth came out.

In his drunken state, my father spat into my face that the reason I can't go outside is that cloning is against human rights and that I'm a complete failure and a freak of nature created in a lab.

And if that wasn't enough, he also threw the bottle at me and then proceeded to stand up; he even approached me.

At first, he was gentle and dragged his cold hand down my face. His eyes locked with mine, and then he gripped a vise hold of my throat, whispering: "You're a monster, Amelia. An abomination. You were created in a lab and will never walk up the stairway to heaven,"

I still have nightmares about that day.

His words hurt me more than his hands did, and these days I keep myself locked inside my room on the second floor. My only hobby is watching wealthy guests walk inside our mansion to see my father and drink wine all night long.

I'm not entirely sure how my father has so much money. Still, my gut tells me whatever he does can't be legal, considering he is a genius with a highly questionable lab underneath his modern home. Sadly no one can stop him from doing his experiments—the man got the police wrapped around his corrupted fingers because money talks.

"Amelia," My father clears his throat. He is standing behind my door, ready to leave the mansion. I believe he mentioned something about going to watch something at the theater with this woman he is dating, Lily. "I'm leaving now. Don't do anything funny while I'm away. I will find out about it anyway!"

I take in a deep breath. Talking with my father is troublesome these days since he is never kind anymore. He hates me. I'm a monster in his eyes, not even worthy of being called his daughter.

"I-I won't do anything, I promise!" I croak back and feel relief flood over me the second his footsteps fade into nothingness.

Soon, I watch him step into his car from the window, and once he is gone, I hug my arms to my chest. Fighting my inner loneliness is more challenging these days. I don't have anyone to talk with, no friends or other people in my life except for my father. Well, there is my strict teacher Abigail, but I haven't seen her in months.

"I wish there was someone I could talk with..."

As the truth of those words cut into my heart, an idea slips into my desperate mind. There is a laptop inside my father's office that Abigail let me use whenever she was teaching me things—what if I stole it to find an online friend? There are countless chatting groups out there! I wouldn't even have to tell them my actual name!

Euphoric and a little bit too enthusiastic, I rush through my door in a frenzy to find this laptop. My father will probably take Lily home and sleep with her again; he won't even notice I borrowed the laptop if I return it before morning!

I rush through the corridor like a squirrel pumped up on energy drinks. The last time I was this excited was on Christmas day before I knew I was a clone!

With my heart pounding inside my chest, I shakily place my hand on the door handle to my father's office. Luckily, the door isn't locked and creaks as I push it open. A grimace graces my face at hearing the loud sound echoing against the walls, but my father isn't here, so no one could stop me from entering his office like a thief in the night!

"What are you doing?"

Startled, I jump a mile and turn around in haste—an older woman, the housekeeper, I believe, is watching me with curious eyes. She usually doesn't work at this hour, though.

"N-Nothing!"

"Really?" She doesn't sound convinced. "Because to me, it looked like you were sneaking into your father's office,"

Irritation swamps my mind.

I can't remember ever having seen our housekeeper working this late into the evening; she is usually here the entire morning. Then again, my father partied pretty hard with his gang of wealthy friends yesterday. The whole mansion is a mess after the hookers who left their half-smoked cigarettes everywhere.

Maybe my father called the housekeeper to have her clean it up?

Regardless, I have to save this situation—if she suspects anything and talks to my father about this, then I'm dead meat.

"Oh," I nervously giggle. "I was just going to look inside my father's office for something I think I might have dropped earlier!"

Why am I explaining myself to our housekeeper? I have more rights to wander our house than she has!

The older woman tilts her head, she is wrinkly and probably above fifty years old, but her tanned skin is naturally bronzed and beautiful. I believe she isn't originally from Sweden but comes from a more tropical country where the weather treats you better.

"Your father is ruthless for always keeping you locked inside," The tone she is using is down to the point and honest, but I get the feeling she is keeping secrets behind her shimmering eyes. "If you want someone to talk with, use this," She fishes up a phone from her pocket and places it into my open palms. "My number is in there, and so is my sons,"

I stare down at the phone and then back at her. "No offense, but giving me a phone out of the blue is a bit suspicious,"

The lady lifts one of her painted eyebrows. They look like thin, badly-shaped lines on her face. "Keeping a girl locked inside against her will is illegal; if I were you, sweetheart, I would accept what I've given you. My son is a good man and has more influence than you think. You can count on him. He is very patient and probably wouldn't mind if you casually chatted with him before asking him to save you from this hellhole,"

"What if I don't want to be saved?" My heart is pounding inside my chest. For some reason, I feel offended she would think I'm a prisoner, even if that is basically what I am. "And why would I trust you?"

She claps my shoulder. "All victims think like you do, but maybe you will feel different after talking to my son. Give it a try,"

I glare at her but tuck the phone into the pocket of my jeans.

"What is your name?" I ask.

"Carmen," She replies and gives me a motherly smile. She looks harmless, yet I get unpleasant vibes looking into her eyes. "And I'm sorry, but I have more rooms to clean. Please contact my son if you feel lonely,"

What exactly does she mean by that? And why did she wink at me!?

Confused, I watch the older lady casually walk further down the corridor into one of our lounges. She pushes a cart with various cleaning items, and I sigh as I feel the phone's weight inside my pocket. It seems to bun my skin through the fabric. The truth is that I want to use it, but I'm not sure if I can trust Carmen.

If I didn't know better, I would say this is a poor attempt to hook up her son with someone wealthy.

"That woman and her opinions!"

Wait, was that my father's voice?

Time seems to move in slow motion as I hear the door creak open downstairs. It jumbles me from my deep thoughts and forces me to sprint back into my room.

Panic is swirling within me. I'm not sure why my father is back inside, but one glance into the courtyard below my window gives me enough information—his driver is taking the car back into the rage. Did Lily cancel on my father or something?

Praise the lord I didn't steal that laptop!

Within moments, muttering and swearing can be heard outside my door, and I immediately hide the phone underneath my pillow.

On unlucky days, my father will take out his rage on me. Interesting how my father has never hurt Lily physically; instead, he tends to get violent with me whenever he is in a terrible mood. I have enough scars on my body to tell an entire story about Ola, my father, and his daily mood swings.

"AMELIA!"

Quickly, I race to the door to lock it. Growling can be heard on the other side, and I fall down to lean my back against the wood when my father beats the wooden panels. The vibrations make me bounce in fear, and I cover my mouth with my hand, already feeling the tears stinging behind my eyelids like needles.

I don't want to be beaten.

Why can't he just let me be alone?!

I've felt fear so many times before that I should be used to it, but the threat isn't imaginary, I can't shut out reality, and I will never grow accustomed to my father spitting in my face or hurting me. Instead, his voice triggers my head to spiral, repeat unpleasant memories of him kicking me and calling me names.

But this time, I won't cave—I won't turn into cement. There is hope now. I have a phone, and even if the police won't help me since they are all corrupt and working for my father, there is Carmen and her son.

I just need to have faith.

"OPEN UP!" My father is persistent and is even kicking the door with his heavy boots.

This time I get up and pick up the phone from behind my pillow, eagerly tapping it open as I slink into my bathroom. I lock the door, thankful that it's thicker than the other door. The loud knocks on my other door are still ringing in my ears, reminding me of the situation.

Determinedly, I turn on the water in both the sink and the luxurious bathtub to deafen the sound.

Anxiety is traveling through me, absorbed into my bones. I know the punishment will be grave once my father gets to me, but before then, I let myself relax with the screen from the phone lighting up the room.

As Carmen told me, there are two numbers already showing in the phone's contact list: Ryan and Carmen.

With conflicted emotions, I start typing Ryan a message. I'm not ready to ask the guy to come and save me on a white horse while equipped with shining armor, but I'm willing to chat a little. Carmen said I could talk with him, and I'm desperate to change my life.

I take a deep breath.

Carmen: Hello, Ryan! Carmen, your mother, gave me this phone to reach out to you. Are you busy?

That was such a lame first message. I curse under my breath, but within seconds, three dots appear on the screen. I'm not kidding; the guy must be bored because he is quick!

And as stupid as it sounds, I'm actually nervous. I have never talked to a guy before. It's a bit depressing, but my father has been the only man in my life for as long as I can remember, and he only hires women to keep it that way.

Biting my nails, I stare at the screen as if put under possession.

Ryan: She did WHAT? And what do you mean by reaching out to me? Are you in some kind of trouble?

I laugh out loud. Hasn't Ryan's mother told him about me? This is all very strange. The phone doesn't seem very old either; it's almost too good to be true.

"I will murder you! If you hadn't tried to escape, I would have shown you mercy, lass, but this?! Do you actually think you can get away from me? Ha! You deserve whatever is coming for you now!"

I cower when I hear my father managing to kick down the other door. I'm not sure what angered him; maybe Lily finally figured out she is too good for him and left him.

Silently, I return to the phone, letting a few tears slip down my chin. I should be trembling in despair, but a little bubble of iridescent joy is lifting inside my chest—I'm talking to someone!

Amelia: Yes, I desperately need a friend.

Clapping my hands anxiously against the marble floor, I wait for Ryan's response. Am I weird for being more worried about him not replying than I'm concerned about my enraged father?

The phone vibrates.

Ryan: You're not some crazy ex-girlfriend, are you? My mother has been trying to set me up for years, but this sounds like a big cup. Did she really hand you my number? And she gave you a phone??? Really?! That's crazy!

I laugh despite the punches delivered to the bathroom door. Ryan seems innocent enough to talk with.

Amelia: Rest assured, I'm not a crazy ex-girlfriend!

Knowing my fate isn't very bright, I tuck the phone behind the toilet seat, smiling when I see Ryan's following message.

Ryan: Who are you then?

"If only I knew the answer to that question myself," I whisper and close my eyes when the door bursts open.