C91 Again And Again

Annabelle hesitated outside the door of what used to be her room, with her hand hovering over the doorknob.

Her fingers trembled, barely brushing the cool metal.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

The air seemed suddenly thick and suffocating as if the house itself was trying to crush her courage.

Her chest felt tight, and her pulse became erratic.

She had been avoiding this moment for as long as she could.

She had found reasons to linger in the other parts of the house or step outside altogether.

But there was no escaping it anymore.

This room had been her prison.

It had held her secrets, her fears, and the nightmares that still clawed at her soul.

Now it was shiny and new, thanks to Dante's unexpected renovations.

Somehow, he had physically scrubbed away the ugliness this room held for her.

She only needed to see if it made any difference to the terror clawing beneath her skin.

She had seen Cathy dart in and out of it earlier.

Her sister was practically bouncing with excitement over how beautiful it was now.

Annabelle had even nodded along as she tried to mirror her sister’s enthusiasm.

But each glance at the door felt like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff.

With a trembling exhale, she finally turned the knob.

And pushed the door open.

The soft glow of the evening sun streamed through pale yellow curtains and the scent of fresh paint lingered faintly in the air.

The walls are now painted a warm cream colour.

It was so spotless that she could hardly picture the cracks and peeling plaster that once marred it.

A cosy bed, dressed in crisp white linens and a floral quilt, sat in the centre of the room.

A plush rug covered the wooden floor where the boards had once creaked with every step.

In an instant, none of that mattered.

As soon as Annabelle stepped inside, something snapped.

The room around her dissolved, replaced by the stark, suffocating image of what it used to be. The cream-coloured walls became the faded, stained wallpaper she had known so well, marred by age and despair.

The soft sunlight turned harsh, flickering like the single bulb that used to hang bare from the ceiling, buzzing faintly.

Her breathing quickened.

And her eyes darted to the corner near the bed…where the small dresser used to be.

“You should smile more, Annabelle,” Tad’s voice echoed in her mind, low and mocking. “A pretty face like yours shouldn’t look so sour.”

Her vision blurred as the memory unfolded.

She was fourteen again, standing in that corner with her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” her younger voice trembled in her mind. “You can’t keep coming in here like this.”

Tad had laughed, the sound cold and menacing.

He took a slow step toward her, his large frame looming over her.

His breath reeked of alcohol and something sour, something that turned her stomach every time he got close.

“Oh, Annabelle,” he had murmured, tilting his head. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do. This is my house. My rules.”

Her back hit the wall as she tried to shrink away from him. “Please... Just leave me alone,” she had whispered, her voice cracking.

But he hadn’t.

He never did.

He left that first time.

But then he came back.

Again and again.

The present began to blur as the past surged forward, overwhelming her senses.

Annabelle stood frozen, staring at the pristine room without truly seeing it.

The grunts.

The mocking laughter.

The tears she had cried silently into her pillow because screaming would only make it worse.

Her chest heaved as her mind yanked her to another memory.

One that tore through her like a blade.

The night she fought back.

*********

… The piece of bottle stung as it pierced her back as she bit back her cry…

…“Please, don't ask me to strip,” she prayed with everything in her….

… She heard the sound of his belt unbuckling in the silence…

… She tensed as the belt switched in the air…

… The sharp crack as it landed on her back that sent reeling pain into her brain…

… The realisation that he was going to kill her that night…

… The belt coming down again and again…

… This was different…

… Yet she was afraid to do what she had planned to do all along…

… She was sure he would kill her before she got the chance…

… Then she would never be able to save Cathy from this hell…

…“If only your godforsaken mother was any good,” he grunted a moment later…

… Annabelle’s screaming nerves almost made her not notice the sound of the belt dropping…

… He climbed the bed immediately…

…“You know what to do, you whore. Strip before I get here. Yet you always make me say it. That was your punishment. You will know better next time.”...

… He dragged her downward, making the pieces of the bottle on the bed pierce her arms…

… Annabelle could feel blood ooze out of her arms as he roughly flipped her over…

… The pain of the shard in her back launched her upwards as she automatically brought out the hand she had under the cover…

… Before he could react, Annabelle stabbed him in the chest with the toxin-coated knife…

************

Annabelle’s knees buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself.

She could still feel the coolness of the knife in her hand even as her hand got splashed with warm blood.

The renovated room seemed to close in on her, the air growing thick and oppressive.

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as her chest rose and fell erratically.

“Annabelle.”

The voice was faint at first, cutting through the chaos in her mind like a distant echo.

“Annabelle, what is wrong?”

It was closer now, more insistent.

But she couldn’t pull herself out of the darkness.

Her vision swam, and her hands shook as she gripped the bedframe.

Suddenly, a hand touched her shoulder.

Annabelle jerked violently, the touch snapping her back to the present.

Instinct took over, and her hand flew to the waistband of her jeans.

In a move that would have made Angelo proud, she automatically pulled her gun and spun around.

With her finger on the trigger.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw who it was.