The Mafia Hidden Heirloom

CHAPTER 6 - Convert Narcissist

JUNE THIRD

It's been three minutes since I opened my eyes, and eight days since I heard from Colten and ten from Duncan. My eye treatment was extended, given the forced contact I made with the rays from Colten's attack.

I've been in therapy, only listening to the woman speaking all the time. I want to hate her, but she has only guided me towards reality and facts even when I stayed in denial. And that is one of the hardest situations I've ever had to be in. To be told I lived in illusion. Been told I had a severe concussion and everything was just made up by my mind.

Apparently, it happened eight days ago I wasn't in bed tucked under the duvet, listening to verses of songs. I didn't have a savior. Duncan was never there to shut the windows and clean my bleeding eyes, more importantly, he wasn't there to stop his brother from wounding me severely and worsening my recovery. I had suffered healing, and my fear had only amplified in this house of factual horror since then.

Grace was the one who found me passed out on the floor after she returned back late in the evening. She called the doctor, not Duncan. She never found him next to me on the bed, that's when I woke the next day, she had explained clearly.

I am well now after intense treatment, but I still can't get over how surreal that day felt. I know I lived it, even if it was another me and another him at the same time in another dimension, I am sure it happened. There is nothing that will deceive me that I was delusional and he wasn't laying next to me—That it is just only a dream while I was passed out when his scent is smeared somewhere within me, I can't quite place, and his touch had brought out an endless universe I didn't know existed.

It was almost like magic; it's within us, we can feel it surging in our veins at some point of intense emotions, that it feels almost at the tips of our fingers, calling on us to change fate, but when we are down on our feelings, we wake up to nothing, making it so hard to believe when there was no evidence left behind.

I was alone in the room; no one was there to celebrate my regained vision. Grace must either have slept off in her bedroom or had gone to get some midnight snacks, as I've come to know she enjoys around this time. All I hope is, she hasn't left me on my own. Since what had happened with Colten, she had decided to stay overnight given I couldn't inform master about what really went down. Instead, I had gone with the excuse that I on my own took off the lids. Although the doctor had asked about the other signs of struggles left evidenced by Colten's grips, I still deny any assault, to avoid worsening things.

As instructed by the doctor, the windows were closed, and so was the door. The lights weren't entirely on; it was merely a couple of lamps from a few angles, giving the atmosphere a dim ambience.

I slip into the comfy shoes provided below the bed for my convenience and stood up, in a breathable nightwear of maroon satin with a touch of black lace. Two pieces of a short and spaghetti strap top. It was something I will like to check myself out in the mirror for, but I am much excited to announce to Grace about my sight. There was a robe of the same fabric laid out on the bed bench. I grab it and shimmied into it. It's a good thing it's there. After all, I can't leave the room in something that is clingy to the skin and very much exposing.

Turning the doorknob, the door opened, there was a distant noise but distinct, something like music, I can feel it, vibrating through the wall. I followed it, and it lead me to the first floor. The house seemed busier than it had ever been; there were people everywhere, more men than I'd ever seen in my whole life. Some by the kitchen direction, some by the dining area, and the rest of the places I've never even been to. They were happy, laughing and whispering into others' ears, and dancing. It was chaotic, as though they were drugged. I'd check on them one by one to make sure they were all alright but the women walking by in actual underwear were my greatest concern though.

Something is really wrong with them.

My eyes were fixated on two girls around my age, flipping their hair to the music; they were only in bras and panties. I am sure no one will do that knowingly.

Rushing to them as they were almost by the patio exit, I grab one girl by the arm, less aggressive and they two spun to face me.

Their smiles slowly fading, and their brows rise in silent questioning.

"Do you need me to get you something to cover up?" I warmly offered, letting them know I am willing to help. I do not know what got them here and what's happening, but I can—

My thoughts were distracted by one of the girls' laughter, I shook my head at her, but the other joined. They looked insane, but something seems like they were being sarcastic. And the joke is on me.

"Is someone behind it?" I asked, confused by their reaction.

"Is she insane?" The one on the right asked the other. And in response, she shrugged her lips and shoulders.

They looked back at me, eyeing me up and down, before walking off.

I swear they are drugged.

Racing to catch up with them, I ended up stepping out of the patio door, and holy shot.

I guess this is a weird day to have my sight back.

When night time is supposed to be the time of rest, the backyard was just a different world. Too many men. Their bodies, their laughter, their mirthfulness. Their essences.

Headlights of vehicles, motorcycles, I reckon. Loud music, so many multicolored lights from every angle, probably too much for my sight recovery. Nothing seems usual about this; I might as well be in another dream.

What's the possibility of Master's house turning into a mental hospital?

There was a huge pool, an actual pool, not the kind I ran my fingers over on the pages of books; this was filled with water and undressed people, cheering inside of it. Some had their mouths on others' mouths, just like a multiple of couples around every area were doing... it was really weird but they seem invested, and took their time with it.

Some clueless girls giggling, were being picked up around others' waist, or over the shoulders; it was confounding how they were okay with it when they are not even modestly dressed. I really do feel bad for them, knowing they were either regretting it or they will, the moment the drugs leave their system.

I knew it was a dream, given I was invisible, I walked around different kind of scenes unnoticed, and headed towards the roaring crowd by the other side of the pool, careful not to get pushed into it by dancers, for I do not know any way of water, I could drown in it and remain in my dream forever.

The crowd had this pull, drawing me to it by the cheering of the people, seemingly excited about what they were seeing.

"Excuse me," I apologized, pushing my way between the sweaty bodies of people who didn't spare me a glance until I stood in the first row.

It took me a moment to understand what was going on. The space ahead of the anticipating crowd was just empty, quiet, and obscured by thick smoke or perhaps real fog.

I could see nothing!

Totally nothing—

Something heavy was hurled aggressively from the fog and hit the ground, right by my foot, contradicting my thoughts. The impact was startling and violent. I jumped two steps back into the person behind me, and they pushed me away instantly.

Looking down at the battered figure, I saw him laughing with a trace of bitterness, sprawled on the ground, trying to mask the visible evidence of his pain. His pink shirt was unbuttoned, blood smeared around his chest, his body weary and bruised, the weight of defeat evident all over him. But what didn't add up is who had done this?

My heart began racing, too fast, too violently. Gianna used to talk about what we'd expect outside the confined orphanage, I guess this is what she meant. At that moment, I feared what was in that smoky area that I couldn't see through.

I thought I'd seen it all, so I didn't know it could get any worse until I sensed footsteps echoing like icy whispers, each one falling with a haunting threat, from the area where visibility was reduced to mere shadows and silhouettes. In anticipation, I kept my weak eyes on who or what was gradually emerging from there.

Gradually and suspensefully, Colten's profile broke out of the fog. It was unexpected, like a deer darting across the road. He must have noticed me earlier, even before I knew he was the predator in the shadows. His eyes were fixed on me and no one else.

Time seemed to slow down as he stood like a tall statue, his lips curling into a malicious smirk. Shirtless, sweating, in only pants and boots, damp strands of hair falling over his face, shielding some aspect of his. His body was different, dark yet shining differently among the rest of the shirtless men. He was fury, crafted in an immortal way, searing to burn me down.

His intense, squinted eyes locked onto me, directly assessing my vulnerability. It was like a feast he was willingly ready to ravage. Right there, I knew nothing about this was going to be fine.

My imagination was dark, evoking hair-raising daydreams. Everything began zooming around me, getting closer. Behind my alarmed facial expression was a fluttering heart, urging me to begin backing away into the excited crowd, chanting his name at his victory fight.

The last sight of him I saw before someone stepped before me, breaking our locked eye contact, was simmering anger that even though the earth is huge, it wouldn't be able to contain.

He snatched a mic from someone who stepped beside him, holding it out to him. He smiled oddly. His muscles were tense, so were his jaws, and fists tightly coiled. He had completely forgotten the man he was fighting.

Run, June third. Run.

"GET HER," Colten's voice thundered over all the speakers, dripping with venom, breaking through the music, giving me chills as the volume was unexpected, almost like he shouted in my ears.

I added speed with all my might.

I heard engines revving, hinting at a warning of our hide-and-seek race. I heard tires screeching, giving me a head start. I heard calls, but, most importantly, I heard the whispers of death calling me to embrace the inevitable.

Therefore, I am screwed.