Chapter 47- home

Chapter 47: 47- home 47 ~Lisa’s POV I was still standing there, confused and shaken in the middle of the flower garden, when Kael turned to me again. His face, once calm and sorrowful, slowly twisted into something I hadn’t seen in a while, that cruel smirk that used to haunt my dreams. "So," he said, voice dropping low, "was that little apology enough to win you over?" My stomach twisted. Ramon chuckled dryly behind him. "Maybe we should remind her how much she liked it." Damon didn’t speak; he just stared at me, his expression empty, like he wasn’t really there. I froze. Every muscle in my body turned cold. Their words pierced through whatever little hope I had begun to build. Hope that maybe, just maybe, they had felt real guilt. That maybe I wasn’t just something to mock. They weren’t sorry. They never were. I could feel the heat rush to my face. Not from embarrassment, but from the sheer rage and betrayal boiling under my skin. "You’re disgusting," I whispered, my voice barely there. "All of you." I turned and ran. I didn’t wait to hear what they’d say next. I didn’t want to hear them laugh or taunt or explain it was just a joke, because none of it mattered anymore. The tears came quickly, blurring my vision as I pushed through the garden gate and back into the corridor. And just as I reached the archway... Slap. The force of it whipped my head to the side. My cheek burned instantly, a sting that ran down into my jaw. I looked up in shock. Belinda stood there, arms crossed, her face twisted with something between jealousy and satisfaction. "What were you doing in there?" she hissed. I couldn’t speak. "What did you do to them this time? Hmm? Thought you’d crawl your way back into their arms?" she sneered. "I...I didn’t..." I stammered, my voice cracking. She stepped closer. "You’re pathetic. Look at you. Thinking your little face and fake tears can change anything. Do us all a favor, Lisa. Stay broken. That’s all you’re good at." She didn’t wait for a reply. She shoved past me and stormed down the hallway, her heels echoing like thunder behind her. I stood there, trembling, holding my cheek. I felt hollow. And small. Like all the air had been punched out of my chest. I didn’t even realize I had started walking until I heard the wooden door creak shut behind me. My feet were moving on their own, dragging me down the hallway, past the same cold walls and flickering lights I had passed a hundred times before. But tonight, everything looked different. Like the palace itself was watching me, judging me, daring me to fall apart. My cheek still burned from Belinda’s slap. It wasn’t the pain that lingered the most, but the humiliation. The way she looked at me, like I was a worm squirming beneath her shoe. Like, I didn’t even deserve a voice. And the triplets, how could I have been so foolish? I had seen something in their eyes, something that looked like remorse. Sadness. For a fleeting moment, I had thought maybe they understood what they did to me. Maybe, somewhere buried beneath their cruelty, there was humanity left in them. But I was wrong. Again. The memory of their mocking laughter echoed in my ears, swirling with the sound of Ramon’s voice, dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe we should remind her how much she liked it." I stopped walking and leaned against the stone wall, breathing hard. My chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. I clutched my sides, trying to hold myself together. I hated them. No, I hated myself. For hoping. For believing. For even standing there and listening like some stupid little girl waiting for a fairytale ending. I wiped my face, but the tears kept coming. My hands were shaking. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, burying my face into my arms. I cried quietly, like I had learned to do. No sound. No sobbing. Just silent pain that soaked into my sleeves. I stayed there for what felt like hours, until the cold stone seeped through my dress and made my skin numb. Eventually, I stood up. I had to. I stumbled my way back to my room. When I opened the door, the room greeted me with the same emptiness it always did. The tiny bed. The cracked mirror. The jug of water was now empty. No warmth. No comfort. Just survival. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, pressing my back against it for support. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were swollen, rimmed red. My cheek was still marked from Belinda’s slap. My hair was a mess. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. Who was this girl staring back at me? Where was the girl who used to laugh with her father while tending to his garden? The girl who dreamed of becoming something more? She was gone. Swallowed by this place. I wanted to scream. Break the mirror. Tear the walls down with my bare hands. But instead, I peeled off my dress, piece by piece, careful not to rip it. The bruises on my body had turned a dull yellow. My skin was covered in reminders of everything I wanted to forget. I stepped into the small wooden tub in the corner, pouring the little water I had left into it. It was cold. But I didn’t care. I washed myself in silence, my hands trembling with every movement. I scrubbed my arms, my legs, my face. Hard. As if I could wash away what they had done to me. As if I could scrub away the pain. But it was still there. Afterward, I dried myself with the worn cloth on the shelf and put on the only other dress I owned. It was faded and loose, but clean. I lay down on the bed, curling up into myself. I thought about my father. How he must be wondering where I was. How was he managing with his illness? I missed him so badly that my chest ached. "I want to come home," I whispered into the darkness. "Please... let me come home."