PAST
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MELINA'S POV
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"Don't ask her about her father." Dove's warning still echoed in my ears, long after I had left.
I walked home alone. I had insisted on it, even though Zara had offered to come with me. The moment that man had entered the room — tall, stern, his very presence suffocating — I knew I couldn't stay.
And Theo… Theo wasn't the Theo I thought I knew. His eyes that usually glimmered with a quiet warmth now burned with a fury that could have crushed a man to dust. But his restraint… his will… it was terrifying in its own right.
So this was the truth hidden behind that golden mask of his — the happy, wealthy aura he wore so easily was nothing but a façade. That house wasn't filled with luxury, it was filled with bitterness. A cruel father. A poisonous sister. Shadows that clung to his every step.
Fly free from there, Theo. Please.
The thought tugged at me, though I quickly shoved it down. It wasn't my place to hope anything for him.
By the time I reached my street, my mind was fogged, heavy with everything I had witnessed. My chest felt hollow. My feet dragged as if the pavement itself wanted me to stay away. If I had already been awkward about facing Zara, now I was terrified. The walls between us only grew higher, stronger.
And then, another feeling began to coil inside me — strange, unnameable, dangerous. Something apart from Theo's family drama, something I didn't want to acknowledge. I swallowed it hard, locked it away deep inside my ribs, and stepped into my own house.
Mom stood by the door, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes like flint. Dad sat on the couch, expression stiff, cold, as if I had just returned from committing some unpardonable sin.
"You weren't in college," Dad declared flatly.
My breath caught. I couldn't lie — not to them. They'd know.
"I… was," I said anyway. The words came out smoother than I expected, a lie carried on some strange, borrowed confidence. It scared me how easily it left my lips.
Mom's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. "Where were you?"
"At college," I repeated, this time softer, almost to the floor.
The next moment shattered everything.
A sharp crack split the air as bamboo struck against my arm. The sting was instant, burning down to my bones. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, forcing myself not to cry out.
"Look at her!" Dad barked at Mom.
The words were like fuel tossed into a fire already burning. Mom's fury ignited, her strikes raining down one after another. Each lash of the stick cut through my skin, my resolve, my silence. I lost count after the fifth — or maybe the tenth. My knees gave out, sending me crashing to the floor, palms pressed against my mouth. I refused to scream. Screaming would only feed the fire.
The bamboo seared my back, my arms, my legs. But deeper still was the wound inside — humiliation, rejection, that constant reminder whispered through every blow: You are not ours. You will never be ours.
And somewhere between the strikes, the thought slithered in like poison: Maybe I deserve this.
At last, the footsteps retreated, their anger carried away into another room. The house fell into silence again, heavy and watchful.
Only then did the sobs escape me. I curled on the cold floor, trembling, tears spilling unchecked. The ceiling and the floor were my only witnesses — unmoving, unfeeling. Maybe they were entertained, watching me break. Maybe they were satisfied, nodding in approval that I had "gotten what I deserved."
Or maybe… maybe they were worried. Maybe they loved me in their own twisted way.
But the tears kept flowing anyway, pooling beneath my cheek, blurring my vision. My fingers shook violently. My skin stung with every breath, every slight movement.
I was breaking apart.
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Later That Night;
The bamboo stick still trembled in her hand when Melina's mother stumbled into the bedroom. She collapsed onto the bed, her whole body shaking.
"I h-hurt h-her… I shouldn't have…" Her voice cracked, a pitiful shadow of the woman who had wielded the stick only minutes ago.
"I was just… I was worried sick," she stammered, breaking into sobs. Her shoulders heaved as her husband wrapped an arm around her.
"You know we're doing it for her own good," Dad murmured, though even his voice wavered, cracking under the weight of the lie.
"You both don't have to be sad," came a sharper voice.
Melodie stood at the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression untouched by guilt. "She deserved it."
"Melodie!" Dad snapped, his eyes flaring with sudden fire. "How dare you talk about your sister like that?" His fists tightened at his sides.
Melodie's jaw clenched. How dare he? How dare he let his hand tremble for anyone besides her?
"Yeah, right," she spat, her words calculated to wound. "Now I'm the problem? I told you she skipped class with those so-called friends of hers. Do you even know what they're into? Drugs. Trafficking. I was protecting her! Looking out for her, and you're blaming me?"
Her voice rose, but careful — controlled — never loud enough for Melina to hear beyond the walls.
Her father's hand twitched again at the word "trafficking," a deep unease flickering in his eyes.
Melodie caught it, and her stomach twisted. So he really does care. More than he should. More than me.
She ground her teeth and turned away, storming out before she betrayed too much.
Back inside, the silence pressed heavy again.
"That's why I hit her," Mom whispered, her sobs choking her throat. "I thought something had happened to her… I was so scared. I shouldn't have— I shouldn't have done that."
"I'm at fault too," Dad admitted, his eyes lowered. "I should have held you back."
"But you were worried too," Mom whispered.
"Of course I was. She's… my first baby."
The words broke as they left his mouth, cracking under their own weight.
For a moment, husband and wife sat in silence, the truth settling between them like smoke. They had acted in fear, in anger, in cruelty. They had gone too far.
And somewhere down the hall, their first baby lay curled on the cold floor, sobbing quietly into the shadows, unaware that guilt was tearing her parents apart.
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In her own room, Melodie paced, restless, her nails digging into her palms. Her father's trembling hand haunted her, the way his voice had cracked.
She hated it. She hated her.
Why does she get that part of him? Why does he care? She's not even supposed to matter.
"Melina is snatching everything that's mine" Melodie mumbled to herself, her devilish thoughts calculating.
Her thoughts spiraled, dark, venomous. If Melina vanished, maybe things would be whole again.
But as much as she despised her, a sliver of fear slithered through Melodie's chest. Not for Melina — never for Melina. But for the possibility that her father's love was no longer hers alone.
She clenched her teeth, whispering into the dark:
"He will never love her more than me. I won't let him."
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The house was silent now. Too silent.
Melina lay on her bed hours later, her arm throbbing where the bamboo had struck, every bruise screaming whenever she shifted. But the deeper ache was inside her — a hollow cavern carved into her chest.
Melina wanted to hate them. She wanted to scream that she wasn't theirs, that they had no right. But the tears wouldn't stop because some foolish, desperate part of her still wanted their love.
Maybe they love her. Maybe this is love. Maybe punishment means they care.
The thought was poison, but Melina swallowed it anyway, because without it She had nothing.
The night dragged on, heavy with silence. But while Melina finally drifted into a fragile sleep, bruises aching, a faint sound stirred inside her hall. The thin ray of moonlight making itself in Melina 's room made something Shine.
Something Sharp and Steel.
Knife.
The handle was tightened by a grasp of a lean hands, veins popping and determined.
Whilst Melina's ache wouldn't refuse to leave even in Dreams.
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