I pulled down the hood of my jacket as I stepped inside the house. I had been caught by the rain a little while walking home through the subdivision from school.
I switched on the light, and the messy house came into view—it looked as if burglars had ransacked our entire place. But this was nothing unusual for me. I took off my jacket and started cleaning.
A few minutes later, I heard the sound of the gate opening and closing from outside, followed by the rain pouring even harder.
"Dad—"
"Where's my money? Huh?!" he demanded, rushing toward me as soon as he entered the house. "Answer me—where did you take my money?!" he shouted, gripping my face tightly.
"Dad!" I cried, yanking his hand off my cheek. Fear quickly took hold of me after what he did. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes clung to his breath—and his clothes.
I stepped back, afraid he might hurt me at any moment.
"I... I borrowed it. I needed to enroll in school," I said.
"School? You don't need to study!"
"You don't need to drink and gamble!" I shouted back. "And besides—it was Mom's." It was Mom's money, after all.
"Mom? Your mom?!" he roared, his bloodshot eyes flaring with anger. "That woman left nothing but trouble!"
He struck me so hard I was thrown to the floor. I thought he was done, but he grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the large family picture resting on the cabinet in the living room—the glass shattered on impact. He yanked me again and hurled me to the ground like I was nothing more than a pillow. Fvck.
I could feel the blood trickling down my forehead and lips, and when I hit the floor, pain shot through my arm so sharply it felt like it had broken.
"Just like you," he snarled, seizing me by my shirt and slapping me several times.
"Stop," I managed to say when he finally let go, and I collapsed on the floor as my tears began to fall.
I slowly pushed myself up and faced him as he grabbed a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and drank straight from it.
"I need to study," I whispered.
"You dare talk back?!" he shouted, swinging the bottle and smashing it against my head. I collapsed again, limp on the floor like a wilted leaf.
"Seven," I heard him mutter. "…maybe your lucky number." He picked up a 7-iron golf club.
"Dad," I called out, hoping he'd snap out of it—remember that I was his child before he could kill me.
"Don't call me Dad when all you do is steal from me!"
I squeezed my eyes shut as he raised the club. Pain exploded through my leg when it struck.
"Useless child!" he yelled, hitting me again.
The pain was unbearable—each blow, each tear, each desperate plea for him to stop only seemed to vanish into the air, unheard.
"If you're dead, you won't need to study anymore!" he shouted, hurling the golf club aside. "Mom? Then go to your mom!"
"Dad…" I called out again, my voice trembling along with every muscle in my body. Blood streamed from my forehead, blurring my vision.
Through the haze, I barely saw him heading toward the kitchen.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit!
I was almost crawling, pouring out every ounce of strength I had just to stand. I dragged one leg, trying to run out of the house as fast as I could. I think he's going to kill me... for real.
The surroundings outside was turning blue as night fell, and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. I hurried straight to the gate and cursed under my breath when I found it locked.
"Oh God, please," I whispered, struggling with the latch. Fvck! I couldn't stop my tears from falling.
"You sure it's here?" I heard a man's voice.
"Actually, no," his companion replied, followed by a laugh.
I moved closer to the metal fence where I could see them more clearly. Two men were talking outside, so I reached my hands through the bars, hoping they'd notice me.
"Hey! Help!" I shouted, waving at them. One of them was wearing a helmet, the other held an umbrella.
The man in the black helmet turned to look at me, then started walking closer.
"Please, help me…" I pleaded, my breath coming in short, desperate bursts. I could hear the thunderous beating of my own heart.
"Help me get out of here," I begged.
He stepped closer, his eyes scanning me—probably because of all the blood on my face and body.
"Help me, please," I said again, my voice trembling with urgency.
He turned toward his companion, who didn't even hesitate to approach us.
"Maybe we don't need to keep looking for it!" he shouted to him. "I think she's perfect."
"Tsk. Let's go," I heard the other man reply.
"Wait! I'll do anything in return," I begged again as he started to walk away. I knew if I missed this chance, the man inside my house would kill me and throw my body away somewhere. "Just help me… get me out of here."
For a moment, I was confused when he reached out his hand—like he wanted a handshake.
"Dayanara~" I heard my father call out, completely out of his mind.
I quickly grabbed the hand he offered.
"Deal!" he said cheerfully, tightening his grip around mine.
"Oyy," he shouted, as if calling my father.
"What are you doing?" I asked, reaching toward him.
"She's heeere!" he tattled. I was speechless. Fvck this man! Fvck them all!
My tears flowed harder down my cheeks. I clenched my hands, then felt my father's presence behind me. He yanked my hair immediately.
"Fvck you!" I screamed at the man in front of me.
"Come here," my deranged father whispered as he dragged me back into the house.
"Go to hell!" I yelled after the man in the helmet—the one I had begged for help.
Moments later, I collapsed again onto the cold floor as my father struck me over and over.
My hand reached for the shattered picture frame nearby. I pulled out the photo of the three of us. We were at the park, having a picnic. I looked at Mom, smiling so brightly.
That was her only wish—for me to graduate. Mom, I'm sorry.
"Maybe I should just slit your wrists and say you killed yourself?" my demonic father said, waving the knife in his hand. "Or maybe I'll just strangle you instead."
"Can I come in?"
I saw confusion flicker across my father's face at the voice that spoke. The man in the helmet—the same one I'd talked to earlier—stepped inside. But I had no strength left. I couldn't move. I couldn't even speak.
What is he doing here?
"I want to watch you kill her," he said to my father, as if he could read our minds.
He gave the sofa a little shove and then practically plopped down, settling in. I'm surrounded by demons.
"Maybe you want the two of you to be the ones I kill?" my father asked him.
"Can I buy her?" he asked, ignoring my father's menacing threat. I simply pursed my lips at the question.
"I'm not selling her!" my soulless father shouted.
"Okay, then. Have a goodnight!"
"Wait—hold on!" my father shouted as the man was leaving the house. He came up to me and grabbed my hair again, yanking me to my feet.
"So you'll finally be useful to me," he whispered.
"One hundred billion!"
"That's just—"
"Fine! Fine, fifty billion. If you want to take her now! If not, come back tomorrow to pick up her lifeless body," my father bargained, treating me like a toy.
"I don't want a check!" my demonic father snapped in front of me. The man pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. "And I don't want the bank! I want cash! I'll get the money. Right now. Here at my house!"
"Too demanding," the man replied shortly. After a few moments he put his phone back into his pocket.
Is that even possible?
We waited only a few minutes before several men dressed in black and wearing face masks arrived, each carrying suitcases. They quickly set everything down inside our house and left just as fast. Our house was now packed with large suitcases full of money.
"Your boyfriend?" my father whispered mockingly before letting go of my arm. "Good job." He lightly slapped my cheek a few times. Fvck this man! He immediately began inspecting each suitcase and the piles of cash, laughing like a demon.
"Who are you?" my father asked the man, his eyes and hands still fixed on the money.
"You don't have to know," the man replied. My father didn't even bother asking further questions about the man he had just sold his daughter to. Huh!
"Oh, take her already!" he said, gesturing toward me and waving his hand as if shooing us away.
The man waited for me to stand before he walked toward the door. And before I could leave, I passed by my father—counting his money, laughing in triumph.
I tore off the part of the photo that showed my father and threw it in front of him.
"Don't ever show your face to me again…" I spat the blood from my mouth onto the floor before him. "Or I'll be the one to kill you."
He gave me one last hard slap.
"Talking nonsense—get out!" he shouted, shoving me out of the house. "Before that man changes his mind and takes back the money!" I heard him mutter just as the door slammed shut.
xxx
The gate's lock was broken and the gate stood open. I looked up. The stars were out—the sky had cleared now that the heavy rain had stopped.
"Why do you like saving a thing?" I heard the man with the black umbrella say to the helmeted man who'd given my father the money. "And leaving me the burden," he added. I couldn't move closer yet because I was still limping.
The helmeted man only laughed, and the umbrella man left, climbing into a black car parked not far away. He didn't wait for his companion—the car pulled away. I couldn't see his face because it was hidden by his umbrella.
"Hi!"
Even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell from his voice that his greeting was cheerful.
"What do you want me to do?" I knew his rescue wasn't out of kindness. I couldn't forget that he had bought me. And now, I belonged to him.
"We'll get there," he replied. "For now, I want you to get some rest, Dayanara."
"How did you—"
"I only have one rule…" His tone shifted—no longer light, but edged with warning. "Don't ask."
He started to walk away but turned back, pointing toward a black car parked nearby—the hazard lights were on, waiting for me to get in.
"And by the way…" he added, gesturing to the nameplate pinned to my shirt, as if answering the question I hadn't finished. I had worn it earlier when I went to school.
I took a deep breath as his motorcycle sped off into the night. Who is he?
I tore the pin from my chest—the one that bore the name Dayanara Y. Mendoza. I dropped it to the floor, stomped on it several times, and spat on it. I will never wear his name again. Not ever.
xxx
I looked up at the tower where the car was about to enter the parking area. Well, this wasn't just any tower—it was The Golden Crest Tower, renowned throughout the city for its luxury and legacy.
The driver handed me the car keys, saying it was already mine. He also told me the floor and suite number where I'd be staying, then gave me the key card. He reminded me that I could already set the passcode for the digital door lock or register my fingerprint, since from now on, that would be my new home.
"Welcome to your new home," he greeted before leaving.
xxx
4104
I couldn't help but be amazed the moment I stepped inside. From the 41st floor, the city lights blinked like stars scattered below. This suite was a quiet kind of luxury—soft lights, glass walls, and space that seemed to hum with calm elegance. It was even bigger than our house—and to think that we live in an exclusive enclave.
But my attention was caught by the plastic bags on the center table. When I peeked inside, they were all medicines and supplies for treating wounds. It was only then that I realized my entire body was covered in cuts and bruises, and my legs had already gone numb from the pain.
I pulled out the photo of Mom and me from my pocket and sank into the sofa.
"Mom," I whispered, as if crying out for help.
Then I walked over to the glass wall to gaze at the city lights and slowly sat down on the floor.
I didn't even get to see the faces of the people who bought me. I have a strong feeling they're dangerous, and I'm certain there's a steep price for his help. I don't know what I've gotten myself into. I don't even know who the person I asked for help truly is.
But one thing I know...
When I shook his hand, I buried myself.