[EVA]
I didn't want to go home.
Not to that house that devoured my worth like a starving beast.
Not to the people who smiled while they bled me dry.
Not to the betrayal wrapped in my cousin's perfume and my ex-boyfriend's hands.
So I walked to stall time.
Perhaps fled would be more honest — but dignity demanded I pretend otherwise.
Rain lashed from the heavens in relentless torrents — as though the sky itself cried for all the pain I never allowed myself to feel. Every drop was cold and accusing, hammering against my skin like the world was trying to drown the girl I used to be.
My clothes clung to me like a second, suffocating skin — soaked, heavy, miserable — yet numbness blanketed every sensation.
I felt nothing. Or perhaps… I had grown used to feeling nothing.
I paused before the darkened glass of a bakery's window. My reflection stared back, warped by droplets and night shadows — a ghost of a girl I barely recognized. Pale. Thin. Spine bent from years of trying to take up less space. Eyes dulled by the poison of whispered insults and silent suffering.
Steffan's voice — once sweet, now venom — slithered from the deepest corner of my memory:
"You should put effort into yourself like Gina. At least try not to be boring."
Then laughter — sharp, cruel.
"Can you blame me? She looks like she's given up. I just… chose better."
And Gina's mocking chimed in, honeyed with triumph:
"Don't be mad, cousin. You dressed like a desperate old maid. He simply upgraded."
A hollow ache gnawed at my ribs.
I pressed my trembling palm against the cold glass. A breath escaped me — shaky, defeated.
Was it truly their cruelty that shaped the pathetic image before me?
No.
The bitter truth landed like a dagger:
It was mine.
I never fought back.
Never raised my voice.
Never believed I deserved more.
Because confrontation terrified me more than humiliation.
Because I lacked the courage to defend myself.
Because I allowed them to define who I was.
And so, they did.
By the time I reached the house, rainwater pooled beneath my shoes — leaving trails like blood from a wounded prey. Through the door's thin cracks, laughter spilled out — rich, warm, brimming with comfort.
Warm lights. Warm food. Warmth I was never allowed to taste.
They were a family.
I was merely the shadow haunting their walls.
When I stepped inside, the laughter died. Silence — sharp and merciless — replaced it.
Four pairs of eyes speared into me. Judgmental. Annoyed. Disgusted. As if my very existence offended their perfect dinner.
I kept my gaze lowered, shoulders curled inward — the instinct of a creature too used to being kicked.
"Eva." My aunt's voice, sharpened like the edge of a blade.
I flinched — a pathetic reaction I despised.
"We're halfway through the month," she said, folding her arms with menace. "Your salary came in today. Rent. Bills. Hand it over."
I swallowed.
"My salary is on the fifteenth…" My voice was barely a whisper. "I… already gave everything last week. I have nothing left."
My aunt slammed her palm on the table — dishes rattled, silver trembled.
"How dare you speak like that?" she snapped. "You should thank us that we took you in! We fed you! We clothed you! We sent you to school! You owe us everything!"
Gina smirked, as though my suffering sweetened her drink. Steffan didn't even turn — still scrolling on his phone, already tired of the girl he once called "my future."
Do I owe them? Or did they owe me?
The question struck like lightning.
"Yes…" I murmured, voice cracking under the weight of habit.
Before the tears could betray me, I fled upstairs — each breath a fight, each step a plea.
Sleep took me quickly, darkness swallowing my mind whole — the only mercy I had ever known. But thirst clawed me awake hours later, dragging me from temporary oblivion.
On my way to the kitchen, whispers pricked the silence.
I froze.
Voices. My aunt's and uncle's — low, excited, vile.
"You spoke to Mr. Gilbert?" my aunt asked, dripping greed.
"He's willing to pay ten million," my uncle said with a chuckle. "He wants Eva. What else can she do? Might as well profit before she gets too old."
Me.
They were speaking about me.
"That old man adores obedient little virgins," my aunt sneered. "She'll be perfect as his pet. At least this way, she pays us back."
Like livestock.
Like property.
Like something to be sold, used, destroyed.
"And since her grandmother stopped sending money…" my uncle added, voice cold as damp stone, "she's useless to us now."
Useless.
The word struck harder than any blow.
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted behind my eyes — like claws digging into my skull. My breath hitched, chest tightening as if invisible hands were crushing my heart.
The world blurred.
They stole everything meant for me. They cursed my existence, then demanded gratitude for the chains they fastened around my neck.
And now — now they were preparing to sell what was left of me.
No tears fell.
None were left.
Run.
The instinct screamed louder than the storm outside.
I stumbled back, steps silent despite the chaos roaring inside me. My hands shook violently as I packed the bare scraps of my life — a few threadbare clothes, two cracked notebooks, a toothbrush, my battered phone.
That was all I possessed.
That was all they allowed me to have.
Never again.
I grabbed the ornate envelope Mr. Jones had given me. The only link to a life stolen from me before I could even dream it.
My grandmother's land.
Setio Luna.
Tres Noches.
A name that suddenly felt like salvation — or perhaps damnation that tasted sweeter than this hell.
It didn't matter.
It was away from here.
Away from them.
Away from being traded like cattle to a lecherous old man.
I moved to the doorway. The laughter had started again — now at some joke that wasn't funny enough to erase the stain of what I overheard.
I looked once at the home that was never mine — the walls that never embraced me, the roof that never sheltered me, the people who delighted in my suffering.
And I stepped into the storm.
Rain welcomed me back — wild, furious — as though the heavens celebrated my rebellion.
I didn't run.
I escaped.
With each step forward, the chains they forged around me loosened.
By the time I reached the road, the house and everything inside it had vanished behind the curtain of night.
Good.
Let them wake to emptiness.
Let them choke on their greed.
The night was cold, but for the first time… the cold felt like freedom.
For the first time…
I chose myself.