Chapter 5
Zora's eyes were closed, her face so pale it was almost translucent, her long lashes casting shadows that hid every trace of emotion. She looked painfully thin, her chin sharp and her collarbones jutting out from her shirt, as if they might break at the slightest touch.
But Winston knew that beneath that fragile shell was a heart scarred and battered beyond repair, yet hardened into unbreakable stone.
"Zora," Winston said softly.
He hesitated for a long time, his voice so low it was as if he might startle her.
"How about... we don't go back to the Ralph family? I've got an apartment outside. Wherever you want to stay, I'll take care of it. It's peaceful there, no one will bother you..."
Zora opened her eyes.
She stared out the car window at the deserted street, her gaze icy and distant, as if her mind was miles away.
"Go back," she said.
Her voice was soft, but without the slightest hesitation.
If she didn't return to the Ralph family, how would she ever reclaim what was owed to her?
If she didn't go back to that place, how could she make those who hurt her taste, bit by bit, the suffering she'd endured?
*****
The car stopped once again in front of the Ralph family's villa.
The house was quiet. The living room lights were still on, their warm yellow glow spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and illuminating the front steps.
Jacob was sitting on the sofa.
He was still in the same suit from yesterday, collar loose, cufflinks undone, tie hanging crooked. He gripped a cup of cold coffee, dark circles under his eyes telling the story of a night without sleep.
At the sound of the door opening, he looked up abruptly. His gaze went straight to Zora's left hand, wrapped in thick bandages.
His Adam's apple moved, lips pressed into a thin line. He struggled for words, and when he finally spoke, his tone was icy and hard.
"Back at last, huh?"
His voice was hoarse, laced with anger and something else he couldn't quite name.
"I thought you were tough enough to stay away from this house for good."
Zora didn't even spare him a glance.
She bent down to change her shoes, moving slowly, her left hand wrapped in bandages and unable to help her. Once she finished, she straightened up and walked upstairs, step by step. Her footsteps were steady, each one thudding against the stairs like a drumbeat, pounding on everyone's nerves.
Jane hurried down the stairs.
She was still in the white princess dress from yesterday, the hem damp and rumpled. Her eyes were puffy and red, like she'd either spent the whole night awake or just finished crying. She hid behind Jacob, only half her face visible, nervously watching Zora.
"Zora, is your hand... really okay?"
Her voice was sweet and pitiful, on the verge of tears.
"It's all my fault, really. If I hadn't said those things yesterday, you wouldn't have gotten hurt... Zora, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me? Please, don't be angry with me..."
Zora paused halfway up the stairs, towering over Jane as she looked down with icy detachment.
She took in Jane's face, pretending to be innocent and wronged, her eyes red from fake tears, and the way she clung desperately to Jacob's arm.
Then, a slow smile crept across Zora's lips, cold and sharp.
It was a smile, but so chilling it could freeze the air, utterly devoid of warmth.
Yesterday, when Zora threw boiling water, Jane had turned ghostly pale, trembling so much she forgot to even cry. But now, she was back to playing the helpless victim, as if the girl who hissed "Get out of the Ralph family" in Zora's ear yesterday had never existed.
She deserved an Oscar.
Zora looked away and continued up the stairs.
*****
The small room at the end of the hallway was the one Jacob pointed out to her when she first returned to the Ralph family.
Calling it a room was generous; it was really just a converted storage closet, barely ten square meters, with a bed, a cabinet, and a single window that faced directly onto the garbage bins out back.
She pushed the door open.
Her right hand balled up instantly.
The room had been ransacked.
It wasn't just a mess; someone had gone out of their way to wreck everything, like they wanted to destroy her stuff for real.
The suitcase had been dragged out from under the cabinet, its lid thrown open, clothes scattered everywhere. The sheets were yanked off the bed, crumpled up and tossed on the floor, stamped with dirty footprints. The mattress was slashed open, the stuffing spilling out like an ugly wound.
Zora never had much to begin with. Now, the few things she owned, clothes, notebooks, pens, were scattered all over the floor, some trampled, some ripped, all tossed around like trash.
It was just like every time the orderlies at Verdant Hill Mental Health Facility tore through her room.
They'd drag out her pitiful few possessions, toss them on the floor, stomp them to pieces, jab at them with sticks, and then cackle as everything was left in ruins.
Zora crouched down and began to go through her scattered belongings.