Wingless;

3. Striking Presence

I turned away from the balcony railing and felt the cool night air on my skin. My thoughts returned to why I was here. I never imagined I'd have the courage to stand up for myself. But today I didn't have a choice.

If I hadn't slipped out that window and left my parents behind, they would have continued to believe their cruelty was justified, that their impossible expectations were a fair price for my life.

I felt a surge of pride that I had finally taken a stand. But beneath it was a deeper fear. They would probably hate me now. Perhaps they always did. All those years of bending over backwards, chasing a sliver of approval, hoping to see pride in their eyes was all gone.

Unlike my siblings, Elizabeth and Rogan, I'd never been enough. My little sister, fifteen years old, could fall down again and again and end up in their arms. They'd have her back. Me? I was the black sheep that didn't fit their perfect mold, or society's stifling standards. I'd been on my own as long as I could remember.

I tried to love my body and its curves. I was successful on most days. When I looked in the mirror, I saw strength rather than shame. But when it's your own flesh and blood who are supposed to love you no matter what, and they begin chipping away at your confidence as if it's some unsightly stain that needs scrubbing, even the thickest armor begins to crack.

If a stranger had mocked me, I'd have fought back with sharp words. But it wasn't about strangers. This is my family. And sometimes fighting them didn't mean yelling louder; it meant walking away, not out of defeat, but out of love for myself.

Standing on that balcony, I made a promise. I was done living for them. Starting tomorrow, I'd build a life on my own terms. Not because of stupid decisions, not to spite anyone, but for me. For once, just me.

My gaze blurred as a tear slipped onto my hand. I wiped it away quickly. "God, these stupid emotions," I muttered. No matter how tough I tried to be, the floodgates always seemed to open when nobody was looking.

I suddenly felt the prickling sensation of someone watching me. My skin tightened, and my breathing stalled. I slowly turned toward the neighboring balcony.

Was the neighbour still here? He hadn't left?

That man stood with his back to me, leaving a trail of smoke in the darkness. His posture was casual but heavy, as if the entire world was on his shoulders. Something about him made the air feel strangely still and sharp.

Before I could recover from my unease, a woman's light and carefree laugh floated out. She stepped into view, blonde and slender, the type of perfect that didn't have to try. The man turned to her, flicked his cigarette over the railing, and followed her inside. The glass door slid shut behind them with a snap of the lock, forming a boundary.

I stood there, torn between brushing it off and allowing old insecurities to sink in. She embodied everything my parents wanted me to be: thin, poised, and effortless. I clenched the railing, then forced myself to let go. "Get over it, Ximara," I whispered. Their story was not the same as mine.

I slipped inside, shut my own glass door, and twisted the lock with more force than was required. But as I turned away, I heard a faint shuffle coming from the hallway beyond my room.

Alister. It had to be. But he was always in bed by nine.

Padding out softly, I found him at the kitchen table, stirring a spoon in a glass of water. His shoulders slumped in a way I hadn't seen before.

"Ali, why are you still awake?" I asked gently.

He flinched and then gave me a warm, distracted smile. "Oh, Mara. Haven't you gone to bed yet?" He reached for the tin of cookies and held it out.

I forced a grin and waved it off. "No thanks. Already carrying enough curves, remember?"

He started arguing, but I interrupted him. My eyes narrowed on the pills by his glass. "Ali, what medications are you taking?"

His expression faltered and the mask slipped. For a moment, he sat there silently, then sighed, shoulders sinking. "I can't sleep since your grandmother passed away. Every night I hear her laugh, feel her touch in my head. I miss her so d*mn much, Mara. I just want to see her again." His eyes glistened as his voice broke.

"Oh, Ali..." I rushed to wrap my arms around him, his body feeling frailer than I remembered. "Why didn't you tell us?"

He chuckled weakly, wiping away his tears. "I'll see her again."

"I know," I said softly, squeezing his hand. But then came the word that chilled my blood.

"Soon," he murmured with a faint smile that never reached his eyes.

My throat tightened. I wanted to tell him not to say or think that. But before I could respond, he changed the subject. "So, about that job hunt. Rowan Architects are top-notch. You have an interview there tomorrow, right? Seven sharp. "This could be your big break."

Rowan architects. The mere mention of the name piqued my interest. If I nailed this, I'd accomplished everything I'd been working for. "Yes," I replied, lifting my chin. "I am ready."

"Good." He gave me a grin, then tilted his head. "So, how was the balcony view?"

I hesitated. "Peaceful... until the neighbor lit a cigarette."

Ali frowned. "Is he back?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. He went inside."

Ali's gaze darkened with thought. "That man is like a ghost. Shows up once in a blue moon. I wonder what has brought him back now."

I shrugged it off, and he chuckled before shooing me to bed.

___________

That night, exhaustion should've knocked me out cold. But around midnight, I awoke with a pounding heart and shallow breathing. It was not a dream. There was no sound. Just a suffocating sense that something was wrong.

The air felt heavy, pressing down. My skin prickled as if unseen eyes lurked in the darkness.

"You're imagining things," I said quietly, pulling the covers tighter.

But then, I swear I saw it. A faint shadow slid across the balcony door.

I bolted upright, my heart racing. The door was securely locked.

Still, sleep never returned. I lay awake till dawn, staring at the ceiling, trying to believe it was only nerves. Yet deep down, I wasn't so sure.

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