Chapter 11
Episode 11
the ride to Portland Maine was horrific.Ny Parents yelled and screamed at Me about how all of This was My fault and how I had shamed The and My 3 Brothers I was and still am the only one who never touched drugs in any way or form I hated the taste and smell of smoke liqueur and beer so I never touched any of it. How I feared being beaten and abused. I never did that to My children. I didn't ever cheat it beat up on My Husbands but every one of Them cheated on Their Wives and still do and My Parents cheated on each other and beat each other I was abd still am the only good one My only fault is forcing everyone to see the truth which back fired quite a bit
The salt spray stung my face, a familiar, biting kiss that did little to cleanse the lingering unease. Maine’s coast, even in the muted light of late autumn, held a raw beauty, a stark contrast to the suffocating confines of the all-girls school. They called it St. Agnes, a name that echoed with the hollowness of a prayer unanswered. Here, the days were a blur of starched collars, hushed whispers, and the ever-present, suffocating judgment. My father’s disgrace, a phantom limb that throbbed with each sidelong glance, had become my burden. My mother, a fragile bird trapped in a gilded cage of her own making, flitted between moments of desperate affection and icy detachment.
Vlad, though, he was a constant. A silent sentinel in the periphery. I’d feel his presence, a subtle shift in the air, a cool breath against my cheek when the girls’ whispers grew too sharp, when the matron’s gaze felt like a brand. He never spoke directly, not in words I could record in my mind, but his energy was a shield, a whispered reassurance that I was not entirely alone in this desolate landscape.
One blustery afternoon, while walking the windswept beach, the tide pulling back secrets from the deep, I saw him. Not as a spectral figure, but as a profound stillness in the roiling sea. He stood on a jagged outcrop, his silhouette sharp against the bruised sky. He wore the familiar dark attire, the kind that seemed to absorb the light. I couldn’t see his face, not clearly, but I felt his gaze, steady and unwavering. It was a look that spoke of centuries of watching, of enduring, of a quiet understanding that transcended the petty cruelties of my current existence.
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