Chapter 4 Fourth Chapter

Ariel's mother broke down in sobs the moment she saw her daughter lying in the hospital bed, wrapped in bandages and pale as moonlight. Her father's face was a portrait of silent anguish, his jaw clenched to hold back tears. They couldn't bear to leave her side for a minute. They remained in the sterile room, tending to her themselves with quiet devotion until, at last, she stirred.

When Ariel's eyes fluttered open, a weak smile curved her lips at the sight of her parents hovering close. "Water," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Her mother gently lifted her head, holding the cup to her mouth as she sipped. "Let me get the doctor," her father said quickly, already heading for the door.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" her mother asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from Ariel's forehead.

"Much better, Mom," she replied, her voice still fragile, but full of warmth.

Ariel's father returned in a hurry, the doctor close behind him. The physician came beside her, gently examining her injuries with practiced hands. After a thorough check, he gave a series of calm, reassuring instructions on how to clean and dress the wounds, emphasizing the importance of consistent care. Though the cuts weren't too deep, he advised vigilance. Handing over a slip of paper, he added the number of a therapist, suggesting it would be wise for Ariel to speak with someone about what she'd been through.

"She can go home," he concluded softly. "With proper care, she'll heal just fine."

Relief washed over her parents' faces. They thanked the doctor sincerely. Without a word, her father stepped outside, clutching the note as he dialed the therapist's number.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up. A deep, confident voice came through the receiver.

"Hello, this is Therapist Damon speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hello," came the courteous reply from Ariel's father, his tone calm yet weighted with concern. He wasted no time in stating the purpose of his call.

After a brief but thoughtful conversation, they reached an agreement, Damon would conduct the therapy sessions at their home. Ariel's father, still unsure of the extent of her trauma, wasn't comfortable letting her move around freely just yet. The thought of what she had endured made him protective to a fault.

Ariel was discharged from the hospital, and her parents brought her home with quiet hope. They had gently tried to ask what had happened,what had truly broken her but she offered no answers. Her lips remained sealed, her gaze distant. The vibrant spark that once danced in her eyes had faded, leaving behind a hollow dullness that cloaked her like a shadow.

She moved through the house like a ghost of herself gloomy, detached, as if life no longer held meaning. It was as though something inside her had been quietly extinguished.

Not wanting to lose any more time, her parents arranged for therapy sessions to begin the very next day. They couldn't bear to see their daughter like this ,silent, sunken, and lost as though her entire world had crumbled and taken her will to live with it. All they wanted was to bring her back, to see her smile again, to see even the faintest flicker of the girl they once knew.

The therapy session had been scheduled for noon, and the room was already set up in anticipation. Ariel sat alone at one end of the couch, her posture rigid, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her eyes, shadowed with gloom, stared blankly at the far wall. But beneath that cloud of melancholy simmered something darker,hate. It wasn't loud or violent, but it was unmistakable. Damon saw it instantly. He didn't need words or cues. He knew that feeling too well.

Damon sat across from her, his eyes searching hers. For a fleeting second, he could have sworn the burning hatred in her gaze was meant for him sharp, accusatory, and unforgiving. But just as quickly, it vanished, swallowed by a heavy gloom that draped over her expression like a veil. It was as if the hatred had never been there at all, leaving only a quiet, impenetrable sorrow in its place.

"Hello, Ariel," Damon said, exhaling deeply before adding quickly, "Your parents told me your name."

Ariel stared at him blankly, as if he were speaking a language she couldn't understand.

"Normally, I'd thank you for having me here," Damon continued, shifting slightly in his seat. "Then I'd try to make you comfortable enough to open up. But it seems like you're determined to ignore me."

Still, Ariel didn't respond. Her silence was louder than words.

"Well, that's fine," Damon said with a faint, amused smile. "We can just sit here and stare at each other until the session ends. Or... I could tell you a story about my life."

She remained still distant, unmoved but he didn't seem fazed. His tone grew more intimate, almost nostalgic.

"So, I fell in love with a bitch. She was sweet... at first. But then, oh God, she did me dirty," he said, his voice dripping with sincerity. For a moment, it sounded like he was baring his soul.

Ariel's eyes finally met his cold, unreadable.

"For her to have been a bitch," she said icily, "you obviously had to have been a dog."

"So, I finally got your attention," Damon said, his voice laced with a mixture of sarcasm and curiosity. "And I'm guessing whatever's been eating at you has something to do with a relationship, huh?"

He paused, giving her space to respond. When she didn't, he continued, more gently this time. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. We can do whatever you like."

"I want to be alone," she said quietly, without meeting his gaze.

Damon let out a soft chuckle, unbothered. "Now that's a tough request. It hasn't even been five minutes. Do I really look that terrible?"

The unexpected remark caught her off guard. Her brow arched as she finally looked up at him, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused.