Menace's Obsession ∢

chapter 01

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★

Tiptoeing down the narrow hallway of the orphanage, he tries to muffle the sound of his footsteps, fearing the wrath of the madam if he wakes her.

His heart thuds loudly in his chest, fueled by the fear of punishment for daring to venture out at this hour. But the urgency of his bladder overrides his fear; he has to use the bathroom desperately.

This place, this orphanage, is unlike anything he's read about in books with the help if his bestfriend. It's a strange, suffocating environment filled with rules that seem designed to crush their spirits.

He recalls a story he had heard about orphanage, but this reality is far harsher. The rules here are strict, leaving almost no room for joy or freedom.

Every breath feels like a precious gift, earned through silent obedience. They're confined to their rooms after 7 PM, once they've been served their meager dinner of soup. Breakfast is always the same, as are the tasks they're assigned each day. And lunch? It's merely a dream, never materializing into reality.

But perhaps the most perplexing aspect of this orphanage is the absence of adoptions. In all his seventeen years of life, he's never seen a couple visit to take a child home. It's always the same faces: the madam, her husband, and their son.

The sound of sudden heavy footsteps filled the hallway echoing through the place, his breath catches in his throat as he freezes in place, as the familiar screech of the madam's boots fills him with panic, sending his heart racing.

Desperation to hide drives him to dart towards the living room, drawn by the faint glow of the TV illuminating the darkness. With a surge of adrenaline, he dashes into the room, his eyes widening in astonishment.

It's the first time he's ever set foot in this forbidden space. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut - if he's caught here, the consequences will be severe - likely another brutal punishment he's not yet recovered from. His heart pounds in his chest, and he struggles to control his ragged breaths, his mind racing with fear.

Tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes as he cowers behind the large couch, curling into himself in a desperate attempt to make himself as small as possible. He prays silently, begging to avoid detection as the footsteps draw nearer, each thud sending a jolt of terror through his trembling body.

As the footsteps stopped from a little far away, he hears shouting voices, which seemed to be the madam's and her husband's.

He pushes his palm on his mouth to muffle any sound that could come out as he makes himself as invisible as possible, hiding his scent with great difficulty as the sounds grow louder before a glass breaking sound reaches his ears.

He closes his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing when he hears, "yeah, they'll be gone tomorrow so you should fucking let that whore go now," in the madam's hard voice.

He doesn't understand anything; it's all so confusing. His head is hurting before he hears more shouting from the madam's husband, and then the voices stop after the loud stomping on the wooden floor.

He's quiet for almost 10 minutes before he finally removes his palm from his mouth, taking a good inhale then exhale deeply. Tears of relief follow down his cheeks. With a sigh, he looks towards the TV that is still opened, the news channel.

His heart races as he listens to the reporter's grim report, his eyes widened as he focused on what the reporter said "Each victim," the reporter continues, her voice tinged with a mix of professionalism and sorrow, "had their stomachs slashed open, their hearts torn from their chests and placed in their own hands. The brutality of the scene is further accentuated by the grotesque wounds inflicted upon their faces, as if struck by a merciless force."

A shiver runs down his spine as he absorbs the gruesome details, the reality of the situation sinking in with each word spoken. The image of the victims, their eyes staring lifelessly into oblivion, haunts his thoughts as he struggles to get the fictional image out of his mind.

"And in a chilling act of depravity," the reporter's voice pierces the silence once more, "the assailant left behind a macabre signature, carving the letters 'AJ' into the foreheads of the deceased with a sharp blade." Dread settles heavily in his chest as he realizes the depth of the darkness that surrounds them.

His heart squeezes in his chest as he comes to a harsh realization: it's not the orphanage that's cruel, but the outside world. He feels a pang of guilt for ever thinking otherwise.

Were his complaints about the orphanage's strict rules and occasional beatings unjustified? No, the outside world is infinitely more brutal.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted as he's yanked up, his eyes widening in fear as he sees the madam's fiery gaze boring into him. Her grip on his hand is bruising, her obsidian sharp eyes piercing into his soul. Trembling, he stammers out apologies, but the madam remains silent, her grip only tightening.

Tears stream down his cheeks as he's dragged out of the room, down the narrow hallway, towards the dreaded room where punishments are meted out. He shakes his head in a futile attempt to loosen her grip, his pleas falling on deaf ears.

⋆

The sky outside his window.

It's always a breathtaking sight. No matter the time of day or weather, it always captivates him with its beauty.

Amidst the drab walls of the orphanage, this window is his sanctuary, the only solace in the monotonous routine of the orphanage walls. Positioned beside his small bed, it's where he retreats when the weight of the world becomes too heavy.

The colors dance across the sky, shifting from hues of pink to orange to a deep, calming blue. He watches as the clouds morph and move, so beautifully, so steadily. Despite the chaos of the world beyond his window, the sky remains a constant source of peace.

With his burned hand cradled gently in his lap, he gazes out, letting the mesmerizing sight soothe his troubled mind. The pain throbs beneath his skin, a reminder of the pain the madam had given him a few hours ago, but as he loses himself in the vast expanse of the sky, the anguish begins to fade.

Tears trickle down his cheeks, causing him a stinging pain to shoot through his bruised cheeks but those tears are accompanied by a sense of calmness, a serene acceptance of his reality, so it doesn't matter. He's learned to find beauty amidst the pain.

As he gazes out at the sky, lost in its beauty, a sudden streak of light catches his attention. A shooting star, fleeting yet magical, streaks across the darkness, igniting a spark of excitement within him. With his doe eyes getting enlarged, he sits up eagerly, his eyes shimmering with tears and childlike wonder.

But as he raises his hands to clap in delight, a sharp hiss escapes his lips as the burn on his palm stings at the touch. Despite the pain, he doesn't pull away, instead clasping his hands together in front of the sky, a silent wish forming in his mind.

"Please let me meet my mate on my birthday," he whispers softly, a soft, shaky sigh escaping his lips "I-I don't wanna live here anymore" he wished from the depth of his heart to escape this place, no matter if the outside world is more cruel.

As he settles back onto his bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin to ward off the chill of the night air, he continues to gaze out at the open window. The cold wind whispers through the room, causing him to shiver slightly, but he only brokenly smiles in response.

With a gentle sigh, he closes his eyes, still feeling the lingering warmth of the shooting star's magic. The pain on his burnt palm still there but overshadowed by the single thought of finding his mate.

It was his last hope and he hopes, deeply, that it doesn't let him down now.

Hopes that destiny doesn't fuck with him again.