My life had been made up of only hardship before I had met him. Born to a rich family without any siblings, the heavy expectations placed upon me to take over the family business resulting in even the slightest mistake being scrutinised and punished, as if my father had been looking for any reason to discipline me.


    Father was a strict and cold man. His warm features misrepresenting disguising the hiding beneath.


    Short golden orange locks sat atop his head, two vibrantly golden irises which would tear into anyone who dared to look into them.


    He had been hardened by his upbringing, having been born into a poor family in war times. Even achieving something as simple as a basic education would have been a miraculous event for him.


    However, he rose higher than anyone had ever thought it possible. Working several jobs in his youth, he saved up money in order to enable his future self to enrol in a medical university.


    Why a medical university one may ask? Well, that was because of a chance encounter he had when he was ten. At that time, he had been working several jobs whilst getting his hands upon any book he could find.


    Having grown an affinity for medicine at a young age after seeing many of his siblings die to common illnesses that were easily curable, the bereaved boy decided to save as many of the poor as he could by becoming a doctor.


    The small room which he shared with two of his siblings had become all his, allowing him to store even more books which caught the eye of a doctor who had come to take a look at his mother, who had caught an illness.


    Seeing the boy’s genius, the old doctor took the boy under his wing, aiding in his education and providing the recommendation he required to enter a top university.


    The doctor simply wished to help another one of his own people to escape from fate they’d been dealt.


    And so, the young boy become a young man, soon leaving the university with a degree which he had been highly proud of.


    Getting a job in a prestigious hospital he soon found himself working nonstop in order to reach the top of the hierarchy.


    By that time, he had become a middle aged man and was no longer the same person he’d once been.


    Having been held back from promotions due to his background, he soon felt himself loathing the cards he had been dealt with.


    He’d sworn to himself that he’d prove himself to all those who wished to doubt him, leading him to no longer harbour his original desire.


    And once again he worked himself to the bone. By the time he’d reached 60, he had achieved his goals. He owned multiple widely respected hospitals and sat atop an empire, just like the old man who had helped him so many years ago.


    By then he was left with but a decaying body and no remaining family, for they had all died due to impoverished conditions.


    He’d forgotten all about them in his rush to the top.


    But that didn’t matter.


    His next desire was to leave behind a successor.


    Finding several young woman and having relations with them was anything but difficult, for he had money and status. The only problem was, no matter how many times he tried, no matter the woman he used, a successor was never produced.


    Until one day.


    Upon hearing the news, he married my mother and began to plan out my entire life.


    In the end, I doubt he ever loved me or my mother. We were probably just a way of prolonging his legacy. Another tool he could use to complete his ambition.


    My upbringing was boring.


    Private tutoring to ensure that I would replace my father’s position as chairman.


    I was never to complain, for what would come of it was only violence. Sometimes on me, but normally on my mother.


    It seemed to me that he deeply regretted the man he came to become but lacked the courage to change.


    My mother did nothing to comfort me, nor fight back. Being half the age of father, she was just quietly waiting for him to die so she could take the inheritance.


    When I entered University, I was finally allowed some degree of freedom, escaping from the estate and all of its suffocating rules and schedules.


    And there I met Mikhail.


    You can’t blame me for failing hard for him. Devilishly handsome, Mikhail had been quite the player, although never forgetting to study hard. He came from humble beginnings just like my father, but seemingly choose better paths along the way.


    At first, I didn’t like his attitude, how carefree he was. I suppose, looking back on it, I was jealous of the freedom he had been enjoying all his life. And those eyes... those orange eyes. I despised them. They were just like my father’s.


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    But he was persistent, and I inexperienced in how to deal with his forwardness. Soon I no longer had the strength to push him away.


    However, the signs of his upbringing couldn’t be hidden. Under the scrutiny of my father, he was turned away. Of course, I knew that he never had a chance in the first place.


    My father hated his upbringing, it was like a blemish on his life, a period that he desperately didn’t wish to recall.


    Seeing Mikhail reminded him of that.


    At that age, I was intoxicated under the feeling of being in love, combined with the freedom that I had obtained.


    Secretly dating Mikhail was enough for now. Once we finished our respective degrees, he’d work hard to gain my father’s approval.


    However, fate had different plans.


    I always took a test after we did it. Just for precaution. And one day it came up positive.


    Dread. Utter despair. I remember it vividly. Falling to the floor as bawling my eyes out. Mikhail scrambling out of bed, still half dressed as he hugged me, asking what was wrong.


    Jubilant orange eyes widening as I shoved the test towards him, asking him what we should do it with a trembling voice.


    I couldn’t go against my father, so I proposed an abortion.


    But the pained expression which Mikhail gave me after hearing that made It evident to me that he was never going to agree.


    He proposed to me, saying that we should get married and drop out of university to take care of the child.


    I agreed, blinded by the idea of living together with him.


    And for a while we were happy.


    We had a girl, naming her Chloe, and even when her condition was brought to our attention, Mikhail still thought we made the correct decision.


    Even though I had such a happy life, the nagging thought in the back of my mind eroded that happiness.


    Wouldn’t we have been even happier if we wouldn’t have had Chloe? If I had never given birth to that little orange haired girl, would me and Mikhail be living without worries?


    As more and more surgeries became mandatory, soon we had to take out loans to finance them. That dark thought surfaced more and more until I brought the topic up to him.


    It was the same.


    The look of pain and disgust he gave me when I first suggested getting and abortion all those years ago was the same as the one he was giving me now.


    It was as if he was looking down on me, horrified over my thoughts.


    But I wasn’t in the wrong! How could I be! Being brought up in such high living conditions, and now living like this... how could anyone blame me for wanting more?


    And so, I abandoned such a thought.


    I focused on the happiness I had before me. I was finally free! Living with the man I loved!


    But then he left me.


    Apparently, according to Chloe, Mikhail had sacrificed himself to save her.


    He left me alone.


    To save her?


    If it was not to live with the man I loved, then for what purpose did I run away from my family? For what purpose did I put up with such living standards?


    Laying my head on the dining room table of the small two-bedroom house Mikhail and I used to live in, tears leaked from my eyes, pooling upon the wooden surface.


    I’d already smashed a few pictures in a moment of blind despair, glass scattered across the ground haphazardly.


    Soon a series of footsteps became louder as I lifted my head to see Chloe.


    Bandages still covering half her face, her remaining eye had tears at the side of it, showing that she was ready to burst out in tears.


    Hands starting to tremble slightly upon seeing her, I firmly balled my hands into fists, unable to make them still.


    Her gaze moved to behind her, freezing at the sight of something before breaking out into a fit of tears.


    Right shoulder flinching as if someone had forcefully put their hand upon it, Chloe slowly turned back towards to me, tears running down her face.


    She seemed to lack the courage to speak for a few seconds before finally opening her mouth.


    “It... It wasn’t my fault? Right?” she whimpered, looking down towards the floor as if couldn’t even bear to look at me.


    I froze. Long had my hands stopped shaking, black spots invading my sight as I heard a grinding sound come from my teeth.


    Eyes not courageous to look at her anymore, they fled towards the floor before focusing on a destroyed picture that had been sombrely laying upon the floor.


    Aaah, his smile...


    They’d gone for a picnic, and Mikhail had given Chloe a piggyback.


    But he’s gone now. Forever.


    If only he left yo...


    I stopped myself from finishing the sentence. But my emotions weren’t residing. Bubbling up, making me feel lightheaded. As if I were suffering from a cruel cold, most of my vision had been taken from me.


    Looking back to where Chloe was supposed to be, I recoiled in fear from what I saw.


    It’s limbs were scrawny and rough, fazing in and out of reality. Parts of Chloe’s body could be seen from time to time, but I remained entranced by the being in front of me.


    Two obsidian eyes bore into me as a grating voice entered my mind.


    "If... on..ly he left... her be..hind...Righ..t?” it chocked out, such simple words causing it so much trouble, as if it were a new born.


    I didn’t want to hear those words. Those words which I stopped myself from saying. For I feared that If I said something like that, I would forever lose myself.


    “It...s her fau..lt..he... wo..u..ld..still.. he...re,” before it could finish its words, I quickly covered ears with my hands, screaming out towards the incorporeal being.


    “Shut up! Don’t you dare!”


    But it was already too late. The idea had been planted in my mind. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from flooding out and infecting my actions.


    Fault? Not your fault that my life become ruined? Mikhail... he could be living right now if it weren’t for you! I’d still be happy if it weren’t for you!


    It all happened too fast. I couldn’t control myself. I should have controlled myself.


    Standing up, I leapt towards the small girl, raising my hand as I spoke.


    One that I didn’t even realise was my own.


    Releasing my hand, I slapped her across the face, sending her to the floor, grimacing from the pain radiating from her cheek.


    And when she looked back up to me, I finally lost all resemblance of reason or logic.


    That face. That look. It was the same.


    The black creature cloaking the small girl let out a queer giggle, constantly reverberating in my head, making it feel as though it was about to vomit, feeling as though I’d lost everything that made life worth living.


    I don’t remember the next thirty seconds. Perhaps I’ve purposefully forgotten them.


    And what I awoke to was the sight of a badly injured child, curled up in the foetal position, crying to herself whilst profusely apologising to me.


    I looked down towards my shaking hands which appeared swollen from the repeated impacts.


    Will these hands of mine ever stop shaking?


    Her form made me think back to when I had been beaten by my father. I’d cry just like her whilst apologising to my father.


    Her appearance sometimes reminded me of my father. I hated that.


    Unable to believe my own actions, I hesitated for a few moments before reaching down to comfort her, pushing the sound of the constant giggling to the corner of my mind.


    But when my trembling fingertips came close, she started to cry harder, flinching away from my touch.


    Perhaps that was when I realised what a monster I’d become.


    Just like my father. Maybe worse than my father.


    From that point on my hands never did stop shaking.


    Relying on alcohol only dulled my pains for a short while.


    And, just like my father, I would regret my actions for the rest of my life.


    If only we’d not had her.


    Then we’d have been happy.