I STARED ON THE MIRROR as he brushed my dark blonde hair using the soft comb on his drawer. It became an actual habit every time we went to our classes. But Dominic wouldn't let me exit his room without examining my appearance, like his own doll that he likes too much. And when he's brushing my hair, his fingers would frequently touch my skin, teasing me in a bemused manner.

I watch with patience because, from the closeness of his touch, he can even feel everything that I do, looking down at my necklace and wondering if I could tell those things to him. But I'm too afraid that he might judge my obscure situation. And he might stay away from me.

But I'm incapable of hiding, and before I knew it, Dominic leaned over my shoulder, whispering in my ears in his sweet and provocative voice. "Don't be afraid to tell me what's bothering you. I might help you resolve it."

"I—don't know if—you might think of me as abstruse if I tell it to you,"

"I would never do that."

I turned around, and my eyes stared directly at his alluring dark ones. "Do you promise it?"

"I promised."

My heart did an unusual beat when he smirked lusciously; it was like a Dominic that I hadn't seen before. When I finally recomposed myself, I stood up and took the picture inside of the wooden box exactly where I hid it, handing it over to him.

"I found it a week ago when I first moved into your room. I was scared at first because it was placed in my closet. And when I got home on the weekend, there's this strange thing that happened, but I'm quite uncertain from all of the things that's been happening lately till now,"

"Do you have any idea of who the person is?"

I shook my head. "It's also the reason why I chose to stay with you because I felt that something was wrong in my room." My voice broke, and I suddenly felt scared.

When the class started, it felt like all the weight was on me; I had already told Dominic everything that happened. But why did I feel that I had done something wrong?—It took me a couple of minutes to realize that Alda was talking to me. Her eyes seem to be worried and concerned. She repeated what she had said, but I was so deep in my thoughts that I didn't catch it for the second time.

"I am sorry, Alda, but I'm not in the mood to talk right now," I muttered honestly.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head, "I understand."

When the English teacher came in, the class became silent, and Mrs. Elliot didn't waste a single time handing the manuscripts over. The person in front of me extended his hands backward, grasping the pile of papers in his hands before I took it, and did the same process again till it reached the back of the class.

Alda leaned over when she noticed that the characters were rolling. Reid was supposed to be the father of Miranda, my character, but Mrs. Elliot, our English teacher. Changed his role and made him a prince, the one whom Miranda will end up with.

"It's good that Mrs. Elliot didn't change your character into a nasty one. She likes to make everyone miserable," she motivated me, putting her copy on her table before looking at our surroundings.

"Where is Reid, by the way?"

"Reid is absent," I spoke simultaneously. After the conversation, Alda was silent for the past fifteen minutes, pretending to be busy on her manuscript and frequently high-lighting the lines of a random character, till she gave up and sighed, putting down her marker, looking into my eyes with her guarded emotions.

"When will you get back from your room? Isn't it too ironic to live in a man's room just because of a single voice?"

The question itself took me off-guard, and the faded fear outgrew contagiously. Remembering the unpleasant memory that I had in neither that morning—it's not just because of the voice—nor the knock from a deserted bedroom. But something deeper than fear.

It all happened on October 21st, 1915. Four years later, my father abandoned me in the Wooden Pillar's Church. The air in the mid-autumn was crisp and solemn, bringing the unfortunate memories back from my mind. At first, I was isolating myself from the foster children, knowing that they were just strangers. My nanny back then taught me to avoid talking to people that I barely knew, raising me from the belief that people just wanted to be closer to me because of my fame and wealth, knowing that I'm the only heiress of my father's unmeasurable property and gold.

Father is the owner of a mining site near our town, one of the tycoons and well-known royal blood who knows how to expound his wealth. He's a landlord and a duke who married a half-blooded princess of Scott. But just like any prestigious family, we barely knew each other's routines and kept our own business to ourselves. 

"Go play with your porcelain doll, Mary Jane. I have something to take care of," Mother would always say every time I entered her bedroom. And even though her voice is soft and sweet, there's annoyance behind her message, brushing her dark brown hair adoringly while looking at her wide mirror. She's completely ignoring my presence.

I thought that my mother was angry because of my dresses, so I told the nanny to change them frequently during lunch and dinner to make mommy happy. But when she pursued her way of treating me as nonexistent, I tried to eavesdrop in the main bedroom and plan to drop a handwritten letter. But the timing was inappropriate. 

Both of my parents are having a hush conversation, keeping their voices with the softest tone and low pitch. My memories brought back the time when their uncertain words wounded my heart. It's so painful that I constantly forget about it.

After four years of my settlement in foster care, I didn't trust anyone. Not even the nuns and priests. It crumpled my perspective at the moment when the only person that I trusted the most, my father, abandoned me in a place that I didn't even grow up with.

I hold the thick rope that enfolded through one of the long-width branches of the oak tree, swinging my petite frame back and forth from the customized swing, staring down at the dry leaves underneath my boots directly to the cement road.

My blonde hair would touch my skin lightly every time the wind breeze thoroughly. Feeling the pain, especially the thought that your parents abandoned you and you didn't even know the exact reason why—is it because they are tired of taking care of a nuisance like me—is it because I do something wrong—or is it because they thought that I'm a shame from their family background.

The warm, sorrowful liquids dropped unintentionally on my cheeks, bearing all of the weight and pain inside of my chest.

I thought that I was all alone. Till I heard the female voice that has haunted me for the past sixteen years of my life—it's kind, and she knows everything and advises me about the problems that I have—and as a child, I thought that it was my imaginary friend or my guardian angel that taught me what to do.

She told me to call her Caitlin. And she said that we wouldn't be talking to each other anymore if I told our secret to anyone.

"What did you want, Mary Jane? You have to choose, either, if you want to see me. Or listen to my voice."

I have chosen the second option because I'm too afraid to visualize Caitlin. I treated her as my closest yet unusual friend. But as time went by, I began to question whether she was even real or not. And ask myself if my brain is only playing tricks with me, because Caitlin would only talk to me if I am alone and disappear if I'm with somebody else.

The soft female voice back in the bathroom that morning, the day before I moved into Dominic's room, is Caitlin's voice—and I became scared that she might come back and people would begin to judge me, just like what they did six years ago. That's why I chose to stay with Dominic, because she will be gone if I'm with somebody else than alone.

The bell rang. Stopping my memories abruptly, standing up from my chair with Alda. "See you in a minute," she said, referring to our gym class—the pile of books and the thick pages of manuscript were carried up in my arms, proceeding to my locker before placing them in. I suddenly felt the heavy stare that was emitting from behind, and when I turned around, I saw Alexis with the Frelli sisters—she didn't look like she was angry or deplore. Nor does her face show any sign of annoyance. But before I knew it, she started walking towards me.

"Mary Jane," she muttered when we were only inches apart. "Can we—talk for a minute?"

My mind was taken aback by her statement, torn between the sudden surprise and nervousness. 

"Yes, we can."

Alexis glanced over her shoulder and signaled the Frelli sisters to take their leave before she breathed deeply and shook her head in discontentment, "I didn't come here to apologize because I know what exactly I'm doing. But I hope that you will get away from Emily and Alda. 

It's for your good." Her eyes pleaded, and my heart shattered. Am I really that inadequate that people around me should avoid and isolate me from their environment?

"I'll think about it," is all I managed to say before the third bell rang, and I bid my farewell to Alexis to get ready for my gym class.