Have I really reincarnated?

“Gross! Gross!” My foot was stained red and I was cringing from the feeling of the flesh sink under my feet. I think I'll puke.

I have seen dead bodies, but that was all from funerals or in movies. They all seem quite bearable when you aren’t present in the scene; I’ve never seen up close (exception for my grandma) nor have I ever stepped on one.

It was the same as stepping on a live person, but just dead and more blood leaking out.

“Why are my dreams so gross?” I grumbled, scrubbing the blood of my feet with the bedsheet. If this was something about my subconsciousness speaking to me through my dreams, I’ll find Sheil and smack her head.

Why did it feel so real? The question popped in my head all of a sudden. Usually, it’s impossible to feel things in your dream unless they happen out there in the real world. 

The touch of the skin, the sinking flesh, the cold blood staining my feet, they all felt so real as if I were…alive in the dream?

I laughed to myself. That’s not possible. Or maybe I’m dreaming to such a level, it’s involving sensory touches too.

“Ahhh!!!”

I heard a scream from the door. There was the dropping of a tray filled with chopped fruits and a glass of water, along with it fell the bearer to her knees. 

A maid? Like a legit maid wearing the legit maid costume that I would see cosplayers wear. Am I having a kinky dream?

“My l-lady,” she stuttered, her eyes stuck to the body, “H-How…?”

How am I supposed to respond to her? That, yeah, even I woke up to this dead body on the floor and yeah, I stepped on it and rubbed the blood of with an expensive satin bedsheet. 

“The m-master will be furious,” she fell to her knees, holding her head with both hands, “He will once again reprimand all of us and you, my lady, will be punished oh so severely. How many times must one carry bodies out of your room?! And how can one sleep when a dead one rots in the very room?”

Does my subconscious wish to interest me in the act of murdering people and sleeping with a man right after murdering? Looks like my inner desires are to be a psychopathic serial killer.

“What would the master do, hmm?” I asked, crossing my legs as I looked down at the pitiful maid, “Ask your master to come to my room. I’m sure he must be itching to beat me up.”

The maid was pale, as if she saw a ghost. She saw worse, the dead body.

“My l-lady…why?”

“Call him.”

She stumbled to her feet and stared at me with an expression that clearly said ‘are you insane, woman?’. She waddled her way out of the room, clinging to the walls for support. As soon as she was out of sight, I ran towards the balcony.

You see, I have no intentions in dealing with the master of my dreams. As much as I am interested in finding out where this nonsensical dream goes, it wasn’t the right time. My mum was coming home today and my place was a mess. If I were to wake up any late, things will end up bad for me and I have to say goodbye to independent life.

Besides, one day my subconscious might make a similar dream on days when I’m more available.. Maybe then I’ll watch the whole plot and try to connect more with my inner desires; a psychotic inner desire.

I threw the doors open and peeked over the balcony railings. It was a good height to fall from and wake up. I stood on the smooth railings, staring at the lush, green grass that were awaiting my body.

“Rozalia!”

There was a shout from behind me. Along with the maid came a middle-aged man whose face held an ugly, angered expression—lord, my dad looks way handsome when he’s angry, compared to this man right here— and behind him stood a girl. A pretty girl.

“You better get down from there, Rozalia, before I cane you to hell!” That’s not a nice way to ask someone to come to their senses.

Before I could retaliate back, I felt a sharp pain sting my heart and then it coursed across my body. It felt like someone was stabbing me all over, but there were no physical wounds to be shown. It was a dream after all.

I screamed and cried, scratching all over my body to get rid of the pain. The tears were hot and there was something hammering my heart.

I took a step back and I fell from the balcony.

“You should’ve told me earlier that you get drunk in just four shots!” Sheil cried out as she dragged me alongside her.

After the café, we decided to roam around and have a drink to close our meet. We went to the amusement park, had the time of our life, and went to a bar to get drunk.

Four shots and I was gone.

“Dancing like a stripper on the table and then proceeding to kiss a random stranger,” Sheil groaned, as she threw my arm over her shoulders, “I should’ve known your drinking habits before we went over to the bar.”

“It isn’t that baaad!” I drawled, giggling to myself as I slumped on the ground, pulling Sheil along with me.

“It’s eleven in the night and you have class tomorrow, and so do I. I’ll call a taxi for you and I’ll go by bus.”

I aggressively nodded. And then hissed when my head started to ache.

After ten minutes, a cab came over and she hauled me to the car, giving my address to the taxi driver.

“She’s a bit drunk, please take care of her.” So much trust she has on the driver than on me. Well, if you consider the fact that I’ve ran to other addresses when I was drunk instead of mine, it would make sense for her to have him keep an eye on me.

“Call me if anything happens,” Sheil said before leaving to the bus stand.

It was silent in the cab as I stared outside the window with drunk eyes. The view passed by so fast and the bright signs went by like streaks of light. I saw families laughing together, couples smiling at each other, friends goofing around; it felt so melancholic.

My heart ached for my ex. Maybe Sheil was right. I just assumed it and never communicated with him the way it should be done. Maybe she was nothing more than his friend or classmate, someone he had no interests in.

“I think I messed up big time,” I groaned, slamming my hand to my face. It startled the driver before he shook his head and mumbled something in another language. Probably cursing his luck for driving a mentally unstable, drunk girl having relationship prob—

“I need to puke,” I said. The driver looked at me with a quizzical look.

“What?”

“I’m going to puke,” I could feel the digested food crawling up my throat.

He started to panic. “Puke out then! Don’t puke in my car!”

I nodded and stepped out of the cab that was waiting at the signal. The driver cried from behind but my senses were focused on controlling the puke till I reached a place where vomiting wasn’t a sin. I didn’t noticed the oncoming truck whose driver loved to multi-task; one eye on his phone, a hand feeding him burritos and another eye, probably a prosthetic one, on the road.

It was too late. I didn’t notice the oncoming headlights. The last I remember, the excruciating pain of broken bones and teeth and the puke surrounding my head.

“I’m dead!?” I woke up to the same old lovely golden canopy. The lavender scent greeted me once again and so did the number of unknown people who were staring at me with quizzical eyes. There was an old guy dressed in butler costume and there was that middle-aged guy who had a very ugly face when he was angry—he was still making that same face. The maid who entered my room in the start was behind the rest, peeking over the man’s shoulder to see me, perhaps.

And there was that pretty girl. She was the only one sitting on the bed, besides the doctor and her eyes were puffed up bad. Did she cry for me?

“So, you wished to die?” that ugly angry guy tsked as he crossed his hands in front of his chest, “Maybe you should’ve died in your mother’s womb. Wouldn’t have to make others suffer from your childish tantrums.”

Okay, first off, ouch. Second, what the fuck is going on?

If I’m dead then that technically means I’m supposed to go to heaven—or hell, if reading erotic novels is a sin—and have a hallelujah time with the angels. Why am I, instead, sitting here and getting lectured about my birth.

“Daddy, please don’t be cruel to sister,” the pretty girl said, her eyes watering. “It must be hard on her.”

Oh, this man was her father and she claimed me to be her sister. So technically the one acting harsh is my father. Damn, I have such a cruel father in this weird world that I quite can’t decipher what exactly it is. Maybe I’m in coma and this is all just a very long dream.

“How can one’s death affect her when the lake holds more than half the servants working here?”

I have a kill count?

The girl had no words to say back to her father who continued to glare at me.

The doctor cleared his throat and spoke, “There are no injuries on her, thanks to the quick-witted knight of hers.” Knight? “However, she is to stay in bed for at least three days. No one could jump off the balcony for mere fun or to gain attention. I believe she is to rest for some time, rest her mind before she goes back to society.”

“Would’ve been better had the knight not been present,” the father grumbled.

“Isn’t that quite rude of you?” I spoke. Yes, I said out my thoughts loud and realized a second later, I just said it out. “I mean, it hurts.”

“It hurts?” he laughed quite maniacally, holding onto the butler’s shoulder for support cause’ his sarcastic laugh was heavy, “Did you hear that? This spoiled brat is finally getting hurt by my words! Ha! How the tables have turned?”

“Rose is always kind, daddy!” the pretty girl cried out, “She just has a hard time expressing her kindness openly.”

Rose? Is that my name?

There was a weird tick coming from inside me. Like some kind of ticking bomb, or like something that was waiting to be unleashed. And the key to that unleashment was to verify a theory in my head.

Have I reincarnated into a novel?

You see, I am an avid reincarnation trope reader. Be it comics, fanfics, novels, I love that trope. The character development, learning from the mistakes in the past, finding out your lover is insane and the villain you thought was a villain was a green flag. Even though most of them follow the same plot, I love it. It just makes me giddy reading it all.

However, I never imagined I would be reincarnating into one. I always dreamt of the afterlife or being born into the future. Never a reincarnation into a novel.

“She needs her rest,” the doctor said, getting up from his chair, “Too much of pressure can lead her to once again make a jump from the window and this time, her knight might not save her.” No, seriously, what knight? “Have a lovely day, my lord and ladies.”

He left the room followed by the butler and the maids, leaving me to my supposed biological family.

Slap!

Huh?

Excuse me?!

I got fucking slapped?! And it hurts like hell!!

“What in the world—”

Another one and I could feel the tears threatening to come out. It wasn’t from the pain, but from the humiliation I was getting from being slapped by a random person. The last time someone slapped me was when I was still in high school and it was from mum who spotted me smoking in one of the alleys. It was a valid slap, and I won’t argue with that. But this?! This wasn’t a valid slap, especially when it’s not from someone close to me.

“You are a disgrace to the family,” the ugly man who slapped me said as he put his gloves back on, “First you go and covet for your sister’s fiancé while sleeping with your knight and hurting Irina every passing second because you are a jealous woman with nothing in your heart but hate. Second, you start murdering people and having the maids go through a heart attack every week and third this! If you wish to die so badly, then die in a way your knight wouldn’t save you and that your dead is clarified.”

With that, he left the room, stomping angrily.

I took a deep breath in and rubbed my aching cheek. It felt so humiliating to me. The tears were begging to be released but I refuse to. I didn’t want to cry in front of people.

“Why are you still here?” I ask my sister who seemed to have been shocked by her father’s violent acts.

“I thought…” she stopped and stared at her folded hands on her lap, “you might feel lonely, especially after this incident since you can’t go out for three days.”

Wow! She looks so cute. Her sad eyes and puckered lips. A divine beauty, indeed. Could she be the heroine of the novel? And if I were sabotaging her marriage, then that means…

I can’t jump into conclusions that quick. I need to know more. More about the person I’m currently in and also the world around me.

“I think I need to sleep,” I smile at her, “It would be lovely of you to stay, but I don’t think father would like it.”

“I see.” She nodded as she got up from her chair and left. But before that she peeked back in and said, “You can call me whenever you are feeling low. I’ll always be with you.”

I nod as I wave her goodbye. With the door shut, I jumped off my bed. I cried when I felt the soreness in my legs and a dull ache from my shoulder. Jumping from two floors did have its consequences.

Mirror. I need a mirror.

There was a huge mirror standing near the closet doors. I was hesitant to see how I looked. It’s not about the ugliness or the prettiness, but it was the fact that I won’t be able to see the same face that I would originally see every morning when I woke up from a tiring sleep. It would mean to forget that face and to remember a new face because now I was to survive in a novel.

Wait, are we seriously going with that theory of me being reincarnated?

Of course! What else could explain all this better than the reincarnating trope? Especially when I died under the wheels of a truck.

I slowly inched to the mirror and gasped when I saw the eyes. And then the face. The hair. The body.

“Damn! I’m hot!!”

Sharp, emerald eyes. Thick, gorgeous, lovely, black hair. A symmetrical face. Piercing eyebrows and thick lashes. Sexy curves and damn! I got an ass.

“Perfect!” I cried out when I touched every lovely feature of this stranger in the mirror. “That nose shape. Those plump red lips. No wonder why the men die. Who can survive with such beauty?!”

“I did.”

“Maybe you are blind or have terrible tastes,” I replied, still admiring my face.

“Sometimes pretty things hide the most poisonous stuff.”

“Sure, jealous creature—” Who am I talking to?

I looked to my left and saw a guy in a uniform of green and black; loving the combinations on this uniform. I almost gagged when I saw his face. It was a work of art, like roman sculptures printed on my history textbook.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in my room?" I asked.

"I'm your knight, my lady."

“My what?”

“Your knight, my lady,” he said, a confused look on his face. “And judging from the way my lady has been acting, it seems as if you have awoken into a whole new world. As if you were a different person itself, a different soul and the real lady has gone far, far away.”

Ah. This guy is creeping me out.