Six : The Dreadful Dinner

The dining room felt stifling, the air too warm, pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. I sat next to my father, staring at the empty place settings, my stomach churning with dread. This dinner wasn't just a meal; it was a performance, an audition for a life I didn't want.

When the Collins family finally arrived, the atmosphere thickened with false pleasantries. Mr. Collins, with his balding head and overbearing presence, shook hands with my father like they were sealing a deal. Mrs. Collins gave me a once-over, her gaze sharp enough to cut.

Greg Collins sat uncomfortably close to me, his chair almost touching mine. His proximity felt suffocating, like I was being slowly hemmed in. Every time I shifted away, he seemed to take it as an invitation to get even closer, his knee brushing against mine beneath the table. I could feel his eyes on me, glancing sideways, trying to catch my attention with a forced smile.

"So, Lena," Mrs. Collins began, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, "what are your thoughts on running a household? I'm sure you've been well-prepared for the responsibilities of a wife."

I blinked, struggling to keep my expression neutral. "I'm not really thinking about that at the moment, Mrs. Collins. I'm more focused on—"

"Oh, but you must!" she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "A woman's true calling is in the home, don't you agree? Nurturing, caring, ensuring everything runs smoothly. It's such a noble role."

I forced a smile, feeling a wave of nausea. "Of course, Mrs. Collins."

She wasn't listening. "And children! There's nothing more fulfilling than raising a family. Greg has always wanted a large family, haven't you, dear?" She turned to her son, who was now smirking at me.

"Yes, mother," Greg said, his voice low as he leaned in closer. "A large family sounds perfect."

"And Greg," she added, turning to her son with a doting smile, "has such strong genes. It would be a shame if you two didn't combine your, well, assets soon."

Greg chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied, as though this was all a done deal. His mother's absurdities seemed to amuse him, her comments only fueling his confidence. My skin crawled at the thought of being reduced to nothing more than a vessel for their future lineage.

The fathers launched into a discussion about the latest business acquisitions, their voices a dull hum in the background. I tried to focus on their conversation, but the walls of the room seemed to close in around me.

Then, under the table, I felt it—Greg's hand, cold and unwelcome, resting on my knee. My muscles tensed, but I didn't move. I couldn't. His hand inched higher, fingers brushing against my thigh in a way that made my skin crawl. My heart pounded in my chest, and a wave of nausea hit me.

I couldn't stay silent. Not anymore.

"I—" My voice trembled, barely audible. "I need to use the restroom."

The words were out before I could second-guess them, and I pushed my chair back with a screech that cut through the conversation. All eyes turned to me, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I needed to get out, away from this table, away from Greg.

"Oh, sure! Lena," Mrs. Collins called after me, her tone still maddeningly pleasant, "do take your time, dear. A lady needs her beauty breaks, after all. And perhaps we can discuss your opinions on redecorating once you're back—Greg tells me you have such an eye for detail."

Without waiting for anyone's response, I stood, feeling the burn of everyone's gaze on my back as I hurried from the dining room. My breath came in shallow gasps as I escaped into the hallway, my pulse racing as if I had just run a marathon.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the uneasy feeling that had settled deep in my chest. The coolness stung, but it was nothing compared to the chaos in my mind. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror as water droplets trickled down my cheeks. The restroom was silent except for the sound of my breathing, and the soft, yellow light cast a dim glow on the white tiles.

"Why does it always have to be this way?" The words slipped out, barely more than a whisper. It wasn't just about tonight—it was everything. The pressure, the expectations, the constant feeling of being trapped.

The room seemed to sway for a moment, and I blinked hard, trying to steady myself. But then, something strange happened. The restroom around me started to blur, the familiar walls and fixtures fading into something else entirely. The air grew colder, thicker, carrying a scent of burning wood and earth.

"Why does it always have to be this way?" The words echoed back at me, but not from the present.

The reflection in the mirror wasn't mine. It was of another woman—dressed in a long, flowing gown, her hair braided and coiled in an intricate design. Her eyes were full of sorrow, and yet, there was something achingly familiar about her.

The scene behind her was dark, lit only by a flickering fire. And then, a shadow moved into view—a man, tall and imposing, with eyes that burned with a mix of longing and regret.

"You know why," he said, his voice heavy with a grief that seemed to echo through time. "Because this is our fate."

The memory—if that's what it was—hit me with a force that left me breathless. My grip on the sink tightened as I fought to stay grounded in the present. The restroom returned, the cold tiles under my feet, the modern fixtures around me. But the vision lingered at the edges of my mind, refusing to fade completely.

I stared into the mirror, expecting to see someone else staring back at me, but it was just me—Lena Stewart, shaken and confused. The woman from the past was gone, but the weight of her words, of her sorrow, clung to me, as if trying to remind me of something I had long forgotten.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing myself to pull it together. I had bigger problems at the moment. Like the dinner table waiting for me. Like Greg's wandering hands. Like my father, who refused to listen.

With one last glance at my reflection, I straightened my shoulders and turned toward the door. Whatever just happened, I would deal with it later.

For now, I had to survive the rest of the night.