PRISONER

“Uncle, please don't leave Mommy alone until I wake up, okay? She is always sad whenever she is alone. Only you and I keep her happy.”

See this kid! My sweet, little, precious 5-year-old jewel. She has been my life and the thread that ties my sanity together. She is like a luminescent lantern that illuminates me in this dark cage I call life. Every time I look at her, I remember the decision I made back then to keep her. She is my all.

I walk up to her as Robby tucks her in bed. They have, surprisingly, become best buddies.

Robby is another person who has helped me maintain my sanity in the last three months. He is a student I am teaching how to paint, and honestly, he is a better teacher than I am. His paintings are better even without me instructing them. Sometimes I don't see any need for him to come for lessons.

But all the same, he is the only request that my family has ever granted me since that fateful day. I needed something to keep me busy in this cage that they locked me and my child into. So I pleaded for them to let me at least practice my career, whose studies I did not even finish. I almost howled my poor, downcast soul out and cried my eyes out for them to grant me this. And it was worth the trouble. He weirdly manages to cheer me up.

“First, princess, stop calling him uncle because he is too young for that name. And second…”

Ahem!

I snap at Robby as he clears his throat, obviously not concurring with what I said.

“Don’t mind your mom, chubby doll. I am Uncle Robby to you, and no one should tell you otherwise.” Robby says it in his soft but deep voice. He does not even care to spare me a glance as they hi-five, smiling as if they want to light the whole world with their smiles.

Well, isn't he getting too comfortable with my child now?

“Okay, Uncle Robby. Take care of mommy while I take a nap. I am really sleepy.” And just like that, Lyana, my sweet baby, does not even kiss me like she always does before going to bed. She just closes her eyes and snuggles into the duvet.

She knows absolutely nothing about the outside world. My poor baby! What does fate have in store for her? She should be in school, but she isn't. Why? Because no one should know that there is a bastard child in the honorable De’Mario family. The best plan my family could ever come up with some months ago, when I pleaded with them to allow me to enroll her in school, was that I should let one of our servants register her as her own. Absurd, right?

That is the most disgusting and absurd thing I have ever heard in my entire life. And I am not willing to do it, even if it means my child will remain uneducated. Her father denied her when she was just a seed. Same with them—these people I call family. She does not have a surname on her birth certificate. And now they expect me to hand her over to someone else? In the freaking name of what?

Never!

Not for anything in this world. And if there is one thing I have learned and embraced pretty well, it is taking responsibility for all of my actions. Lyana is my responsibility alone. I am not proud of messing up my life back then. I still blame myself for loving someone and entrusting my all to him so blindly, but I am so proud of the priceless gift that my mistake brought about. I could show her to the world if I could, and I will someday. Yeah, someday. It doesn't hurt to hope, right? So I am bracing my hopes, but until then, there is no freaking cursed soul that will give my own child a name as long as I am alive—she is Lyana Angel Salma as long as I live.

“You will tear the duvet if you do not calm yourself.” Robby’s voice startles me.

I did not realize I was digging my claws into the poor duvet. I stand up, heaving a sigh, as I stroll to the open window close to my painting area. This is the only place I get the liberty to sip the fresh aura most of the time. I can count the few times I have been allowed to step outside this cage.

“What were you thinking that made you react that way?” Robby asks, taking his place beside me as we stare through the window.

“You already know what, Robby.” I respond without looking at him.

In the short time he has been my student, Robby knows so much about me, and he always shows too much concern and care for my situation. He gets me most of the things I need from the shops—my painting materials and all that I need for Lyana. It wasn't my intention to make him my errand boy; he offered the services out of his own free will. And he insisted until I could not say no anymore.

“I know how hard this has been for you. Honestly, I admire you for having gone through this all. There is no doubt you are a strong gem, Ayana. But how long can you bear it? You understand that this is no longer about you, but your baby too. Her future depends on you.” Robby says, shifting in his posture to face me.

“I am still hoping that someday I will make it up for my child, Robby. Someday I will break free from this cage, but until then, I have to be strong for my child.” I say, and a ray of hope strokes my walls as the words of my ghost boyfriend echo in my head.

Now, talking of Jerry, my ghost boyfriend, I don't know how he got my number. I don't even know what he looks like. All I know is that he said we met a long time ago at one of my family’s events. He always jokes around my argument that I did not give him my number. And with the kind of influential and busy family we are, I cannot argue much. I can't remember even just a quarter of the faces I met when I was still a De’Mario. All the same, he messaged me a year ago after he missed me at several of my family’s events and meetings.

Since then, not a single day has gone by without us talking. He expressed his interest in me, and, as odd as it sounds, we fell in love on the phone. Hopefully, I am not making another mistake. His words give me hope, and he speaks nothing but his good and pure intentions for me. Call me desperate or whatever you want, but he is my only hope. And I trust in him.

“But when will that be, Ayana?” Robby catches me off-guard as he hugs my shoulders, something that I did not expect because, even though we are free, I believe it is to this extent.

And we lock eyes, me in bewilderment and him speaking dominance. I have never seen him this way. I doubt he remembers that I am his teacher at this moment.

“Robby?” I whimper, but he doesn't move a muscle or blink. He is fixing his eyes on mine as if there is a message he is communicating. I shudder, but I still manage to hold myself. “What do you think you are doing, huh?” I implore, trying to break free from his grip, but I fail.

The kid is annoyingly strong for his age. But how old is he, anyway? I guess around 25? Well, he isn't a kid, but still, he should show some respect for his teacher.

“This is starting to break you, Ayana, and I cannot watch you break down. Please, let me help you. I have all the means to free you from this cage. Let me take you away from this cage.”

His words hang in my head like a cloud, and my eyes dart into his, browsing for any tinge of sincerity in his words. But what about sincerity? He is my student. He has no reason to meddle in my affairs.

“And why would you help me, Robby? You are my student, and my problems are not yours. Why bother?” I implore after failing to get anything from his eyes.

“Ayana, listen. I am..”

The screeching sound of the door startles us, and we leap to untangle ourselves. But we were too late because my sister saw it all—how I was in my student’s arms and our faces were just an inch apart.

“What the hell is going on here?” She squeals, looking at us with loathing.

Now, I think that question should be directed to her. What the heck is she doing here? Neither she nor my parents ever set foot in this cursed dungeon they threw me in. We only see face-to-face outside when I am allowed to catch some sunlight. So, what miracle happened today? Better still, what demons drove her here?

“See you in the next lesson on Monday, Robby.” I say to Robby, my mind and eyes banked on Cynthia, who cannot take her eyes off Robby.

“Yes. Miss De’Mario!” Robby says this as he walks to grab his bag. “Excuse me.” He says, strolling out while I walk to the table at the center of this cubicle, while Cynthia walks to me with a look that only God knows what it depicts.