Felicity's Point of View
Before going to the Begum's mansion, I told myself I would visit Elyana to talk to her like the old times, but I didn't expect to fall asleep after I lay in her bed. The tiresome and stressful morning got to me so quickly.
It was already eight in the evening when I woke up, and Elyana was no longer in her room. I asked the first maid I saw downstairs, and she pointed me to the garden.
The light was dim where she was sitting, but it was enough to notice what she was doing there at that hour. There was a bottle of whiskey and a bucket of ice on the table before her, and she was holding a glass while cross-sitting on the igloo-styled chair.
I walked toward her but did not join her in her drinking session because I was allergic to all liquors. She was still wearing the same sleepwear when I arrived.
"Hey, girly!" I greeted her. "When did you become a drunkard?" I asked after noticing the ice cubes inside the bucket were already melted, indicating she had been there for a while.
She didn't seem surprised when she saw me. She only gave me a quick gaze, yet I felt chills when I saw her expressionless eyes. It was hard to figure out if she was annoyed seeing me, but one thing I knew for sure, she was drunk already.
After she glanced at me, she sipped the last shot of whiskey from the glass in her hand. My eyes widened when she moved her body forward to reach the bottle of whiskey on the table. Fortunately, I was quicker than her. I took the bottle away before she could barely touch it.
"That's enough. You're already drunk, girl."
I was surprised that Elyana didn't even budge. That was not her usual self. She was the kind who would fight just to get what she wanted.
I returned the whiskey bottle to the table, ensuring it was far from her. I sat in the chair across from her.
"Can we talk, Ellie?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure if she would respond. "You can tell me what's on your mind. You can rant at me if you want," I added, hoping I could convince her to have a conversation with me.
Elyana bowed her head. For a few minutes, I let the silence between us.
I didn't come there to force her to talk, though. The psychiatrist advised us not to force her to open up because Elyana must take her time, and she would eventually open up when the thoughts inside her head became overwhelming already.
I waited, and the specialist was right.
"Why does it seem like everyone hates me?" she mumbled as she slowly raised her head.
Frankly, I couldn't find the right words to answer that question. When I saw tears falling from Elyana's eyes, I was forced to utter a word to comfort her.
"W-what made you think that?" My voice was shaking. I got nervous because I deeply understood why she had that kind of thought.
I couldn't help but feel guilty.
"We don't hate you, girl. I don't—" My voice broke before I could even finish what I was about to let out.
"T-then why?" she shouted. She turned her head, and she stared into my eyes.
I saw anger under those dim garden lights. Elyana was hurt—so hurt, and those tears were proof.
In a snap, her cries became louder. She bit her lower lip when she curled into her seat like a child, hugging her legs while her face was buried in her knees.
No words could describe how much guilt I was feeling at that moment. It was hard to comfort someone, especially if you were one of them.
What if she punched or pushed me away when I tried to come near her? She would ruin my gorgeous face, but who cares?
I needed to do something to ease her.
I went closer and sat in the small space on the same chair where she was sitting.
"E-Ellie?" I softly called her name but got no answer. She continued crying, and her cries were magnetizing.
My eyes started watering, and I tried pulling her close before she could see me crying. She stayed curled up while I hugged her, but after a few minutes, she changed her sitting position, and I found her wrapping her arms around me.
Elyana's head was buried in my chest. I didn't mind if she wet my expensive clothes with tears and stuff inside her nose. With her sobs, I could feel the weight on her heart and her resentment toward the people who let her down.
I felt incredibly guilty. I tightened the hug and stroked her hair.
"I'm sorry, Ellie," I whispered.