Chapter237 – The past
“Clarissa! Clarissa!”
That voice again…
“Is that the new kid? What a lovely little girl. Matthias, come see your little sister.”
Clarissa blinked, disoriented. The orphanage? This was the orphanage of her childhood. But she’d already crossed time—why was she here again?
The director took her hand and led her to a boy. He had short, slightly curly light-brown hair, his expression cold, superior, looking down on the tiny girl.
Timid, she shrank behind the director, but when she was tugged forward she whispered, almost inaudible: “Brother.”
The director smiled. “This is Clarissa. Take good care of her.”
Then she was led away, the pink candy scrunchie in her hair bouncing with every step.
From the shadows, the boy’s lips curved faintly. That soft little sister was too sweet.
She looked soft, fragile, the kind of girl who cried easily. He wanted to pinch her cheeks, to tease her, to see her eyes well with tears.
So he bullied her. He tugged her braids, stole her snacks, pretended to be a ghost in the night.
Until one night, he went too far. She was so terrified she wet herself, sobbing until she couldn’t breathe.
He was beaten and punished, left to clean the courtyard without breakfast for a week.
He thought she’d hate him now.
Angry, he shoved the broom aside—only to hear a soft cry. “Ah!”
She was squatting there, clutching her calf, eyes wet. He froze.
Guilt pricked, but he masked it with coldness. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll bully you again?”
She only looked at him with watery eyes, pulled something from her pocket, set it down, and walked away.
Puzzled, he picked it up. Biscuits and milk—his missing breakfast.
He sat in the courtyard that day and ate every last crumb.
He wanted to apologize, but found her instead surrounded by older boys.
“Give me your candy. We saw the director give it to you.”
She backed away, eyes wide, trembling like a frightened rabbit.
He fought four boys that day, bruised and bloodied but victorious. He shoved the candy into her hands. “Here. Don’t cry.”
She only cried harder.
He wiped his filthy hands on his shirt, then awkwardly wiped the tears off her cheeks.
“From now on, I’m here. No one bullies you except me.”
She blinked at him—and then smiled.
She peeled the candy open and held it out to him.
He was stunned. Sweeter than the candy was her smile.
Clarissa, Clarissa…
I won’t bully you anymore. I’ll protect you.
But only a week later, the boy was chosen by a wealthy family for adoption.
“Clarissa, I don’t want to leave. I even thought about asking if I could take you too. But then… if I take you, we’ll be brother and sister. I don’t want that. And right now, I have nothing. I don’t want you to suffer with me. So I have to go.”
She was too little to understand. She only grasped one thing: he was leaving.
He kissed her forehead, whispering, “I’ll become someone better. Better enough to give you a perfect home, a life like the rich kids. Will you wait for me?”
She clung to him, whispering, “Brother, don’t go. I’m scared…”
But the dean’s voice called him away.
He pushed her back, straightening. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
And he left.
She ran after the car, until she tripped and skinned her knees, blood running down her legs. The car vanished around the bend.
She felt abandoned, again. That night she cried herself hoarse.
After that, the bright little girl grew quiet, withdrawn.
Years passed. At sixteen, the orphanage burned. She survived, but the dean didn’t. The children scattered into new schools, new lives.
At her new school, everyone whispered about a tall, handsome transfer student.
One day, walking past the senior classroom, she caught a glimpse of him—a boy in uniform, an earring glinting on his ear.
She turned away without a glance.
“Hey, you. The girl. Come here.”
She froze, then tried to bolt, but he caught her wrist. “Why are you out so late?”
Her head ducked, eyes wide with panic. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
That’s when she saw the handheld console in his hand.
He smirked. “Want to play?”
Before she could answer, his voice dropped, teasing, dark.
“Kiss me… and I’ll let you.”
.....
“Clarissa? Clarissa… wake up! Please don’t scare me…”
The man’s voice was frantic, raw with panic.
Clarissa’s lashes fluttered, and slowly, hazily, the world came back into focus. She blinked several times before the blur cleared—and Mark’s face swam into view, pale with worry, his eyes wide.
The moment he saw her stir, relief surged through him. His arms tightened, pulling her against him. “You’re awake. Thank God…”
Clarissa stiffened, surprised. His embrace was strong, protective, but almost suffocating. Her body ached everywhere, her arms scraped raw, but compared to her injuries, his were far worse. His white T-shirt was streaked with red, clinging to muscle cut and bruised from the fall. He still smelled faintly of soap, a cruel contrast to the sight of blood and dirt.
She remembered, all at once—the slip, the cliff, the fall.
Her pulse skipped. Despite the pain, she pushed lightly at his chest. “Can you… let me go?”
Her voice, distant and quiet, struck him deeper than any wound. Mark froze. For a moment his composure cracked, the weight of unspoken feelings burning in his chest. He forced himself to release her, drawing in a rough breath.
“Sorry. You fainted. I was just…”
“I know.” Clarissa lowered her eyes, her tone soft.
She glanced around the shadowy slope. “Where are we?”
“At the bottom. We slipped too far to climb back tonight. Do you feel dizzy? Anything broken?”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.
He had shielded her during the fall, taking the worst of it. Her gaze flicked to his torn skin, blood already drying. Guilt stirred in her chest. “You’re hurt badly. What about you?”
“I’m fine.” His answer was too quick, too flat.
She frowned but didn’t press. “So… what now? Can we find a way around?”
He stood, scanning the darkness. “It’s too dark. I don’t know which way leads out.”
A crack of lightning split the sky, followed by the low growl of thunder. Within moments, rain poured down in sheets.
Mark seized her wrist. “Come on. We need shelter.”
The storm drove them into a shallow cave, but they were both drenched. Wind knifed through the opening, and the chill made Clarissa shiver violently.
Mark’s gaze lingered on her in the flicker of lightning. Her thin white dress clung to every curve, her soaked hair plastered against flushed skin, her silhouette trembling in the cold. Desire tightened low in his body, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he forced down the urge clawing at him.
“I’ll get a fire going,” he muttered, his voice rough, too controlled.
“Hm.” Clarissa nodded weakly, every muscle aching, her arms burning from shallow cuts. She curled into herself, unable to summon strength.
Soon, a flame crackled to life. She tried to inch closer, but her body wouldn’t obey.
Without asking, Mark lifted her again. She flinched at the sudden contact, but his voice brushed her ear, low and steady. “Miss Clarissa, forgive me. This is just… necessary.”
The formal distance in his tone paradoxically made her relax. She let him carry her near the fire. He set her down gently and stepped back immediately, as though afraid of breaking.
Clarissa exhaled, her eyes fixed on the firelight dancing before her. The warmth eased the shaking in her limbs, but her mind was elsewhere.
She had dreamed—long and vivid. Memories she’d thought locked away had surged back.
Why now? Why him?
.......
Sixteen again, rain falling, her heart racing at a boy’s crooked smile.
“I have something important to tell you. Meet me at the school gate after class, okay?”
She’d blushed, scowled to cover it. “How can you talk like that?”
He only grinned. “You’ll come, right?”
She’d run without answering, too shy, but that evening she’d waited. Waited from sunset until the streets went black, until the sky opened and the rain poured.
She’d waited until she collapsed.
A teacher had found her unconscious, fever spiking to forty degrees. She nearly died. And when she woke a week later, he was still nowhere.
Her lips curved in a bitter smile. Foolish. She had been the only one to take it seriously.
That was the day she learned to stop hoping.
No expectations, no disappointments. No love, no pain.
“Miss Clarissa? Miss Clarissa…”
Mark’s voice cut through the haze, pulling her back from the edge of sleep.
She blinked, groggy, and looked at him. “What… what is it?”
He gave her a long, searching look. “What are you thinking about?”
Her heart skipped. His gaze felt strange—piercing, almost intimate. She quickly turned her eyes away, a sudden flush warming her cheeks.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “Just… a memory from long ago.”
A flicker of something—curiosity, pain, longing—crossed Mark’s face. “Who?”
Clarissa hesitated. “It’s been so long… I can barely remember.”
The dream still lingered in her mind, a blurry, fleeting vision. The events were clear, yet everyone’s faces were shrouded in haze.
He lowered his gaze, silent, sensing her reluctance. “It’s still early. If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll stay here and watch over you.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I… I understand.”
Exhaustion pulled her down, and the moment she lay back, she fell into a deep sleep.
Mark stared at the fire, its flickering light reflecting in his eyes. Her soft breathing beside him reminded him of all the fragile, hidden moments between them.
And then, her sleep began to speak.
“Brother…”
Mark stiffened. He leaned closer, curiosity and concern battling with his own forbidden feelings. “Clarissa… what are you saying?”
Her words were muffled, dreamlike, but unmistakable:
“Brother… brother…”
A sharp pang struck him in the chest. That name… the memory…
He forced himself to kneel beside her, lowering his face to rest near her shoulder. His voice came out low, strained, rough with longing and guilt:
“Clarissa… I’m Matthias…”
In her sleep, she frowned, as if sensing his pain. But the dream shifted. Her lips curved in a soft, delicate smile, her voice melting into a whisper.
“Atticus…”
The sound of her calling that name pierced him, sharp and merciless. Soft, sweet, innocent—yet it belonged to someone else now.
Mark froze, fists clenching at his sides, jaw tight. Darkness pooled in his chest, spreading like ink. Clarissa… she’d long since moved on. She’d fallen for another, her heart wrapped around someone else.
Why had it come to this? Why did fate mock him like this, again and again?
“Clarissa… I never meant to break that promise…” he whispered, the words lost to the wind and the rain.
His lips twitched with pain; his eyes glistened red in the firelight. He wanted to tell her everything, to confess the years of regret and longing, but she was asleep, unreachable.