The bouquet dejectedly slipped off the side of Esmey's small table, succeedingly grabbing her attention.

She momentarily gazed at the door that barred out the muffled sound of her father in the other room before getting up to gently place the flowers back onto her nightstand. 

". . . Alright, I got it. . . I'll call you back and we'll. ."

It's been two hours but his voice still sounds strained. . . Esmey worriedly glanced at her door again. She caressed the soft petals between her fingers while quietly wondering what could have happened that made her father appear as uneasy as he seemed. 

Right after her graduation ceremony was over, her father had arbitrarily suggested that they have dinner together to properly celebrate. He even went as far as coaxing her by bringing up the subject he knew she wanted to hear most. 

"And didn't you bring up living alone once you get into university? We should discuss that soon if you're serious about it," he had said. Yet he nevertheless looked disappointed when her eyes, which could swiftly hide anything but her joyful emotions, glowed in obvious delight. 

But their dinner plans were forced to alter entirely when his phone rang. It took just a few seconds of that call for his face to visibly pale in disbelief.

Esmey was then left aside to patiently wait at her school's crowded gate with a fragrant flower bouquet in hand. She watched as her dad anxiously paced back and forth a little further away from her, hurriedly speaking into his phone in a hushed tone.

Even after they rushed back home, her father remained glued to his phone, frantically making one phone call after another. She couldn't hear everything and didn't intend on eavesdropping either, lest he finds out. Her father wasn't in a good mood anymore, so she preferred to avoid this ticking time bomb as much as possible. 

Softly pinching the delicate petal one last time, Esmey walked back to her desk to continue mindlessly browsing the internet. But she sensitively picked up on footsteps nearing her room right as she was about to pull her chair out and turned around in a slight panic instead. She inwardly debated whether it was too late to pretend to be asleep. 

Before she could properly adjust her mood, an urgent knock sounded at her door.

"Esmey," His even voice called out to her calmly.

As the door swung open, her father's rather solemn face greeted her, "Quickly pack your things. We're going." 

Esmey was startled. Although her father seemed to be in an uneasy mood, he wasn't in the hysterical and unreasonable state he usually gets into. That was surprising enough itself. But what was this about packing? 

"What? . .Where?"

"Just pack up some clothes and wait for me in the car," Her father's phone rang again so he was forced to look at both the screen and his daughter back to back repeatedly, "I'll explain later. Hopefully, it's nothing serious."

He sighed, "But the sooner we leave, the better. So just in case," He signaled her, "Go." 

"But—" 

Her father swiped at his phone's screen, "Yes? . .Good. . Yes, I got the list of all the pickup locations, so I'll forward it now. Just be sure to—," He paused when he saw his bewildered daughter still standing at her door in confusion. 

"One second."

He pulled his phone away and called out to her irritably, "Esmey." 

She looked up at her father, "Yeah?" 

"Did you hear what I just said?" 

"Yeah,—" 

"Then what are you still standing around for!? Quickly go!" 

He left as abruptly as he came, heading back down the stairs to continue his phone call.

Esmey looked around chaotically and hurriedly began packing, stumbling here and there on what to take with her. 

It was the middle of the night, what was her father thinking? What was going on? War? Was her paternal family who live abroad having some issues? Or. . Was her dad in trouble? Her brain was too slow to process the information and the words 'pickup location' didn't register until much later while in the car. But even by then, she was still completely lost on the subject. 

Was her father really in trouble? A pickup location? For what exactly? 

A quick search online showed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed as normal as always. There was no news about any war or national crisis, and the #1 trending topic was the separation of a long-loved idol group. She wanted to straightforwardly ask her father but the question remained stuck at the bottom of her throat, unable to free itself from the pressure. 

So she ended up putting her phone away and turning her attention to the unfamiliar neighborhood they had just arrived at. The gated community was tranquil and well-lit and made Esmey wonder if this really was the right place her father wanted them to rush to.

The driver pulled up to one of the luxurious buildings, confusing Esmey even more. Were they here to visit someone? . . With their luggage?

Esmey blanked out again, the confusion on her face as clear as day.

She skeptically eyed the men that respectfully greeted her father at the entrance. Her father spoke to them in whispers so she meekly decided to stay near the car until they were done.

Esmey followed along quietly once her father gestured for the men to grab their luggage and head inside.

It was only until they entered one of the apartments on the second floor that the men left and her father turned to her briefly, "I'll be leaving again early tomorrow to take care of some things. You have to stay here until I come back, alright?" 

Esmey nodded. She chewed on her words carefully before asking, "But, why are we here?" 

Her father hesitated. He looked at his daughter thoughtfully, shifting the words around his head.

"Everything's fine," He ended up choosing to cover things up, "We'll stay here for a bit. Choose a room and go to bed, it's late." 

Esmey was unsatisfied with the vague and offhanded answer but didn't have the confidence to ask any more questions and turned around to leave. 

'". . . Mey." 

Esmey's fingers fidgeted with her sleeve. Her father's eyes. . somehow seemed as though they were saying thousands of things all at once, but the only words that actually came out were, "I'm sorry." 

A fragile silence hung in the air.

He looked down at the floor in defeat and slowly added, "I mean it. I'm really sorry, Mey."

"For. . what?" Esmey stopped herself from saying anything more.

Was it just a 'sorry' for not explaining what was happening? 

Her fist clenched. 

Or was it a 'sorry' for the way they've been living all these years? The way she couldn't recognize herself in the mirror anymore? The way she couldn't explain to her classmates her bruises or empty wallet? The hurtful words that haunt her or the violent nightmares that scare her awake? The ones in which he's the main character of. . .

'Sorry' for making her stay up on some nights in paranoia? 'Sorry' for the trauma? 'Sorry' for the selfishness? 'Sorry' for always saying sorry but never acting on it? 

'Sorry'. . . for which one of those exactly?

She didn't think he would answer. Even if he did, it'd probably be in anger. 

But her father did. He said, in an inaudible whisper, "Mey, I'm. . I don't deserve you." 

His eyes turned misty as he reached out to softly ruffle her hair. 

Esmey stiffened from head to toe, her breath getting stuck in her throat.

He didn't say anything more and quietly left. 

Esmey wanted to cry but no tears came out.

* * * 

The next two and a half days were spent alone and in silence. Her father had disappeared. 

'Stay home.' Was written on a note stuck to her door. And in case she didn't see it, he had sent her multiple messages the night before warning her to stay there and wait.

"But this isn't home," Esmey mumbled, crumbling the note in her hand and throwing it away. She thought about their house and seemed to hesitate. That wasn't home either.

Esmey's unease only grew by the hour. She couldn't shake the feeling of sitting on pins and needles and couldn't figure out why. Was it the sudden change of environment? Or her father's odd actions? Her eyebrows furrowed in worry and she contemplated calling her father for answers.

When she finally made up her mind on the second day to pick up her phone and dial his number, she quickly grimaced. A mixture of unfounded guilt and hatred filled her chest. Her finger hovered over the call sign intermediately. Forget it. If I wanted to ask, I should've when he was here. And if he wanted to answer, he would've when he was here too.

She unhurriedly walked back to her temporary room in dejection.

Bang.

A loud noise sounded at the front door. Esmey's breath sharpened. She cowered, shuffling back cautiously to stare at the entrance. It sounded as if someone had violently crashed into it.

For a second, she falteringly wondered if it was her father. But the thought was fleeting.

She clenched the phone in her hand tightly.

But, as if the world was trying to fool her into thinking that the sound from a second ago was something from her imagination, her surroundings turned still.

No other noise followed until a few birds landed on the balcony nearby, happily chirping away. The flapping of their wings reverberated and their beady eyes innocently peered into the loft. Esmey held her own hand near her pounding heart and stared at the birds in fear. Her lips quivered.

Why am I such a coward. . it's nothing. Even if it is something, I could handle it. . I can handle it. . .

She slowly made her way to the door, intending to peek through the peephole. But nothing came into view. The hallway appeared as empty as the night they arrived here.

Esmey swallowed. Did they leave?

Her hand shakily reached out towards the doors handle. Her grip tightened on it, but before doing anything else, she suddenly spun on her heels and left. Returning only with a kitchen knife and an emergency number ready to be dialed, her eyes darted around nervously.

She opened the door scarcely, feeling apprehensive. But it felt heavy, like something was still pushing against it. Esmey's eyes steadily trailed down.

There was a bag of strewn groceries on the ground. A milk cartoon had exploded from the impact. The white liquid loitered around the marble floor, mixing with a scorchingly bright red.

Her eyes moved further down until she found a man leaning helplessly against her door. He was pale, weakly struggling to cough out a gushing amount of blood from his mouth. There was an uneven lump on his neck pulsing intermittently, and a trail of small bruises all over his skin. It looked like all the man's nerves were bursting at once.

"Hee. . . " The man's voice was strained and wheezy. His eyes looked up and sideways, directly at the dumbstruck Esmey, "Heee— elp. . . H- Hel. . . "

The sight of blood continuously pouring out from all of his orifices at once was a much more terrifying sight than she could have ever imagined.

The man choked and Esmey frantically dropped the knife in her hands, immediately calling in emergency services. In doing so however, the weight of the man ended up pushing the door further open. Esmey quickly held it back with one arm, unconsciously wanting to keep the man out.

Even so, what her fear made her unable to realize was that the man's blood had already dyed her slippers, along with the carpet inside before she had even found the sorry sight of the man.

Suddenly, the man's body convulsed.

Once, twice, thrice. . .

He started screaming hoarsely, his wail resembling that of a pain ridden ghost as his body began sinking into a violent seizure.

Esmey was startled and forced to step away from the door. She stumbled back, accidentally kicking the knife further away and letting the man drop head first onto the carpeted floor of the loft.

Her eyes shook and her voice trembled as she tried her best to respond to the questions on the other side of phone.

The sound of busily chirping birds in the background never ceased.