13 XII - Breaking Point

Opening it, she sees a lot of files stored in such little space, short and long papers, printed and written onto thick and thin, with and without its special coating. But what caught her attention the most is a plain file that has the title mentioning; "Will and Testament" in a very simple font.

"You're just like your mother." He adds so tenderly, she slowly looks up at him, to descry her softened father of her presence and remarkable mindset, reminding how similar she can be to her mother. Starting from her wits to her 'carbon copying' looks.

"Congratulations, kid, you're the brand-new boss now, and you deserve it. So, care to tell us, how were you able to find this out?"

She's still processing of what she was given, now recalling of how she knew this all out, she realized that she wouldn't be here without that prideful college girl.

Naria doesn't deserve the credit, she thought. But telling this directly to them might not have a good outcome either, judging by the chaotic incident that occurred.

"It's nothing," She answers "I guess it was all just pure luck."

"Oh, c'mon we know you better than that, go ahead deepen the story and tell us, how are you feeling?"

The envelope is gripped tightly within her cold sweating palms. "I'm not surprised honestly." As calmly she tries to reply, but her trembling says it otherwise. Her father noticing it, he welcomes her his big, opened arms.

Sadly though, she's not up for it, getting off the seat and backing away. "Naria?"

The envelope hasn't let go underneath her clenching fists, neither like her words let go of anything from her mouth. Her body wants to move taking a last peek of the casket checking if everything happening right now is truly real.

But the sight of the void within the flashy coffin just only breaks her heart harder.

Her subtle concerning reactions is getting worse, the father furrows his eyebrows worried of what he sees "Naria, what's wrong?" he says, finding her actions overwhelmingly odd, her sweating and pale sullen skin.

"It's either you know something less or more", he thought "Why are you acting like this? What else do you know of this issue?"

Once again, she ignores the questions thrown to her big bottled-up head, taking a deep breath, she tries to speak again, as she's desperate to end this conversation fast "Okay wait first of all, I couldn't thank you all enough for this but..." her father immediately standing up with her as well, all three adults watching intensely over the anxious lady.

"Lola's right, I still do need some time. If you would please excuse me." She then quickly left the chapel, "Naria, wait!" the father quickly calls out for her.

"We're not done yet, kid, there's still something you need to know!" She vanished in the last second as soon as the door open, "Naria!" Last call but she never returned.

The confusion of all adults caused tailing her by the driver right away as she exits.

"Ma'am Arcangel, where are you going?" He exclaims, with him mentioning her formal name like that, reminding her how fast they catch up on the family updates. It made her stop right in her tracks.

The desperation heard in his curiosity, along with the other, she didn't have a choice but give him the answer they wanted "The restroom, why?"

"Oh, my apologies. We were just worried that you may have wandered off, and your father wishes to speak with you until it's done. You're missing out some-"

"Not now. I need some time to think, alone." The man doubts, but to respect her decision after this long day he just nods in exchange, instantly understanding she needs privacy.

He takes few steps back inside with his head turned looking worryingly for her.

She doesn't have to wait as she wants to assure him that she won't go anywhere but the restroom only, so she directly went inside.

Instantly closing the door behind and locking it, in a dimmed small restroom with a column of toilet stalls and sinks, standing very still on its dry tiled floor.

The tall lady occupied in the room, rummages for the envelope, scanning at every paper as her fingers run through its pages.

There imprints the logos of the government and their business, the amount of assets especially given to her surname. To the only remaining Arcangel left of this wealthy family.

Her.

She widens her eyes, and her hands continue to tremble, almost everything written there are no different from each file.

"No, not now." She hyperventilates as she keeps scanning at the papers back-to-back.

She doesn't have to read everything thoroughly, since she kept seeing the same content in every image, every word written, printed and stamped on. The insurances, inheritance, budget, everything.

She tirelessly slipping her hands inside out until then, the envelope rips out a hole.

Irritated, no, more than that. When smaller notes slipped out the opening rip nonstop, it driven her mad that she immediately pulls her hand out of the envelope, mindlessly turning it into a fist and then…

POW!

It flung punching it onto the restroom mirror wall, splitting half of the looking glass into pieces as the shards fell apart.

They scatter all over the sink down to the floor, making high pitched tinkling noises at every drop.

She leans into the sink, facing the result of an object by her impulsive destruction, as it's also reflecting back to her through the cracks. Her identity clashed full of crisis the more she gazes upon the mirror.

The lifeless pale tiled walls, the light shrouded by her jet-black hair, and yet the things bring out color the most are her red blood staining her wax-white knuckles with sharp sparkling debris clinging onto her wounds, the innocence left in her ocean eyes loses its definition as the heavy tousled strands blocking her sight, unable to seek the havoc in every angle, but she can feel it.

Peeved by her hair always in a mess, she writhes in agony as she picks up the shard. The sharp edges are squeezed between her rough calloused palm the more she tightens her grip onto it.

She can no longer withhold the despair carrying the pressure and revolt at its shoulder, as the mirror snares her skin to be touched with even more constant pain.

But she thought to herself, "No such pain is worse than head-aching misery." She forced herself to wake that dying spirit inside, she did.

She consoles, "I'm an Arcangel, I have all power."

She persuaded herself, "And I made a promise, my family would be grateful" but there is something else overpowering her attempt on optimism, weighing over by a whole amount of self-doubt. Even numbing the sickening heat from her sweat and blood warmth the gash of cold piercing tiny blades inside her flesh.

All there left is a burden feeling crushing her chest, the atmosphere blackening her vision, she lifts up her bleeding hand, trickling ichor from palm then to her wrist when her arm slowly and automatically moving closely toward to her face.

Then her precious orbs made eye contact with her own reflection at the very sharp tip of mirrored fragment, she sees sorrow and tears dripping down to her cheeks as she says, "...Grateful without me."