Football System: Touchline God
Chapter 40: Emotional Storm III

Chapter 40: Emotional Storm III

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the floor. Time seemed to stretch and blur, marked only by the steady tick of the small clock on her nightstand and the rhythm of her breathing as it slowly returned to normal.

When the tears finally stopped, she felt hollow, empty. Like someone had reached inside her and carved out everything that mattered.

Rosana pushed herself up from the floor, her legs shaky beneath her. She walked to the window and looked out at the gardens below. The rain had turned the carefully tended paths into rivers of mud. Even the roses looked beaten down, their petals scattered across the ground like confetti after a party no one wanted to attend.

She turned away from the window and faced her room. It was beautiful, decorated in shades of cream and gold that caught the light and made everything look warm and inviting. The four-poster bed dominated the space, its curtains drawn back to reveal silk sheets that had never been shared with anyone.

The loneliness hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her in the silence of the otherwise perfect room.

She’d spent her whole life in this room, in this house, waiting for something that was never going to happen. Waiting for Darius to choose her. Waiting for a love that would never be allowed to exist.

Rosana walked to her dresser, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. The piece was antique, passed down through generations of Marrowgate women. Its surface was covered with bottles of perfume, jewelry boxes, and a silver-backed mirror that reflected her face back at her.

She looked terrible. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hair a mess from running her hands through it. She looked like what she was: a woman who had just had her heart broken.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser, pushing aside silk scarves and leather gloves until her fingers found what she was looking for. A small rectangular box, made of carved ivory and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It was beautiful, delicate, the kind of thing that might hold jewelry or love letters.

But it didn’t.

Rosana carried the box to the small table by the window, setting it down with the reverence of someone handling something precious. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a tiny silver spoon and a small glass vial filled with white powder. The powder was fine as flour, pure as snow, and worth more than most people made in a year.

She’d started using it eight years ago, when the pain of watching Darius and Sayuri together had become too much to bear. At first, it had been just a little. Just enough to take the edge off the loneliness, to make the empty nights more bearable.

But lately, she’d been using more. Especially during the past month, when hope had made everything so much more intense. When she’d dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

Tonight, she needed it more than ever.

Rosana opened the vial and tapped a small amount of powder onto the polished surface of the table. Using the edge of the silver spoon, she arranged it into a thin line, maybe two inches long. Her movements were practiced, automatic. She’d done this hundreds of times before.

She rolled up a piece of paper from her writing desk, creating a small tube. Then she leaned over the table and placed one end of the tube to her nostril.

The powder burned as it went up her nose, making her eyes water. But within seconds, she felt the familiar rush. The tightness in her chest began to ease. The sharp edges of her pain became softer, more manageable.

She did another line. Then another.

With each one, the world became a little less real. The storm outside seemed farther away. The memory of Darius’s rejection became something that had happened to someone else, a story she’d heard rather than lived.

But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Rosana stood up from the table, swaying slightly. The room felt different now, like she was seeing it through water. The edges of things were blurred, dreamlike.

And then the anger came.

It started as a whisper in the back of her mind, a small voice that said this wasn’t fair. That she deserved better. That she’d wasted her life on a man who would never choose her.

The whisper became a roar.

Rosana looked around her room with new eyes. Saw the beautiful things that had been bought to keep her comfortable, to make her cage more pleasant. Saw the life she’d been given instead of the one she’d wanted.

She picked up a crystal vase from the dresser, one that had belonged to her grandmother. It was heavy in her hands, solid and real in a way that nothing else felt right now.

She hurled it at the wall.

SMASH!

The sound of breaking glass was satisfying in a way she hadn’t expected. The vase shattered into a thousand pieces, crystal fragments catching the light as they fell to the floor.

She grabbed a silver picture frame next, one that held a photo of the family from six years ago. In it, she stood behind Darius and Sayuri, her hands resting on their shoulders like she was blessing their union. The smile on her face looked genuine, but she remembered how much it had hurt to hold it.

The frame joined the vase on the floor.

Then came the perfume bottles, one by one. Each one released its own scent as it broke, filling the room with a mixture of jasmine and rose and something darker underneath.

She was screaming now, though she didn’t remember starting. The sound tore from her throat like something wild and desperate. Twenty-five years of silence, of being good, of playing the part she’d been given.

A jewelry box followed the perfume bottles. Then a lamp. Then a small porcelain figurine of a dancer, her arms raised in eternal grace.

The noise must have been heard throughout the house, but Rosana didn’t care. Her brother knew better than to interrupt her calming session.

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