The Internship (Completed)

Chapter 8

The road was silent except for the purr of Beyoncé's car as she idled on the curb in front of a very familiar house.

It's not too late to turn around, Beyoncé told herself, subconsciously tightening the grip she had on the steering wheel.

She stared at the home through her tinted windows while her emotions warred with one another. She felt sadness, longing, reluctance—but most of all—fear.

Fear of the unknown; fear of not knowing what came next.

Fear of dealing with things she'd rather keep hidden beneath her skin, allowing herself to pretend it wasn't real.

An illusion made by her own hand.

But one can only be tricked by an illusion for so long, can only be temporarily shielded from the reality that still existed.

Beyoncé felt that very illusion start to fall apart as she shut off the engine of her car, the fear burning brighter as more pieces of the illusion she worked so hard to build began to crumble.

She leaned her head back against the seat with a thump, doing it another time as if to jog her thoughts. At the corner of her eye, Beyoncé could see a shadow playing against the curtain from inside the house. Instead of assuring her that her visit wasn't for naught, the sight just made her stomach flip.

It's now or never, Beyoncé told herself, closing her eyes and taking in a breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. Not that it worked—which Beyoncé had expected—but it was worth a shot. Before she could lose her wit, she grabbed the door handle and climbed out of her car.

Too soon for her liking, Beyoncé found herself standing in front of a door she had always passed through easily, yet now she couldn't even bring herself to knock. She licked her lips and took a step back.

Odd thing was, she found this the hardest step to take. Sure, it could've been the reason for her coming in the first that she found difficult, but there was something about stepping through the door that terrified her—like once she stepped through it, backing out would be an impossibility.

Come on, Beyoncé, you can do this, Beyoncé told herself.

She stepped farther away from the door but only to bend over and pick up the spare key she knew was hidden under the floor mat, something she knew of since she was a child. She struggled as she fought the images of her sneaking into the home with the same key, the memory threatening to break her resolve.

Despite both her mind and body telling her to run away as fast as she could and never return, she inserted the key and unlocked the door in one swift motion, her irrational fear of never being able to leave the horrid place intensifying.

Nonetheless, she stepped into the threshold with faux confidence and hung the key on the hook by the door, the action almost reflexive despite the years that had passed. If she put her mind to it, she could easily imagine herself in a time that entering this place didn't make her want to run away; a time wherein it still made her feel safe.

Beyoncé's breath caught as if she just realized where she was. If Beyoncé was having difficulty keeping it together outside the house, it was approximately ten times worse now because the inside held memories; each space of the home a vivid reminder of better times.

And it was suffocating her.

Beyoncé ripped her eyes away from the contents of the home and allowed her legs to lead her to the room where she needed to be, to the reason she was in the godforsaken house in the first place.

She found herself standing in front of a door that was slightly ajar, shadows playing under it as light escaped from the small crack. Beyoncé took in a breath before pushing the door open and silently stepping into the room.