( TW : MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT )
After finally settling Isabella into bed, I retreated to my own room, letting the door close softly behind me. The quiet was almost jarring after the chaos of the party. My legs felt heavy, my body sluggish as I walked to the small bathroom. The light flickered briefly before steadying, casting a warm glow over the tiled space.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turned on the faucet, and the reflection made me pause. My black lace corset top, once pristine, was now slightly rumpled, and the mini skirt I'd paired it with clung awkwardly to my thighs, the night's tension etched into every line of my posture. My makeup was smudged, the faint shimmer of my eyeshadow still catching the light but doing little to distract from the weariness in my eyes.
I peeled off the top first, the laces loosening under my fingers as I exhaled deeply. The soft indentations it left on my skin felt like a physical representation of the pressure I'd been carrying all night. I folded it carefully, setting it on the counter before shimmying out of the skirt, leaving me in my underclothes as I reached for my pajamas.
The oversized sleep shirt and soft cotton shorts were a welcome change, their loose fabric comforting against my skin. I pulled my hair into a loose bun, the strands falling messily around my face, and splashed cool water on my cheeks to remove the last traces of makeup. It felt grounding, like I was washing away more than just the remnants of the party.
I turned to leave, but my reflection caught my eye again. My gaze drifted downward, and I hesitated before lifting the hem of the oversized shirt just enough to reveal the faint scar on my right hip bone.
It wasn't largeâjust a pale, thin line that had smoothed over timeâbut it stood out against my skin like a ghost from my past. My fingers brushed over it, tracing the familiar ridge as my chest tightened.
The memories came unbidden, sharp and visceral. The room, the suffocating presence, the sickening scent of his cologneâit all rushed back, threatening to pull me under. I gripped the counter, my knuckles whitening as I forced myself to take a deep breath.
You're safe now, I reminded myself, my voice barely above a whisper. It's over.
But my reflection didn't look convinced.
I flicked off the bathroom light, leaving the space in darkness, and padded back into my room. The glow of the small bedside lamp greeted meâa soft, warm light that bathed the walls in a subtle orange hue. I'd had it since I moved into the dorm, a little vintage-looking thing with a frosted glass shade. It wasn't much, but it made the room feel safer.
I'd never admitted it to anyone, not even Isabella, but I couldn't sleep in complete darkness. The thought of being swallowed by the shadows made my chest tighten, the fear creeping in far too easily when the lights were out. The lamp stayed on every night, its gentle glow enough to keep the worst of the fears at bay.
I crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin. My fingers brushed against the hem of my shirt, the memory of the scar on my hip lingering in the back of my mind. The little lamp glowed faintly beside me, its light reflecting softly off the walls, but even that couldn't chase away the weight pressing down on me.
But my thoughts wouldn't settle. The night had been too muchâIsabella's antics, Bryan's smug looks, the comments about the kiss. It all replayed in my head, looping endlessly, and beneath it all, the memories of the past lingered, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Sleep came eventually, but it wasn't the escape I hoped for.
Darkness enveloped me, thick and suffocating, pulling me back to that roomâhis room. The muted scent of his cologne clung to the air, sharp and nauseating, mixing with the faint tang of alcohol. The dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls, each one moving in rhythm with his steps. The walls felt too close, closing in, trapping me.
My body was heavy, unwilling to respond. My limbs felt like they were chained down as his presence loomed over me, suffocating and all-consuming. I could feel his gaze on me, hot and oppressive, stripping away every ounce of control I thought I had.
"Why do you always fight, Amber?" His voice pierced the silence, low and mocking, dripping with malice. His hand gripped my wrist, the pressure bruising, his touch burning against my skin. "You know it's pointless."
My heart thundered in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum. I tried to pull away, but my body betrayed me, frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. My voice felt trapped, my throat tight as I choked out a single word. "No," I whispered, barely audible against the oppressive weight of the room.
He laughedâa cruel, hollow sound that sent a chill down my spine. "No?" he repeated, his face drawing closer, his breath hot and suffocating against my cheek. "You don't get to say no."
Panic surged through me, and I thrashed against his grip, the movements frantic but useless. His weight pressed down on me, crushing and immovable, pinning me in place. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision as I choked out a desperate plea.
"Stop," I whimpered, my voice trembling and breaking.
"Stop?" His tone was sharp and cruel, laced with mockery. "You think anyone's coming to save you? No one cares, Amber. No one's coming."
The words hit like a physical blow, the helplessness washing over me in waves. The walls seemed to close in further, the air growing colder, the shadows darker. His grip tightened around my wrist, the pain sharp and searing as his laughter echoed through the room, taunting me, breaking me.
My lungs burned as I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The weight of his presence crushed me, his hand slipping lower, pressing against my hip where the scar now lingered. It burned, a searing heat that left me gasping for breath.
I woke up with a start, my body jerking upright as I gasped for air. My chest heaved, my breaths shallow and erratic as I clutched at the blanket tangled around me. The faint glow of the bedside lamp was still on, casting soft light across the room, but the terror lingered, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.
I pressed a hand to my hip, the scar burning under my fingertips even though I knew it was just in my head. My other hand trembled as it gripped the edge of the bed, trying to anchor me to the present.
"It's not real," I whispered, the words shaky and uneven. "It's not real. You're safe."
But it felt real. It always did.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the cool floor. The hum of the fridge buzzed faintly in the background, and the warm light from the lamp bathed the walls in an almost comforting glow. I focused on the small details, letting them pull me back to the present, away from the suffocating grip of the nightmare.
Eventually, I lay back down, curling into a ball beneath the blanket. The little lamp stayed on, its steady light a quiet reassurance against the darkness. It wasn't enough to chase away the fear completely, but it was enough to help me breathe again.
Hours passed, and sleep refused to come.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of my bedside lamp casting soft, shifting patterns on the walls. My body was heavy with exhaustion, but my mind refused to settle. The nightmare lingered at the edges of my thoughts, its shadows creeping closer every time I closed my eyes.
The silence of the room, which I usually found comforting, felt suffocating now, amplifying every small soundâthe faint hum of the mini-fridge, the rustle of the blanket as I shifted restlessly. I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, the soft cotton brushing against the scar on my hip. Its presence felt heavier tonight, like it was demanding to be remembered.
I sighed, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. The thought of lying there, trapped in the weight of my thoughts, was unbearable. I needed somethingâanythingâto distract myself. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet meeting the cool floor, and stood.
Without really thinking, I padded quietly to the small kitchen. The familiar routine of making hot chocolate grounded me, giving my hands something to do as I reached for a mug and the cocoa powder from the cabinet. I filled the kettle with water, the faint hum of it heating up a small comfort in the otherwise oppressive silence.
As I waited for the water to boil, I glanced at my phone on the counter. The screen was dark, but the thought of calling her tugged at me. It was lateâtoo lateâbut I couldn't bear the silence any longer. My chest tightened at the idea of disturbing her, but I knew she wouldn't mind.
The kettle whistled softly, breaking my hesitation. I poured the steaming water into the mug, stirring the cocoa powder in until it dissolved, a swirl of rich, dark brown forming in the cup. The warm scent filled the air, soothing in its familiarity.
With the mug in one hand, I picked up my phone with the other and dialed the number etched into my memory. It rang twice before the soft, groggy voice of my mother answered.
"Allô?" she murmured, her tone warm despite the sleepiness.
(Hello?)
"Salut, Maman," I said softly, my voice catching slightly.
(Hi, Mom.)
There was a pause, and I could picture her sitting up in bed, her worry instantly overriding her fatigue. "Amber? Ãa va, ma chérie? Pourquoi tu m'appelles à cette heure?"
(Amber? Are you okay, sweetheart? Why are you calling me at this hour?)
"I couldn't sleep," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Je suis désolée de te réveiller."
(I'm sorry to wake you.)
"Ne t'excuse pas," she said quickly, her voice gentle but firm. "Tu sais que tu peux toujours m'appeler. Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?"
(Don't apologize. You know you can always call me. What's wrong?)
I hesitated, gripping the mug tighter. The words were there, hovering just behind my teeth, but I couldn't bring myself to say them. "Rien, je voulais juste entendre ta voix."
(Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice.)
"Amber..." she said softly, her tone laced with concern. "Ce n'est pas rien. Est-ce que c'est encore les cauchemars?"
(Amber... It's not nothing. Is it the nightmares again?)
I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting to the faint steam curling from the mug. "Peut-être."
(Maybe.)
"Tu veux m'en parler?" she asked, her voice careful, like she was trying not to push too hard.
(Do you want to talk about it?)
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head even though she couldn't see me. "Pas ce soir."
(Not tonight.)
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear her shifting, the faint creak of her bed as she sat up. "D'accord," she said finally, her tone gentle. "Je ne vais pas insister. Mais souviens-toi, ma chérie, tu n'es pas seule."
(Okay. I won't push. But remember, sweetheart, you're not alone.)
Her words made my throat tighten, and I blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay back. "Je sais."
(I know.)
"Est-ce que tu veux que je reste au téléphone avec toi un moment?" she offered.
(Do you want me to stay on the phone with you for a while?)
I hesitated, my fingers playing with the edge of the mug. The offer was tempting, but I didn't want to keep her up. "Non, ça va aller. Je voulais juste te parler."
(No, it's okay. I just wanted to talk to you.)
"Tu es sûre?" she pressed, her voice full of worry.
(Are you sure?)
"Oui," I said, though my voice wavered. "Merci, Maman. Ãa fait du bien de t'entendre."
(Yes. Thank you, Mom. It's good to hear your voice.)
"Je suis toujours là pour toi, Amber," she said, her words a soft reassurance that settled something inside me. "Peu importe l'heure. D'accord?"
(I'm always here for you, Amber. No matter the time. Okay?)
"D'accord," I whispered, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Je t'aime."
(Okay. I love you.)
"Je t'aime aussi, ma chérie," she said warmly. "Essaie de te reposer maintenant. Demain sera une nouvelle journée."
(I love you too, sweetheart. Try to rest now. Tomorrow is a new day.)
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, and when the call ended, the room felt a little less heavy. I cradled the mug in my hands, the warmth seeping into my palms as I stared at the faint glow of the bedside lamp. The nightmare still lingered at the edges of my mind, but her voice had left a warmth that pushed back against the shadows.
I sipped the hot chocolate slowly, savoring its sweetness, and let the comfort of her words settle over me. The glow of the lamp cast soft patterns on the walls, a quiet reminder that I wasn't completely alone.
Tonight, that small comfort was enough.
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ð Thank You for Reading Chapter Twenty-Two ð
This chapter delves into darker, more intense themes, and I deeply appreciate you continuing the journey with me. These moments are not easy to write, but they are essential to the story and the characters' growth.
If you or someone you know has been affected by sexual assault, please know you're not alone, and there are resources available to help:
U.S. National Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): 1-800-656-4673Canada Sexual Assault Support Line: 1-888-293-2080UK Rape Crisis National Helpline: 0808 802 9999
Reaching out for support is a courageous and important step, and there are people ready to listen and help.
Thank you for your strength and for trusting this story, even through its heavier moments. Your support means the world to me. ðâ¨