Page 8 of Through the Flames
Loss and grief hit me like a tidal wave. My body shook with sobs I refused to let escape.
No more hugs. No more soft hands.
She was gone and had taken something from me with her.
I needed to protect whatever was left of me. No matter how little was actually left.
What I needed now was a barrier between me and the world. I wouldn’t let them take anything else.
So, I built a cage and wrapped barbed wire around my heart. It was the only way to feel safe.
The faint scent of her perfume was still in my nose, now tinged with something sour.
She’d never stroke the back of my neck again to calm me down.
Everything inside me went cold that night.
Whenever someone tried to touch me, all I felt was heat and nausea. So, I put a stop to it.
The day my mother died was the last day I’d willingly let anyone touch me without a helmet or pads between us.
…
I jolted awake, sheets tangled around my legs, heart hammering like it wanted to escape my chest. Sweat slicked my back, and my body felt like it was wrapped in ice.
I buried my face in my hands, pushing back damp strands of hair. These nightmares weren’t rare. They were routine.
Every few nights, sometimes more often, I’d wake up with a surge of panic that left a residue clinging to my skin.
Sleep had become something stolen, fragmented into a few hours snatched between terror and compulsion.
I forced myself upright, rubbing my face and dragging my breathing back into something resembling normal.
My hands shook as I reached for my phone — always my phone. Always the first check.
Ella’s notifications were normal. Her texts, her socials, the harmless chatter of someone blissfully unaware of me. Unaware that I was watching, always making sure she was safe.
Relief pressed against my chest, but it was shallow. It was enough to keep me functioning, but not enough to feel anything like peace.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and let them carry me out into the darkness.
The house felt too big, too quiet. The walls pressed in, and every creak of the floorboards sounded like a threat.
I grabbed my keys off the counter, slipped on a baseball cap and my sneakers, and left without thinking, my body moving on autopilot.
The drive was short but long enough to burn off some adrenaline. My headlights pierced the night, not a soul was in sight. The only sounds were my breathing and the hum of tires on asphalt.
I knew exactly where I was going. Somewhere I could think, where the chaos inside me couldn’t follow.
I pulled into the small campus lot, the old concrete cracked, shadows pooling around the edges. I came here for the quiet. The bench under the flickering lamppost, half-hidden by oaks, had been mine for years.
It wasn’t just about being alone; it was the way the night breathed here and let me untangle the panic clawing through my chest. The darkness didn’t reach me here.
I slumped onto the bench, my shoulders hanging low, my hands gripping the wood tightly.
The air was crisp and sharp enough to sting my lungs. I forced myself to sit and count my breaths, letting the echoes of the nightmare recede like the tide.
No one ever came here. No one but me.
