The Story Of An Anonymous Girl ✔

Chapter 59

MIA

6 MONTHS LATER

I wake up gasping for air, clutching the duvet tightly, and drinking water frantically while spilling some over myself. Sweat stains the pillow, and I try to wipe it away, but it won't budge. I realise I can't even remember what I was dreaming about. I've never been so frightened. I lie there in this sweat-soaked, restless state of panic, trying not to think about how exhausted I am, or how I've been living, or how I've not been living. Until I suddenly think of Oliver. And I cry. I force myself to sit up and look around and manage to get out of bed. I reach around to the corner of my walk-in closet. I reach around. I start to sob. I am shaking when I take my phone out of my sweatshirt's pocket so I can text him, but I can't bring myself to type anything.

He never calls me. He'll never call me again.

I set the phone down on my bedside table and move towards the bathroom. I sit on the bathroom floor and let the hot water wash away the rest of my tears. Once the hot water is replaced by cold water, I get up and move towards the basin. I take a deep breath, and I look at myself in the mirror.

Wrapping a towel around my hair and body, I look in the mirror at my hairless body. My body which has become devoid of its curves. I stare at myself, and I feel a twinge of guilt for not eating my meals. Maybe that's why I am not getting any work done. I think to myself. I don't think I can handle this. But I have to.

I have to find somewhere to start to heal. I have to find somewhere to get back on track. I am not sure if I am going to get all of my work done. But I need to. I need to get out and about and defuse everything and anything. I need to find if there is even a place to start to recover. I need to get out of this house for a little while.

My eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

My hair's a mess.

I have become a wreck of a person. I can't even bring my eyes up to look at myself. I look away over the top of my head, over my shoulder. I am so ashamed of how I look, how I'm acting, how my life is.

It's been three months since I woke up from the coma. Three months since mom told me that Oliver left before one week of me waking up. Four months since Oliver and I were in a car accident.

I am only able to sleep when I'm completely exhausted. The nightmares still haunt my slumber, even when I am totally wearied.

I've fallen into an endless spiral of doing photo shoots. Working out. Eating one meal a day - enough to keep me going and sleeping once I am almost on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.

There are so many new nightmares now. Oliver making love to me turns into the sperm donor raping me. Oliver not coming to Noah's room, and Blake raping me that night. Oliver coming to Noah's room, and Oliver and Blake, raping me together that night. Oliver dying in a car crash as I watch like a lifeless person. If I am not completely exhausted, I will have even worse nightmares. I am so tired. So tired. But I am not going to lie in bed and let everything go to shit. I am not going to let a stupid dumbass idiot ruin my life - who left me because I didn't wake up from a fucking coma before he did.

Fuck Oliver. Fuck the world.

I am going to get up and get back on track.

I decide to work out, shower once again and get dressed. Donning my sports bra and a pair of cycling shorts, I enter my in house gym in the basement and stretch my muscles.

As I stretch, I think about what I am going to say to mom. I think about how I am going to tell her about the nightmares. How I need to fix my life and how I am going to get out of this spiral. How I am going to take the reins of my life in my hands again. How I am going to make my life better. How I am going to get up off my knees and stand and fly.

After doing some weight training and core exercises, I move back to the bathroom. I reach for the faucet, and it hisses, spitting water all over my hands. I spend two minutes letting the water get ready and then move back under the shower. I reach for the shampoo, and it fills my hands with grey beads. Smearing it all over my roots, I massage the shampoo in, and it feels so good. I spend another two minutes washing my hair - I am in complete and utter awe of this feeling. I let the water hit my scalp, letting it fall over my face. I rinse my hair again. I let the water cool down, and then I exit the shower.

I dry my hair and turn to look at my reflection in the mirror.

I am beautiful. I am a goddess. I feel like a goddess. I am a queen. I feel like a queen.

But most of all, I am Amelia Grace Thompson.

Today is going to be a good day. Today is going to be better than yesterday. Today is going to be a new day. I affirm to myself.

I step out of the shower, closing the door behind me. I apply some moisturiser and sunscreen and dress in a jumpsuit. I apply concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles and get out of the house, grabbing the list of addresses I that day's photoshoots.

Getting in my white Audi RS 5 - which my manager forced me to buy, I drive to the first address. I have to keep myself busy. I have to keep myself occupied with something or the other. I cannot let myself think about Oliver. I cannot let myself think about Oliver. I cannot let the world swallow me up. I need to find hope.

I am only doing the photoshoots because I need to keep myself busy. I need to keep my mind from thinking about everything. I need to focus and do what I can. I drive, keeping my eyes on the road and the list of addresses I need to be at. I keep driving. I need to be focused. I have to keep myself hard at it.

I reach the address in twenty minutes. I cannot allow myself to think about anything. I need to focus and keep my mind off Oliver and anything and everything. I enter the building and try to find the person in charge; a middle-aged man named Mark. He spots me and opens the glass door for me. "Hello, Ms Thompson. I'm Mark."

"It's fine, just call me Mia." He nods, and I take the elevator up, heading towards the room I'm assigned to. I walk into the room. He says, "Why don't you take a seat, Ms-uh sorry, Mia? I'll be back in a moment."

"Sure." I scan the room, it's a large room filled with office chairs of varied hues, and I put the list of addresses I need to be at on the side table and sit down on the orange chair as Mark leaves the room. There's a whiteboard situated in the middle of the room. The front of the board is covered in different photographs. The photos range from the pictures which I gave for my portfolio to pictures of all the different photoshoots that have taken place in the last year. There are also a few designs for the logos which are in development; a logo for Porsche - an organisation that I am interested in working for. I didn't tell my manager that I was interested in working for Porsche. I don't know why. I guess I really didn't want to think about anything else except Oliver. I study the pictures and the designs, trying to get a hold of myself.

I'm feeling so much better. I'm not sure how. I'm not sure what happened. I still have to keep myself busy. I still have to focus and keep my mind off of Oliver. There is a point in my life. There is an objective to my life. I just have to find it. Mark comes back into the room with.....Oliver Blume?

"Amelia Grace Thompson. I'm Oliver Blume. How are you today?"

Am I dreaming? Am I talking to the CEO of Porsche? The company which I want to work with?

Snapping out of my daze, I reply, trying to appear confident, masking my nervousness and giddiness, "I'm good. Thank you, Mr Blume. How about you?"

"I am great. You can call me Oliver, Amelia."

"Um....uh...I'm more comfortable with Mr Blume. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. Let's get to business then, shall we?"

"Sure, Mr Blume." I reply.