Shattered Illusion

Chapter 2

Each night, sleep offered no escape from my torment. Instead, it dragged me back to the nightmare I desperately tried to forget. In my dreams, the traumatic event replayed in agonizing detail. I was back at the party, the music pounding, lights flashing, and faces blurring. Then came the moment everything changed—the laughter turned to screams, and the world spun out of control. I could feel the terror gripping my chest, the helplessness paralyzing me as shadows closed in around me. The vividness of the dream was suffocating, making it impossible to distinguish reality from the haunting memories. I would wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing, the trauma as raw as the night it happened.

I nearly fall out of bed, stumbling as I race to the toilet to empty its contents. This happens more often than I would care to admit. The burn of bile is nothing compared to the absolute fire currently inside me. I can feel my anxiety rising with each moment until I'm in a full-blown panic attack on the bathroom floor.

Breathe. You are safe. You are in your apartment. No one is here. You are safe. You are safe. I repeat this mantra several times before I can finally get a full breath in. I hate this. I hate all of this so much.

I used to be the most carefree out of all my friends. Always laughing and excited to see what the day would bring. But now I feel like all joy has been robbed from me. Sometimes, I think it would be easier to give up than to try and continue living like this. But that would mean he wins, and I can't let that happen.

I crawl towards the shower and turn the water on, cranking the dial all the way to hot. At first, the water is ice cold, drenching my clothes, but it slowly heats up and then turns scalding. I just sit there and take it, wanting the burning on the outside to outburn the fire inside. I start scrubbing my skin raw, as if I could erase the memories embedded there. Eventually, I notice tiny blisters starting to form from the heat, and I decide to get out.

Peeling off my soaked clothes, I reach for a towel, the softness such a stark contrast to everything that just transpired. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I can still feel exactly where his hands had been. And although the bruises are long gone, I can still see them littering my body in my mind's eye.

I quickly look away, unable to bear it any longer. I head to my closet and grab a new set of pajamas. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I check the time. 3:42 a.m. Great. I am definitely not getting any more sleep tonight, so instead, I decide to just doomscroll on TikTok.

I see I have a few messages from the group and two from Mia.

I open the group text first. It's just them making plans to meet up for lunch tomorrow. I quickly type that I'll be there. I can't avoid them forever, and the more I disappear, the more they'll want to know why. Plus, a distraction could be nice.

I open Mia messages next, and my heart drops a little.

"Hey B. Are you okay? I don't know if I'm just being paranoid, but you seemed so off today. And then disappearing over the summer... I don't know. I'm a little worried about you.

You can talk to me about anything, you know that."

Fuck. 

I clutch my phone, rereading Mia's message until the words blur. There's a part of me that desperately wants to respond, to spill everything and let her comfort me like she always has. The urge to confide in her, to unburden myself of this heavy secret, is overwhelming. But every time I try to imagine saying the words, my throat tightens, and a wave of panic washes over me. How could I possibly explain the depth of my fear and shame? How could I expose the raw, ugly truth of what happened without falling apart completely? The thought of seeing pity or horror in her eyes is too much to bear. So, I do what I've been doing for weeks—I shove the feelings down, burying them deep inside where no one can see. For now, my silence is the only thing holding me together.