Flickering Sparks

Chapter 13

The days blur together as I drift through them, the weight of everything holding me down, like I'm sinking in quicksand. I keep my phone shut off most of the time, unable to bear the relentless notifications, the hateful comments flooding in from strangers who know nothing about me but think they do. The last glimpse I got was enough—captions accusing me of everything under the sun, messages saying I'm selfish, spoiled, ungrateful. It hurts, more than I'd like to admit.

I barely leave my bed, wrapping myself in blankets as if they could shield me from the outside world. Jocelyn checks in on me every now and then, her face a constant mask of worry. She offers gentle reminders to eat, to take care of myself, but I can only nod weakly, unsure how to even begin.

The betrayal from my friends and the sting of their words replay in my mind, over and over. I replay every word, every hurtful comment, feeling the ache in my chest that refuses to fade. I trusted them, shared parts of myself I'd kept hidden for so long, only for it all to be thrown back at me.

One evening, as I lay there in the dim light of my room, Jocelyn brings in a tray of food and sits down at the edge of my bed, her voice soft. "Y/N, I know it hurts now, but shutting yourself off won't make the pain go away. You've been through too much to let this break you."

I want to believe her, but it's hard to see any way out. "I don't know how to fix this, Jocelyn," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "It feels like everything's falling apart, and I can't... I can't keep up."

She reaches over, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. "Sometimes, taking a break is okay. But don't forget the strength you have, the resilience. You've overcome so much already. This... this is just another chapter, not the end of your story."

"Why don't you come out? Jack has been asking for you," Jocelyn suggests, her tone gentle yet hopeful. I can tell she's trying to coax me back to life, back to some semblance of normalcy.

I shake my head, burrowing further under the covers. "No, Jocelyn. I just want to be here," I mumble, my voice muffled but resolute.

She sighs, but she nods, respecting my boundaries. "Alright. Just remember I'm here if you need me," she says before quietly leaving the room.

The next few days pass in a haze. I lose track of time, lost in the endless replay of hurtful moments, the bitter sting of betrayal and all the noise that refuses to quiet down inside my mind. The world outside feels so distant, and I feel numb to anything beyond these four walls.

Then, one morning, The knock is gentle but insistent, pulling me out of the fog that I've been wrapped in for what feels like forever. I roll over, groaning, expecting to see Jocelyn standing there with that same worried look, another attempt to pull me out of this cocoon of hurt.

"Jocelyn, I don't want to talk," I say, my voice sounding raw even to my own ears. I close my eyes, hoping she'll just go away, let me sink back into the numbness that's become my only comfort.

But instead of her familiar voice, I hear someone else—a voice that makes my heart stop. "It's not Jocelyn."

I sit up, my heart pounding, the fog clearing just enough for the voice to sink in. That voice, calm and steady, even through the door—Marcus.

"Marcus?" I whisper, barely daring to believe it. Part of me thinks I'm dreaming, that this is just another trick my mind is playing.

"Yeah," he says softly, and I can almost picture him on the other side, his face full of concern. "It's me."

For a second, I'm frozen. All the pain, the anger, the humiliation—the weight of everything that's kept me trapped in this room for days—collides with the memory of the last time I saw him. The hurt in his eyes that I ignored, the promises we made to each other... it all rushes back, hitting me like a wave.