EVELYN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Evelyn's POV

I woke up to an unbearable ache, my body stiff and sore as though it no longer belonged to me. For a moment, there was nothing but confusion,  Haze  still clouding my mind. But then the dampness registered—the strange coldness clinging to my skin.

Blood.

It was smeared across the sheets, staining my thighs, sticky and accusing. My breath caught in my throat as memories began to surface, fragmented and jagged, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Mr. Langston.

The name shot through me like poison. My chest tightened, my stomach churned, and my mind screamed at me to stop thinking. But the images came anyway—the weight of him, the sound of my muffled protests, the tears I couldn’t hold back as his hands took what wasn’t his to take.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling, breaking. “No...”

I pulled the sheets closer, clutching them like a lifeline, but they betrayed me with their damning stains. My hands trembled as I touched my arms, my shoulders, my stomach, desperate to understand, to somehow undo what had been done.

It didn’t work.

My skin crawled under my own touch, foreign and tainted. I scratched at my arms, dragging my nails down until red marks bloomed. It wasn’t enough. I could still feel him, still hear him. The memory was too loud, too vivid.

I screamed.

The sound ripped through me, raw and guttural, echoing off the walls of my room. My hands found my hair, pulling at it as sobs wracked my body. Tears poured down my face, blurring everything, drowning me in their heat.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs shaky and weak beneath me. My head turned toward the mirror, and I froze, staring at the girl looking back at me.

She wasn’t me.

Her lips were swollen, her eyes red and bloodshot, her hair a wild, tangled mess. Black streaks ran down her pale cheeks where mascara had mixed with tears. She looked hollow, broken—a ghost of who I used to be.

I reached out, touching the mirror, my fingertips brushing against the cold glass. My reflection did the same, and for a moment, I felt like I was looking at someone else entirely. Someone I didn’t recognize. Someone I didn’t want to be.

“Why?” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why me?”

The tears came harder, faster, until I couldn’t see anything through the blur. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the floor. My hands gripped the edge of the bed, the cold wood digging into my palms as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“I hate you,” I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. “I hate you... I hate me...”

I slammed my fists against the floor, over and over, the pain grounding me for a fleeting second before it dissolved into more despair. My cries echoed in the empty room, filling the silence that pressed so heavily on my chest.

The room felt too small, the air too thick to breathe. I clawed at my throat, gasping, trying to pull in oxygen, but it felt impossible.

My eyes flicked back to the mirror. My reflection stared back, her lips moving soundlessly as tears streamed down her face. I crawled toward it, dragging myself across the floor until I could see the bruises on my neck, the blood staining my thighs.

I touched my face, tracing the puffiness around my eyes, the swollen curve of my lips. My hands moved down to my arms, pressing against the marks he left there. My body shook as I realized how permanent this felt, how I would never be able to scrub this moment from my memory.

Another scream ripped from my throat, raw and desperate.

“I hate you!” I screamed at the reflection, at him, at myself. “I hate you! I hate me! I hate everything!”

I slammed my fists against the floor again, over and over, until they ached, until my voice gave out, until all that was left was the sound of my sobbing.

I curled into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth as tears soaked the floor beneath me. My chest heaved with the weight of my cries, my throat raw from the screams. I cursed him, cursed myself, cursed the world that had let this happen.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The world outside my room kept turning, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I could only feel.

Eventually, exhaustion took over. My sobs slowed, my breathing steadied, but the ache remained. I didn’t want to stand, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to face the mirror again.

I lay there, my cheek pressed against the cold floor, my body trembling with the last remnants of my cries. My eyes drifted closed, the darkness pulling me in... Making me unable to hear the knocks on my door as I drifted to sleep.