Chapter 4: Sunday

“Hey, pretty lady, do you know it’s wrong for a beautiful lady like you to be walking down the streets alone at this time of night?”

The voice came from somewhere behind me, smooth and mocking. My heart raced as I quickened my pace, clutching the straps of my bag like they were a lifeline. I wanted to run, but before I could, shadowy figures materialized around me.

In an instant, I was surrounded.

My voice trembled as I screamed for help, but the street was empty, the silence swallowing my cries. The faces around me blurred, their laughter chilling my soul. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—I was trapped.

I knew it was a dream, but in that moment, it didn’t feel like one.

When I finally opened my eyes, all I could see was the white ceiling above me. My heart pounded in my chest as my thoughts raced back to Saturday night. The fear lingered, gnawing at me, but amid the chaos in my mind, one thing was clear: I was alive.

And I owed that to the sound of the sirens.

“Celine, baby, are you alright?”

My mom’s trembling voice broke through the haze, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I turned my head toward her and saw tears streaming down her face.

Her pain hurt more than my own.

But all I could do was sit in silence, the nightmare of the previous night replaying over and over in my head. I thanked God that no one else I loved had to go through what I did, but the relief was small, fleeting. My thoughts were a whirlwind, fragments of the doctor’s words filtering through the chaos in my mind.

“The injuries on her legs are deep,” he’d told my mom. “Some of the muscles are torn. But she’ll walk again. She’ll need bed rest for a few weeks.”

My mom had nodded numbly, gripping my hand as if letting go might make me disappear. She left the hospital around 11 a.m., hesitant but needing to gather a few things for my return home. I was left alone, staring at the sterile white ceiling, lost in my thoughts, until a warm touch startled me.

I turned my head sharply, my breath catching in my throat, and saw Kaleth standing by my bed.

His eyes were heavy with sorrow, his usually confident demeanor replaced by something fragile. He gently took my hand in his, his grip firm but tender.

“Celine, my love,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re in right now, but I need you to know something. I’ve got you. No matter the pain, the anger, the depression—whatever you feel—I’ll stay by your side. I won’t leave, not until the day you tell me to go.”

I wanted to speak, to tell him how much his words meant to me, how much I loved him and needed him to stay. But no words came.

I couldn’t even cry.

I just stared back at him, the weight of my silence pressing down on us both.

Kaleth didn’t leave my side until my mom returned to take me home. Even then, he lingered, his hand brushing against mine as if reluctant to let go. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to him.

At home, my mom tried everything to pull me out of the shell I’d retreated into. She cooked my favorite meals, brought me flowers, and even sat by my bed reading aloud from the books I loved. My dad cracked jokes, his usual charm tinged with desperation as he tried to make me smile.

But nothing worked.

“Baby, you’re free to cry, shout, smash things—whatever you need to do,” my mom said one evening, tears streaming down her face. “Just please, don’t stay quiet. Don’t shut us out.”

I looked at her, the pain in her eyes cutting me to the core. But the weight of everything I’d been through kept me silent. I turned away, my heart heavy with guilt for causing her so much anguish, but still unable to speak.

Later, when my parents left the room, I tried to move toward my bedroom. The pain in my legs flared, sharp and unrelenting, stopping me in my tracks.

That’s when I felt a familiar arm wrap around my shoulders.

I turned to see Cleo, her face flushed and breathless, as if she’d run all the way to my house. Her eyes were wide with worry, but her expression softened as she pulled me into a gentle embrace.

“I’m always here for you,” she whispered.

Her words carried a warmth I hadn’t felt in days. For the first time since the attack, I felt a flicker of something—safety, maybe. But it wasn’t enough to break the silence that gripped me.

Cleo stayed by my side as I made my way to my room, helping me settle into bed before pulling a chair close and sitting with me. She didn’t try to force me to talk, just sat there quietly, her presence a small comfort amid the storm inside me.

The hours passed, and night fell. As the darkness deepened, so did my fear.

I drifted into an uneasy sleep, but the nightmares returned with a vengeance.

The faces of my attackers loomed over me, their laughter echoing in my ears. I felt the cold steel of their knives against my skin, the helplessness of being trapped, unable to fight back. I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the night.

I woke up drenched in sweat, my chest heaving as I struggled to breathe. The room was dark, but Cleo was still there, her head resting on the edge of my bed. I stared at her for a moment, her calm presence a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.

The fear lingered, refusing to release its grip on me.

I knew the road to healing would be long and painful. I didn’t know if I’d ever truly feel safe again, but as I lay there, I clung to the small comforts—the love of my family, the unwavering support of Cleo, and the promise Kaleth had made.

They were my lifelines, fragile but unbroken, pulling me back from the edge.

And for now, that would have to be enough.