I search for it—somewhere past the weight pinning me down.
I don’t even know if I have hands anymore. I can’t feel anything but this suffocating heaviness. But somehow—barely—my fingers twitch.
And there it is—her hand squeezing back, tight, warm, trembling.
A broken sob escapes her.
“You’re safe now,” a nurse whispers, brushing my hair back, her voice calm and practiced. “You’re safe.”
But I don’t feel safe.
I feel… wrong.
Something’s missing.
I’m crying now—silent, helpless tears slipping down my face. Despair crashes over me—cold, sharp.
I search the blurred faces, the voices moving around me—but he’s not there.
Dorian.
I need to call him.
But before I can fight the fog again, darkness pulls me under.
* * *
I jolt back, gasping for air, gripping the cold edge of the sink like it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.
The bathroom spins around me—white walls, bright lights, everything closing in. My hands are shaking, my chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow breaths.
I stumble out, barely able to stay upright.
Adriana finds me just as I collapse onto a bench in the corner, drenched in cold sweat.
Her laughter dies instantly.
“Della.” Her voice sharpens, urgent and low. She kneels in front of me, her hands steady but firm on my arms.
“What happened? You’re freezing. Talk to me.”
But I can’t speak. I can’t even look at her.
And before I realize it, my hand shoots out—grabbing her wrist. I clutch tight and I can’t let go.
Her breath catches, startled.
“Della,” she whispers, alarmed but calm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I don’t know how long I hold on, but when I finally release her, my fingers are still trembling.
Everything I’ve buried for years has clawed its way back to the surface.
And this time… I know there’s no pushing it back down.
All I can think of—through the roaring in my ears—is that white room. That searing light. The pain. The helplessness. The sound of my sister crying beside me.
And the echo of her hand in mine—the only thing that kept me tethered in the dark.
