I feel the hard, wet floor beneath me. Am I dead? I try to open my eyes, but all I see is red. I feel the painful jabs in my ribs. I cannot move. My throat is dry; I can't speak. I try to find something I can use to help me, but I pass out again.I wake up to faint lights and voices all around me. I can feel myself moving. The ground is not as hard as before. I stretch my hand, gripping someone beside me. Oh my God! What is happening? I feel something irritating in my nose. I reach for it and pull it out. I wish that I could see or hear. Someone puts what feels like a cup over my mouth. I am scared.I finally hear sirens followed by bright lights before I pass out again. Is this it?I wake up disoriented. I don’t feel as much pain any more. I can see a bit better. I can feel the bright lights stinging my eyes.“Hey, you are awake!” I know that voice. Its Nathaniel. Wait, was he the one who attacked me? The man in the house did not talk to me. I pull myself up, looking for some familiar
Nathaniel holds my hand as he leads me to the front entrance of the house. I stop just as we are about to walk in. My knees wobbled. My heart beats hard and loud; I can hear it in my years.“I am here; everything will be alright.” Nathaniel is trying his best to reassure me, but the fact is, I almost died in this house. I nod my head, urging him to open the door. My body is still in discomfort, and staying up is a struggle. As we enter the living room, everything begins to play back. I can see the tiles are still a little stained. That has to be my blood. The bedroom door is broken. Probably from the attacker kicking it in.“How bad was it?” I ask Nathaniel.“When I walked in, I thought you were dead. You weren’t moving, Megra. There was blood everywhere.”I hear a hint of anger in his voice. Does he feel responsible?“Why did this happen to me?”Nathaniel stops walking and looks at me. He takes my hands in his. “I don’t know, but I can promise you that I will find out. Whoever did th
After a month of facing my anxiety and healing from my pain, I am finally able to look at myself in the mirror without flinching. Life is getting back to normal. Nathaniel returned to work, ensuring that there are always at least two staff members present at all times. Our plans are back on track, with us planning to announce our engagement in a month. We have also made the decision for me to see a therapist to help me cope.Today will be the first day I leave the house since I got back. Though scared, I was looking forward to the change of environment, and a shopping spree sounded like my type of therapy. I drew on the large sunglasses on the bathroom counter top, hoping that they could hide my injuries.I tried to hold my head high as I walked into the boutique store. My shaded eyes run through the custom dresses. I want to feel comfortable, but I feel as though someone is watching me. Since my attack, I have not been able to shake the feeling. I look over my shoulder, but nobody is
The room is filled with the smell of us—a gentle yet passionate encounter that we have just shared. Our clothes scattered on the floor are a reminder of what we should be sharing every single night. I lie there with the sheets caressing my skin. My heart is still racing. As I turn my head to catch a breath, I see Nathaniel beside me, his chest rising and falling. a content and sweet smile on his face. I am blown away by the way he is looking at me. His eyes make me feel beautiful and seen.Nathaniel runs his warm fingers up my hand, sending shivers down my spine. I can still feel his touch and his hands on my hips. Every encounter with him reminds me of how dull my life was with Andrew. I do not remember me being this satisfied or wanting to just stay in bed with him.I would love to live in this moment, but a more serious conversation comes to mind. I pull myself up to a sitting position. I need to know if I am losing my mind or just suffering from PTSD, as Dr. James has suggested.“
I sit in the white, sterile room. My heart is pounding. I have never been good with hospital visits. The last time I went to one without fear, I lost my mother. At 28, I am checking on my fertility levels. The irony isn’t lost to me. The doctor has already taken my blood, and now I am just sitting here waiting to hear what she has to say.She draws my attention when she walks in. I cannot read her face. Her pulling her chair is the first sign that signifies that a serious conversation awaits me."So, Megra, I have noticed something.”My heart starts to thump, and my hands start to sweat. With my kind of luck lately, I am sure the news is bad. “What?” My voice is shallow. I am afraid of the answer that I am about to get.“Well, you are pregnant and quite recent.” Her voice is gentle yet firm. The words echo in my mind, filling me with all kinds of emotions.Oh, fuck me! This sucks. This is not what I want, not now. This is not the plan. I need to know my options.“What… what should I d
The train rattles beneath me as I stare out of the window, lost in thought. The events at the cemetery are still playing over and over in my mind. Someone had to be watching me. I can still feel the cold sweat running down my back. The unsettling sensation has followed me all the way back, making my skin prickle with unease. The landscape blurred past me as we drew closer to the city. The lights were piercing the darkness that had now begun to gather.By the time I arrived back in San Francisco, it was already late. I hailed a taxi; the streets are busy despite the hour. As I settle into the backseat, I realize how exhausted I actually am. My mind is still restless. I drift, thinking of Nathaniel and the baby. How will he react when I tell him that I am pregnant? The uncertainty gnaws at me. It’s a constant twist and ache in my chest.The taxi pulls up in front of the house. I pay the driver and step into the beautiful front porch lights. The house is imposing. So much has changed for
The envelope feels heavier than it should be. Maybe it's because Nathaniel is just outside the door. Its weight is a reminder that everything I have been thinking and feeling for this man is wrong. I had forgotten about our arrangement, and his anger reminded me of how small I am. I sit by the window, the soft evening light filtering through the curtains. I open the letter. His handwriting is as beautiful as his face, precise, and almost as painful as the words he threw at me yesterday.“Megra,I owe you an apology, not just in words but in actions. My behavior has been inexcusable, and my anger towards you is unjustified. I know how much you have been through, and I did not make it easier. I was worried for you and insecure about myself, so I lashed out. My past has scarred me, and though that is not an excuse, I let it control me. I am sorry for accusing you. I should have known that this situation would not be easy for you. I should be supporting you, but instead I doubted you. Ple
“Shall we?” Nathaniel stretches his hand, and I place mine on his. We walk into the garden and are greeted by a hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. About sixty guests turn their attention to us, their faces a blur of polite smiles and curious glances. My heart pounds—a drumbeat of anxiety that Nathaniel must feel through our clasped hands. His grip tightens reassuringly, an attempt to bridge the tension that has grown between us.Our days have been filled with anger on my part and frustration on his. We have barely talked or looked each other in the eye since our fight. The fact is, this engagement is nothing but a farce to solidify our contract.I scan the crowd, searching for a familiar face, knowing very well that I won't find one apart from the staff. Loneliness creeps in. How is anyone supposed to believe that this is real if I have no one to share what should be one of the happiest days of my life with? I force a smile, determined to play my role perfectly as agreed