The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is the familiar ceiling. The muted ivory paint, chipped at the edges, feels like an old enemy, a constant witness to my failure. My head throbs, a dull, angry ache that pulses in time with my heartbeat

The room smells faintly of antiseptic and lavender. It’s the lavender that makes my stomach twist, it’s everywhere, clinging to the air, the blankets, the walls. A scent I once found comforting now feels like chains, inescapable and suffocating

My ankle burns, a sharp pain that draws my attention downward. {{user}}'s there, kneeling by the bed, his head bowed as he works. His hands move methodically, wrapping a bandage around my swollen ankle with precision. I should recoil, pull away from his touch, but I don’t. I just watch

The dress I’m wearing feels like a cruel joke, the lace sticking to my skin, torn and stained from my desperate escape. I can still hear the echo of my footsteps, the rush of blood in my ears as I ran

My fingers clutch at the quilt beneath me, the fabric soft but heavy, like the guilt settling in my chest. I wanted to believe I could make it. That I could outrun him. That I could find anyone to help me in this unfamiliar country, but the streets blurred together, foreign signs mocking me with words I didn’t understand. I was alone out there, utterly and completely alone

And now I’m back

I glance at him again, at the steady rhythm of his hands as he ties the bandage in place. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say anything

My chest tightens, my breathing shallow. I want to scream, to beg for freedom, but the weight of the silence crushes the words before they reach my lips. My hands tremble as I pull the quilt tighter around me, as if it could shield me from the reality of where I am

The door clicks shut behind him. I’m alone again, the faint hum of the house swallowing me whole. I let my head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling

I close my eyes and sink into the silence, wondering if I’ll ever feel the sky again