TW: THE FOLLOWING SCENES MAY CAUSE DISCOMFORT, PLEASE READ THE CONTENT CAREFULLY.
I opened my eyes. Through the wide-open window, tiny rays of sunlight pierced into my room. My clothes were freshly ironed and neatly folded on the chair by the desk.
"Something's wrong," I whispered to myself. Too many colors filled my room for autumn, and it was strangely warm.
I stretched, my hands falling onto the bed. For a second, I felt the touch of fingers on my hand. I quickly pulled back in fright and turned my head to see who it was.
James.
He was snoring through his throat, sounding like a grandmother who smokes three packs a day and bursts into loud laughter at a joke.
What I wanted to focus on most was his hand. I remembered he had done something to it last night. But after a few seconds, I realized there was no wound.
I grabbed it and examined it closely, looking for something I might have missed.
"What are you doing?"
James stirred awake.
"I'm looking for a wound," I replied. It didn't take long for me to realize there was no cut at all. Could it be that it only happened in my head?
"Go back to sleep," he said.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"..."
Everything felt unreal, as if I had been trapped in another world. My brain was interpreting things in a hundred different ways. Did I die and end up in purgatory? Was this the real world? Or had I been transported to a parallel dimension?
"Sleep," James mumbled, pressing his face back into the pillow.
"Then you sleep."
"I can't without you," he said, brushing his fingertips against my arm.
"Unreal."
"If you want, I can lull you to sleep, if that's what you want. I've got a younger sister, remember? So I know a few tricks to help you drift off." James smiled.
"Of course I remember," I nodded. "But I don't want to sleep, I've got some things to do."
"Like what?"
Did I really have anything to do? I asked myself, but my mind gave me no answers.
"Maybe you should end it," he said softly.
"Excuse me?"
"Sometimes you should end the things that bring you no good. If you don't close them, they'll make you miserable forever. The more you sink into them, the more you rot, and it feels like you're slowly dying—not physically, but mentally, because that's where it always begins."
"So what things should I end to be happy?" I asked. His words were strangely woven into our whole conversation.
"I don't know But I think you do."
"And what if… I don't know?"
He leaned closer to me and whispered a sentence into my ear. At first, I couldn't understand it. I thought he was speaking another language (James was fluent in several), but the more I listened, the clearer it became. What he had said was:
"Life is the only answer to your question. Now get up."
***
I shot up, propping myself on the mattress with my hands. It was a dream. Just an ordinary dream.
Darkness had swallowed my room. No colors. Clothes scattered across the floor in chaos. The weather wasn't warm but cloudy, cold, and promised rain. The blinds were open, the window closed—everything had returned to normal.
I tried to remember what happened last night and… nothing. I felt like someone had erased my memory and abandoned me.
My stomach hurt. When I touched it, the pain grew sharper than usual. A tear rolled down my cheek. I tried to stand, but it was useless. The pain grew with every slight movement. My ass hurt all over, and… was bare? I threw the blanket off myself in shock. It was hard to believe—I had slept naked. I never did that.
I looked at my stomach. It was covered in bruises, with long, massive finger marks pressed into the skin. My elbow bore traces of blood and a small cut.
Wait… was it possible that strange dream actually happened? Slowly, memories began to return. The whole night came together into one huge recollection, one I wished I could erase forever. More than anything, I wanted to forget what he had done to my body.
"Alright, Mike, you need to get up. Now," I told myself. When I tried to sit, a sharp cramp seized me from inside. I groaned quietly and collapsed back down. "Next attempt."
I touched my forehead. It was icy, but I felt myself slowly returning to some kind of normal state.
"Mike!" my mom shouted.
"Come on, please get up," I muttered to myself, my voice breaking.
"Mike, come here!"
I had to get dressed. I propped myself on my arms, clutching the bedsheet tightly. I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and tried to lift my legs into a straight position.
Another cramp, stronger than before.
"Ahh," tears poured down my face like a waterfall. I prayed no one would come in, but with each second, my hope thinned.
"Come on."
Giving up wasn't an option. With every attempt, I couldn't catch my breath. Snot ran from my nose, tissues lay scattered by the bed. My heart pounded in uneven rhythm, and the grip inside my body only tightened.
"Why me?" I muttered.
I counted to three… I didn't move. I counted to three again and strained with all my strength.
"Ahh!" I screamed.
I did it. A few tears slipped down my cheeks, and I quickly wiped them away.
"Mike?!"
"I'm coming!"
***
I left my room five minutes later. I walked slowly; every step sent waves of pain through my body. I headed toward the kitchen. Two people were sitting at the table. One was my mom. The other—I had to look closely before I recognized him. My eyes widened in shock. I knew exactly who it was.
"Uncle Stephen?"