* Trigger warnings* Trauma, PTSD, betrayal, nightmares, experiments, death.
The world around me shifts. Warps.
One second, I'm drowning in the weight of the sedative, my body too heavy to fight against it. The next, I'm somewhere else.
It's cold. The air is thick, suffocating. My breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. I know this isn't real—I know it's a dream. But it doesn't feel like one. It feels wrong.
Like I'm not supposed to be here.
And then I see him.
Miras.
He stands in the middle of a dimly lit room, his body as tense as a wire pulled too tight. His hands tremble at his sides, fists clenched so hard his knuckles are bloodless. His breathing is sharp, uneven, and even though I can't see his face clearly, I feel his rage. It radiates off him, thick and suffocating.
I try to call out to him, but nothing leaves my throat. I try to move, but I'm frozen in place.
Then, another voice—low, smooth, dripping with amusement.
"Took you long enough."
I know that voice.
My blood runs cold.
Dr. Amar.
I don't want to look. I don't want to look.
But my body betrays me. My eyes snap to him before I can stop them, and there he is—sitting in a chair, shackled, bruises darkening his face, but still so eerily calm.
He doesn't look like a man who's been beaten. He looks like a man who's waiting.
The air thickens. My lungs seize.
This isn't real. This isn't real.
But it is.
I watch, helpless, as Miras moves closer. His movements are sharp, almost violent, but there's something else beneath them. Desperation.
"Tell me how to fix her."
My stomach twists so hard it nearly makes me sick.
No.
Miras, don't.
Dr. Amar tilts his head, watching him like he's some kind of puzzle he's figuring out in real time. His lips twitch into something that makes my skin crawl.
"Fix her? Now, that's an interesting choice of words."
I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear this.
But I can't escape.
I watch as Miras grabs him, yanking him forward so hard the chair scrapes against the concrete floor. "Tell me how to save her, or I swear to God, I will—"
Dr. Amar barely reacts. He doesn't even flinch.
"Kill me?" he asks, his voice almost teasing. "And then what? You let her die?"
The way Miras' body locks up, the way his grip tightens, the way his breath hitches—it's enough.
Dr. Amar sees it. He knows.
His expression shifts. Calculating. Satisfied.
Dr. Amar leans forward in his chair, his wrists still shackled, but his presence—his aura—feels unchained. His expression is patient, almost condescending, like he's been expecting this moment. Like he's been waiting for Miras to break enough to come to him.
Miras doesn't sit. He stands rigid, his breath heavy, as if just existing in the same space as this man is costing him everything.
"Talk," Miras growls.
Dr. Amar smiles. Not wide. Not exaggerated. Just a slight curve of his lips, but it carries enough weight to make my stomach twist.
"You're angry," he observes.
Miras' fists clench at his sides.
"I don't give a damn what you think I am—tell me how to fix her."
Dr. Amar exhales, as if Miras is exhausting him. Then he leans back against the chair. Relaxed.
"You're asking the wrong question."
Miras stiffens. "What—"
"You say you want to fix her," Dr. Amar interrupts smoothly, "but Cherish isn't broken, Miras. Not in the way you think."
My skin crawls.
I want to scream at him to shut up, to stop talking about me like this.
But I can't.
"Her body is failing," Miras grits out. "She's—" His voice cracks before he forces himself to continue. "She's dying."
Dr. Amar's head tilts. His dark eyes glint with something unreadable. "Yes."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
I feel it before I see it—the way Miras' body shifts. The raw devastation rippling through him.
"Then tell me how to stop it."
Dr. Amar studies him, and for the first time, his expression shifts into something almost… disappointed.
"Oh, Miras," he murmurs. "You still don't understand, do you?"
Miras' jaw tightens. "Understand what?"
Dr. Amar exhales through his nose, as if this conversation is tiresome to him.
"You can't stop it."
The air in the room shatters.
I feel the moment Miras' entire body locks up, his breath hitching like he's just been struck.
"No." His voice is quiet. Shaky. "That's not—there has to be—"
"It's already in motion," Dr. Amar says smoothly. "The damage I inflicted on her was never meant to be temporary. It wasn't designed to be undone."
My lungs burn.
Miras takes a step forward. His hands trembling.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" Dr. Amar cocks his head. "You've seen her condition worsen with your own eyes. Do you really think this is something you can 'fix' with the right medical treatment? The right care?"
Miras' breathing turns ragged.
"Then tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do!" he roars.
Dr. Amar smiles again. This time, it's full. Amused. Pleased.
And then he says the words that make my blood turn to ice.
"Let her go."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Miras doesn't move. Doesn't breathe.
His entire body is shaking.
"What?" The word is barely a whisper, but it carries more weight than a scream.
The dream doesn't let me wake up.
Or maybe I'm not supposed to.
The world stitches itself back together, dragging me back into the room—back into this moment, where Miras is still gripping Dr. Amar's collar so hard his knuckles turn white.
But Dr. Amar doesn't react like a man being choked.
No, he looks pleased.
Like this is exactly what he wanted.
"You want to hit me, don't you?" he muses, his voice smooth, unbothered. "You think if you break my nose or crush my throat, you'll somehow feel better?"
Miras doesn't move, but I can feel the war raging inside him.
"I should kill you," he whispers. His voice is raw, trembling, and it breaks something in me to hear it. "I should've killed you the second I found out you were still breathing."
Dr. Amar exhales through his nose, as if the idea is amusing.
"But you didn't." His lips twitch. "You didn't, because you knew—deep down—that you'd need me."
Miras flinches.
Just barely. But Dr. Amar sees it.
"You don't want to let her go?" Dr. Amar asks, tilting his head, "Then you're going to have to do something much harder."
Miras' grip tightens. "Tell me what I have to do."
Dr. Amar watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally—finally—he says it.
"You have to undo what I did."
Miras stiffens. "That's what I came here for. Tell me how."
Dr. Amar hums, like he's contemplating. Dragging this out.
I feel sick.
"I spent years perfecting my methods," he says smoothly, "years crafting the precise balance of suffering to create something… irreversible."
"It's not irreversible," Miras snaps. "You just don't want to tell me how to fix it."
Dr. Amar lets out a soft laugh. "You misunderstand." He leans forward just slightly. "The only way to reverse my work is to destroy it entirely."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you need to reset her nervous system."
The air in the room shifts.
Miras goes still.
I do, too.
"Reset it?" Miras echoes, his voice slow, cautious.
"You need to break the cycle," Dr. Amar explains, his voice patient, like he's teaching a lesson. "Her body is caught in a constant loop of pain responses. It's why she can't heal. Every sensation, every touch, every attempt to stabilize her—it's only reinforcing the damage I did. You need to erase that."
Miras' breathing turns unsteady. "And how the hell am I supposed to do that?"
Dr. Amar gives a small shrug, as if the answer should be obvious. "Pain caused the problem. Pain must be the cure."
The room drops into silence.
Miras' entire body locks up. His hands twitch at his sides, his throat working as if he's trying to swallow down something acidic.
"No," he breathes. "No, that's—"
"The only way," Dr. Amar cuts in smoothly. "Her body needs to reset. You must push her to the brink, force her nervous system into full collapse, and then bring her back. Only then will the loop be broken."
The horror in Miras' eyes is something I feel more than see.
"You want me to hurt her?" His voice is a whisper, but it's lethal. "You think I would ever—"
"It's not about what you want, Miras," Dr. Amar interrupts. "It's about what she needs."
Miras looks like he's shaking apart.
"No," he says again, firmer this time. "There has to be another way."
Dr. Amar sighs, shaking his head. "If there was, don't you think I would've used it?"
Miras' breath is ragged. His hands keep clenching and unclenching, his entire body coiled so tightly I think he might snap.
"I won't do it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't—"
"Then watch her die," Dr. Amar says simply.
The words slam into Miras like a physical blow.
His breath catches, his shoulders shuddering as he stares at the man in front of him.
"I'm giving you a choice," Dr. Amar continues, voice deceptively gentle. "You can be the reason she lives, or the reason she dies. Either way, the outcome is in your hands now."
The world starts to fracture again.
The dream trembles, distorting at the edges, pulling me back toward consciousness.
The last thing I see is Miras' face—his expression shattered, his entire body trembling as the weight of this impossible choice crashes down on him.
Then the darkness swallows me whole.
"She's already slipping, Miras." Dr. Amar's voice is soft, gentle—like he's offering him mercy. "You can see it, can't you? The way she's withering away? The way her body rejects everything?" He tilts his head. "Why are you so determined to fight something that's already decided?"
I feel something snap.
Not in me.
In Miras.
His body lunges forward before I even register what's happening.
The chair scrapes against the floor as he grabs Dr. Amar by the collar, yanking him so close their foreheads nearly touch. His teeth are bared, his entire body trembling with barely restrained rage.
"You don't get to decide that," Miras growls.
Dr. Amar only laughs.
The second I jolt awake, the pain slams into me like a tidal wave.
Every nerve in my body screams.
I suck in a sharp breath, but it's like trying to breathe through broken glass. My muscles spasm, fire streaking down my spine and into my limbs, and I can feel the tremors already starting.
Someone must have noticed, because suddenly, hands are reaching for me.
No.
No, don't touch me.
I flinch away, twisting sharply despite the agony that rips through my ribs. I barely register the voices, the concern in them drowned out by the sheer rage that ignites in my chest the second I remember what I just saw.
Dr. Amar.
He's alive.
Not just alive—here.
In this building. Under my father's watch. With Miras' knowledge. And Imani's.
I force my head up, my vision swimming, and see them.
Miras is at my side, his hands hovering inches away, his expression devastated as he tries to figure out how to help me without making it worse. Imani is already reaching for something—probably a sedative—but my father—he's just watching.
Like he knew this was coming.
Like he knew I'd find out.
Something inside me snaps.
"You lied to me," I rasp, my voice barely there but filled with venom. I shake my head, feeling dizzy, feeling sick. "All of you—you lied to me."
Miras' face falls. "Cherish—"
I jerk away when he tries to touch me, a fresh wave of pain tearing through my body. My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat, but I refuse to let it stop me.
"You let him live." The words shake as they leave my lips, my breath ragged and uneven. "You knew. You knew where he was—you kept him here."
Imani tries to step in. "Cherish, listen, we were—"
"No!" My voice cracks, but it doesn't matter. The anger keeps me upright, keeps me fighting even as my body begs to give out. "You don't get to tell me to listen when you're the ones who hid this from me!"
Miras' hands curl into fists. His whole body is tense, guilt pouring off him in waves.
My father exhales sharply. "You weren't ready to know—"
"Not ready?!" The bitterness in my laugh is like poison in my mouth. "When was I supposed to be ready? When I was dead?"
No one speaks.
Good.
Because I'm not done.
"You let him breathe while I was rotting. You let him exist while I was choking on my own pain, while I—" I cut myself off, my breath breaking. My vision blurs, not just from pain this time, but from the sheer betrayal wrapping around my ribs like barbed wire.
I can't do this.
I can't look at them.
And I sure as hell won't let them touch me.
So when Miras tries again, his voice desperate, "Cherish, please—"
I shove his hand away, my voice sharp and cold and final.
"Don't touch me!"
Miras stumbles back, his face crumpling with a mix of guilt and frustration. I can see the struggle inside him, the battle between wanting to comfort me and knowing that everything he's done up until now has only pushed me further away. His hands twitch at his sides, like he's torn between holding me close or letting me have the space I need.
He swallows hard, voice cracking when he speaks. "Cherish… please." His words are thick, almost desperate. "I didn't—"
I don't let him finish.
"You didn't what?" My words are a vicious hiss, and I know I'm hurting him, but the anger—the betrayal—it's too much to keep inside. The rage that's been building ever since I found out the truth has burned through every ounce of reason I had left. "You didn't know what? That letting him live in this building, that hiding him from me, was wrong? You didn't know it would break me?"
Miras flinches like my words are physical blows. His chest heaves as he takes a shaky step forward, then stops, unsure. He runs a hand through his hair, his breath coming out uneven, like he can't find the right words.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Cherish," he says, his voice breaking even more. "I swear to God, I never wanted to be the reason you felt this way. I didn't want you to find out this way. Please…" He takes another step closer, his eyes wide and full of something close to panic, like he's scared to get too close, like he's waiting for me to shove him away again.
I want to.
The pain, the betrayal, the feeling that my entire world has been turned upside down—it's too much. My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms, but it's the only way I can keep myself from completely falling apart.
"Please," he begs again, his voice raw, barely a whisper. "Please don't. Please let me help you."
I open my mouth, ready to scream, ready to shove him as far away from me as possible. But before I can, the words die in my throat.
Something in his eyes, that raw vulnerability, makes the anger choke in my chest, but it doesn't go away. It still burns.
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you."
His face tightens at that, but he doesn't back down.
"Please, Cherie." His voice cracks again, but this time it sounds like something breaking inside him. "I need you to understand—everything I did, everything I kept from you… it was to protect you. I thought… I thought if you knew, it would break you even more. I couldn't—I couldn't lose you like that. Please—don't shut me out."
I don't answer.
I can't answer.
Because the truth is, I don't know what I'm feeling anymore.
I feel like I'm suffocating, drowning in my own anger, and it's all I have left. I don't know how to untangle it, how to let him in, not after everything.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, but Miras doesn't move away. He stands there, the weight of his apology hanging between us, and for a moment, I hate that I can see how much it's destroying him.
Every muscle in my body tenses, every breath sharp and shallow as the pain spikes. I feel like my entire chest is being crushed, like every inch of my skin is on fire, but I can't stop it. I won't let anyone help me, not even now. Not after everything.
Miras is still standing there, waiting for me to do something, to say something, but all I can feel is this maddening pressure, this unbearable weight that crushes my chest with every breath.
I shake my head violently, the world spinning, my vision blurring. It doesn't matter. The anger keeps building, the intensity of it lashing out at the only thing I feel like I still have control over.
"No," I rasp through gritted teeth, my hands trembling, my nails digging into the sides of the bed as if they could somehow hold me together. "I don't want help."
But I can feel it—the pressure inside my body, the ache in my lungs, the tightness of my muscles—like I'm being torn apart from the inside out.
Miras takes a step closer, and I feel his presence like a weight pressing against me, suffocating me. "Cherish," he says, his voice softer this time, but there's an edge to it now, a note of panic that sends a chill through me. "Please, just let me—"
"No," I hiss again, my breath coming in jagged gasps as I feel the pain intensify. "I don't want anyone near me." I can't explain why—maybe I just want to be angry, maybe I just want to be left alone to feel this.
But the reality of it hits me, and the pain is too much. I can't breathe, I can't think, the world is spinning, and my body is trembling, but I still refuse to let anyone help me. I'd rather die like this than let them touch me again, than let them try to fix me when I feel so broken inside.
I hear Miras's voice again, but it's a low murmur now, the sound of him struggling to keep it together. "Cherish, please. Don't do this to yourself."
I can't stop the tears now. They're rolling down my cheeks without my permission, mixing with the sweat that's beading on my forehead as the pain grows worse. I can feel my body shutting down, but even through the fog of agony, all I can do is shake my head.
"I don't care," I whisper, barely able to breathe through the words. "I'm not letting you in again." The words taste like acid in my mouth, but I don't care. It's the only thing I feel in control of.
Everything else is out of my hands.
The pain is unbearable. But my anger is worse.
The air in the room feels thick, oppressive, and every movement feels like it requires more energy than I have left. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the weight of it crushing my chest, but somehow, even with everything inside of me screaming for help, I still refuse to give in. I won't let them fix me. I won't let them touch me, not after everything.
I hear Miras step forward again, and despite myself, the sound of his footfall makes my skin crawl. I don't want to feel him close to me right now. Not when I can barely hold myself together.
"Cherish," his voice is strained, barely above a whisper, but there's a desperation in it that tears at something deep inside of me. "Please… I need you to let me help."
But I can't. I won't. And I hate that he still wants to. He shouldn't. Not after everything. Not after what I've been through. I can't let him see me fall apart any more than I already have.
I feel my hands clenching into fists, but the trembling is getting worse, the pain flaring brighter, a constant burn under my skin, radiating outward until it feels like every nerve is on fire.
And still, the anger—my anger—keeps it all in check. Keeps me from giving in, keeps me from letting anyone touch me, even though the world around me is crumbling.
"You're… you're not…" I struggle to form the words, my voice strained and tight with the effort, "You're not saving me. You're not fixing me."
I hear Miras's breath hitch. The tension in the air between us crackles.
Then, a long, almost unbearable silence falls. I'm not sure if it's because Miras is scared, or if he's just waiting for me to collapse into his arms. But I can't. I can't let myself do that.
Finally, his voice, broken, almost pleading, cuts through the silence. "I'm not trying to fix you, Cherish. I just need to know you're still here. I need to know you're still with me."
But it's too late. His words hit me like a slap, and suddenly, the weight of everything—the anger, the fear, the hurt—comes crashing down in a way I can't control anymore. My body starts to shake uncontrollably, a deep, aching sob tearing its way out of my throat.
The tears are coming, faster now, and I can't stop them. My heart hammers in my chest, and everything is burning—the pressure, the heat, the waves of grief and pain that push me to the edge. It feels like I'm drowning, and all I can do is scream into the darkness of it.
Miras reaches out, but I don't know if I want him to touch me anymore. His hands hover, uncertain, and for the first time, I feel something like shame wash over me. But I can't stop it. I can't stop any of it.
Miras watches me, his eyes wide with a desperate, tortured look that cracks through my anger. I see it in him—this overwhelming need to help, even when I push him away with everything I have left. His hand is still hovering near my wrist, a gentle, steady presence that's both grounding and infuriating.
I can feel the anger seeping out of me, little by little, but I can't let it go completely. I can't let them fix me. Not after everything. Not when they kept things from me—when they kept him from me.
"Cherish, please," Miras says softly, his voice tight with fear. "I can't let you keep doing this. I know you don't want me to, but I'm not going to let you die."
It's the last part of his words that hits me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightens, the pain intensifying with every breath. I want to tell him to stop. To leave me alone. To let me go. But my body is no longer my own, and I know deep down that if I don't let him do something, if I don't let him try, it's over.
The pain is so much now. It's overwhelming, suffocating, like it's slowly tearing me apart from the inside out. I feel it twisting through my chest, my spine, my limbs, making every nerve scream in agony. And no matter how tightly I try to control my breath, I can't escape it. It feels like drowning, only in a fire.
I try to shake my head, to push him away. "No," I rasp, my throat tight. "You can't… you can't save me."
"Cherish," Imani says from the other side of the room, his voice calm but full of urgency, "This is bigger than just you pushing people away. Your body isn't healing, and it's not going to heal without intervention. You need help, and we need to give it to you."
My father steps forward, his face pale, his expression full of regret and helplessness. "Please," he says, voice thick. "We've been through this before, kid. You need to let them help you."
"No," I choke out again, my chest seizing in on itself as the pain grows sharper, spreading like cracks through my bones. "I'm done being fixed."
But it's too late. The more I resist, the more my body betrays me. My vision swims with darkness, and the pain claws its way deeper into my gut, tightening around my chest like a vice. I can't breathe.
And that's when Miras does it.
Without asking, without waiting for me to give permission, his fingers slip around my wrist, pulling me gently but firmly into his chest.
"Let me help you, Cherish," he whispers, voice trembling with emotion. "I can't let you go. Please."
I try to pull away, to claw at him, to push him off. But everything is slipping. The darkness is creeping in. I can feel myself fading. The pain is so unbearable, so raw, that I don't even have the strength to fight anymore.
And then, I hear Imani's voice again, more insistent this time: "We need to start the IV now, or she won't make it through this."
My father steps in with a sharp breath, his eyes full of determination, even though I can tell he's terrified. "We don't have a choice."
Everything is spinning now. I'm so tired. So lost in the pain that I can't see straight. But I feel Miras there, holding me together when I can't even hold myself up. His grip on me is firm, unwavering. It's almost like he's holding me together, like if he lets go, I'll crumble.
"Please don't leave me," Miras whispers in my ear, his voice cracking, pleading. "Please, don't leave me like this. I need you."
And that's when everything happens so fast. Imani and my father move, their hands steady as they prepare the IV. I feel the needle pierce my skin, the flow of something cold rushing into me. But it's not enough. The darkness is still pulling me under, the sharp pain suffocating me, and nothing feels like it's enough anymore.
Miras's voice is the only thing I can hear clearly. It's the only thing that grounds me in this moment. "I'm not letting you go," he says again, his voice fierce. "Not this time."
The pain is a storm. A ferocious, relentless force tearing through me, pulling apart everything I am, everything I've ever been. It twists and writhes inside my body like a living thing, tearing at my insides, scorching my nerves, suffocating me in a way I can't escape. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't—
"We have to do Miras," Imani is no longer focused on the IV. "She's out of time."
Miras looks at him, his eyes pleading, "no, we have to wait. Not now—just let her calm down before—"
"She's going to die Miras," Imani forces himself to be calm, but his voice is urgent. "It's now or never."
No. No. Please, don't touch me.
The thought is a weak whisper in my mind, drowned out by the chaos of my body. But I can feel them. I feel them, standing over me, their presence a heavy weight pressing down on me, suffocating me with their concern, their fear.
"Don't," I manage to choke out, my throat raw, every word laced with desperation. My hands are clutching the sheets so tight I feel like I might rip them apart. My heart is hammering in my chest, the beating of it suffocating me just as much as the pain itself.
"Please, don't—"
Miras's voice. So soft, so filled with that same desperation that I can barely stand it. "Cherish, please. We don't have a choice. You're slipping away."
The words break through the haze for a moment, but I can't make sense of them. No, no—I can't. I won't. They can't do this to me. Not again.
My chest heaves as I try to push against the bed, to pull away from the cold, merciless touch of their hands. But I can't. My body isn't listening, my limbs weak and shaking, the pain so blinding that I can't think straight. I can barely breathe.
I hear Imani's voice now, steady but filled with a desperation I can't ignore. "It's the only way, Cherish. You have to let us do this. Please."
I try to fight it, my hands digging into the sheets so hard my fingers start to cramp. The anger surges again, sharp and bitter. How dare they? How dare they think they can do this without me? How dare they treat me like I'm some experiment, some thing they can fix without my say?
I want to scream, but it's too much. The pain swallows my words, and all that's left is the endless ache and the feeling of being trapped in my own body.
"No—" My voice cracks, my eyes desperate, panicked. "I won't—I won't let you."
Imani's face is there, close now, but he's not looking at me the way I need him to. He's looking at me like he's already made up his mind. Like he's already decided what's best for me, and my refusal won't matter.
"You're not letting us, Cherish. It's not a choice anymore." His voice trembles, a quiet sadness beneath the command, but it doesn't make me feel better. It doesn't make me feel safe.
But then, Miras is there, his fingers brushing against mine, his touch shaking, pleading.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cherish," he says, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But we can't lose you. Not like this. Please, don't shut me out now."
I try to jerk my hand away, but my body doesn't obey. His touch feels like it's burning me. It's burning me, but somehow, at the same time, I can't stop him. I can't stop him.
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut against the feeling of his hands on me, the weight of everything crashing down. I can hear him still, the words wrapping around me like chains. "Please, Cherish… just let me help you. We're running out of time."
And then, I hear my father's voice. His tone is soft, broken. "We're doing this because we love you. We've tried everything else. Please, sweetheart."
I don't care about your love right now.
But I can't say it. I can't speak. I can barely breathe. The pain is everywhere. I want to scream, but it's too much. It's too much.
I hear Imani moving closer, and I don't want him near me. I want to push him away, but my body's already betraying me, crumbling under the weight of it all. His hands are on me, steady but firm. My skin burns under his touch, every nerve screaming in agony, but I can't push him away. I can't. I'm too weak.
"Cherish, please. We can't wait any longer." Imani's voice is quiet, steady. "It's the only way to save you."
His words are final. He's already decided. It's not a choice. Not anymore.
"Please…" Miras whispers again, his voice trembling as he watches me, his face a mask of grief and guilt. "Please don't hate me."
But I do. I do hate them. I hate them for doing this to me. For not trusting me. For taking away the only shred of control I had left.
And yet—yet, as the pain builds to a crescendo, I feel myself slipping. I can't hold on much longer.
The tears fall before I even realize they're there, silent and burning. I close my eyes, my chest rattling as I feel my body betray me.
I can't do this anymore. I can't fight it.
And then, everything goes dark.
A small part of me, just a whisper, is grateful.
****
The pain hits me first. It tears through me like an unforgiving storm, rending every fiber of my being as I try to scream but can't, can't because my lungs are too weak, my throat too tight, my body too overwhelmed. I fight against it, desperate to get away from the agony, but I can't move.
And then, like a sudden slap to my senses, I feel it—the sharp, biting pressure of restraints around my wrists and ankles. Cold, unforgiving straps holding me to the bed, trapping me in place like an animal. My heart pounds in my chest, panic rising, the edges of my vision blurring as I thrash, desperate to get free, to escape.
But it's no use.
My body feels heavy, drained of any strength I had left. My eyes flicker open, struggling against the haze of pain and sedatives. I can barely focus, but I know—I know.
This isn't just the aftershock of the attack. This isn't just the pain I'm used to. This is something else. Something far worse.
I'm trapped.
Strapped to the bed. Strapped.
The betrayal burns deep in my chest, a fire that is hotter than the pain, more intense than anything I've ever felt before. They did this. Imani. Miras. My father. They did this to me.
I don't know how long I lay there, struggling to breathe, struggling to stay conscious. My heart is pounding in my ears, each beat a sharp reminder of everything they've done, everything they've taken from me.
I blink, tears slipping from my eyes.
How could they?
Miras's face flashes before my eyes—his bloodshot, tear-streaked face, filled with so much sorrow, so much guilt. His voice echoes in my mind, his words still fresh: "I'm sorry, Cherish. I'm so sorry."
But how could I forgive him now?
How could I forgive any of them?
I try to push against the restraints, panic swelling up inside me, but it's futile. I can't get free. I'm trapped, trapped in this nightmare of my own making, trapped by their decisions.
They did this. They did this to me.
I don't know if I'm sobbing or screaming, but I feel it. The guilt. The anger. The heartache. It's a storm inside me, a storm that drowns out everything else, until the only thing left is the raw, ugly feeling of being betrayed.
They took my control from me. They took everything from me. They did it for my own good, they said. For my safety. To save me.
But I don't care. None of that matters. Because I know now—the truth is, they never trusted me. They never let me make my own choices.
I'm nothing but a victim to them.
The thought claws at me, twisting the knife deeper into my heart. I want to scream. I want to beg them to undo this, to take this away, to take everything back. But all I can do is lie here, strapped down, burning with the fury of it all.
I hate them. I hate them for this. I hate them for making me feel like this.
And yet, there's something else—a weak, fractured part of me—that wants to understand. That wants to ask, to demand the truth. Why? Why would they think this was the only way?
But I can't. The words die in my throat. The pain is still there, still ripping through me, and I can barely think.
I just want to scream. I just want them to stop.
But it feels like too late for that.
"Miras... please..." I beg, my voice weak, pleading. My throat burns as I try to call his name, try to get him to understand. But even as I beg him, I know it won't change anything. The anger inside me is still there, so raw and consuming, but the pain is becoming unbearable.
I can feel it. Feel my body breaking down, feel myself slipping again.
"Please, Miras," I beg again, my breath shallow, each word an effort. I can barely keep my eyes open, and each movement of my chest feels like a battle I can't win. "Let me out. Please... Let me go..."
I see him standing there, his face pale, his hands shaking as they hover over the restraints. He doesn't speak. He's frozen, like a statue. The desperation in his eyes cuts through me like a thousand shards of glass.
"Miras," I sob, my throat closing. I feel like I'm suffocating. My body is on fire with pain, and the world around me is spinning out of control. I don't know how much longer I can take it.
"Please..."
His hands twitch, but he doesn't touch me. He doesn't unstrap me. I'm getting weaker, my vision fading at the edges, and I know, I know that if this doesn't stop soon, I'll be gone.
That thought, more than anything, hits me like a fist to the chest.
I can't go like this. Not like this, not when I'm this angry. Not when I haven't said everything I need to say.
But even that defiance starts to falter, fading as the pain takes hold again, grinding down my resolve. I want to scream, to push him away, but I'm nothing but a broken thing, begging for freedom.
And then I hear it.
Imani's voice. Firm, urgent.
"Miras, you have to do this. If you stop now... she's going to die. You know it."
The words hang in the air like a verdict, cutting through the fog of pain and panic. I hear them, but they don't reach me. They just make everything sharper, more real.
I look up at Miras, my eyes blurry with tears, my chest choking on every breath.
"Please... don't let me die..." I whisper through clenched teeth.
But I can see it. The devastation in Miras's face. It's like he's suffocating, too. The guilt, the helplessness, it's all written on him.
But I don't care. I can't care.
And yet—there's something in me that still loves him. Something that wants him to save me. To make it stop. To fix this. But as the pain pulls me under again, I don't know how much longer I'll have the strength to hold onto it.
I want to fight.
I want to be angry.
But all I feel is the unbearable weight of everything crushing me, pushing me further down.
Miras stands at the edge of the bed, his fists clenched, his breath ragged. The pain in my body is unbearable, but I see it in him too—his entire frame shaking with the effort to keep himself composed. His eyes are wide, haunted, like every second of this is killing him just as much as it's killing me.
I can't bear it. I can't stand seeing him like this, knowing it's my pain that's doing this to him. But even in the haze of agony, a thought cuts through: He's doing this to me. He's part of it.
"Miras... please..." I choke out, my voice strangled by the rawness of my throat. I tug weakly at the restraints, the metal biting into my skin, desperate to get free. The pain is a fire running through my veins, each heartbeat making it worse. But what I feel most is the sense of betrayal—betrayal that I can't escape. "Please, just stop. You don't have to do this. Don't—" I can't even finish the sentence before the pain hits me like a wave crashing against sharp rocks. I gasp, my chest tight, but I force the words out anyway. I can't let him keep doing this to me.
"You're killing me, Miras," I whisper through gritted teeth
Miras flinches, his face contorting with anguish as if each word I say is another slash against his soul. He doesn't move, his body rigid, his hands hovering over the restraints, but never quite touching them. His eyes dart between mine, but I can see the internal battle raging in him.
"Please, Cherish... I'm—"
His voice cracks, and it shatters something in me. His desperation is louder than any scream, his pain more suffocating than my own. But I push back. I need him to stop. I need him to understand how much this is killing me—not just physically, but emotionally.
I continue, voice trembling with every word. "You're... you're not saving me. You're just... torturing me. This is too much, Miras. Please... just let me go."
I know I'm not being fair, not even close. But it doesn't stop me from pleading, from trying to break through whatever resolve he's built around himself. The guilt, the shame of what we've been through... the anger is still alive in me, fueling my words, even though the pain is swallowing everything else whole.
But Miras doesn't break.
He stands there, a shell of the person I've known, looking like he's ready to collapse. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving as he struggles to hold it together.
Imani's voice comes in from the other side of the room, sharp and insistent: "Miras, don't you dare stop. She needs this. You know she does."
But Miras's eyes are on me, and for a moment, I think he's going to give in. I think he's going to listen to me. His face twists with pain, but there's no stopping him. Not now.
I see him close his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath, as though trying to gather whatever strength he has left. And then, with the tiniest of movements, he steps forward. His hand hovers over the restraint on my right wrist for a moment, and then he presses down.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, so quietly I can barely hear him. The words feel like a wound, like I've been stabbed in the heart all over again.
"You're no better than Dr. Amar."
The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them. It's like they've been sitting in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment to explode.
The second I say them, the room freezes. Miras's body goes completely still, his eyes wide as if I've just struck him with something sharp. The air between us turns ice-cold, the tension hanging thick.
He takes a step back, his face drained of all color, his breath catching in his chest like the words physically hurt him. His eyes search mine—pleading, desperate, like he's looking for any sign that I don't mean what I just said.
"Cherish…" he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. "Please… don't say that."
But I can't stop. I can't stop the bitterness, the fury that has built up over everything that's happened—the secrets, the betrayals, the feeling like I'm nothing more than a project for them to fix, a broken thing to be pieced back together. I don't care anymore that Miras is trying to save me. It hurts too much to see him standing there like this, pushing me past the point of breaking.
"You think you're any better than Dr. Amar? You think you have the right to treat me like this?" I growl through gritted teeth, my body shaking in the restraints. The pain is a distant background hum compared to the storm of anger tearing through me.
"You—" My voice cracks, and I stop, choking on my own words. My breathing is harsh and jagged, and the words stick in my throat. But I push through it, the rage pushing me forward. "You're forcing me into this. You're making me suffer just like he did. You're no better. You've taken my choices away, just like he did. You think you're saving me, but all I feel is like a test subject."
The silence that follows feels suffocating. The weight of my words hangs in the air like a thick fog, and I immediately regret them, but it's too late to take them back. I watch Miras, but he doesn't respond.
Imani and my father look at each other from the edge of the room, their faces unreadable.
Miras's face crumples. He flinches as if I've slapped him, his entire frame trembling with some internal struggle I can't understand. The hurt in his eyes cuts me deeper than anything I've felt before. And it's that pain, that look of devastation, that makes me pause, just for a second.
But my anger is too much now. It's consuming everything. And despite the voice in my head screaming at me to stop, to hold back, to not push him further away, I can't help myself. The words just keep coming.
"You're supposed to care about me, Miras. But right now? Right now you're just hurting me. You're no better than the man who made me this way."
The sharpness of my accusation hangs in the air, each syllable stabbing at the heart of everything we've been through. I can see it in Miras's eyes. I can feel it in the way he's trembling as if every word is a bullet. But I don't stop. I can't.
And then he breaks. His shoulders slump, the weight of my words finally sinking in.
Miras looks away, and the agony on his face is enough to pull me back into myself. The anger that was burning so fiercely starts to fizzle out, leaving nothing but emptiness.
But it's too late. He's already shattered.
When Miras shatters, it's as if the last bit of control he was holding onto finally slips away, like a rope being pulled too tight until it snaps. The moment is heavy, suffocating, and I feel it as much as I see it.
He turns away, his back to me now, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of my words is enough to crush him. His breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps. I can hear the quiet sobs that wrack his body, muffled by the space between us, but it's enough. I can feel the rawness of his pain, the guilt that's been festering inside him all this time.
For a moment, I think he's going to walk away. I almost want him to. I want him to leave, to get out of here, because I can't bear seeing him fall apart because of me. But he doesn't leave. Instead, he stands there, trembling like he's caught between two worlds—the one where I hate him, and the one where he's been desperately trying to save me.
"I'm sorry, Cherish." His voice cracks, barely a whisper. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to be like him. Please, please don't think that. I can't lose you. I love you."
His hands tremble as he reaches for the edge of the bed, and I watch him, frozen, unsure of what to do. The anger inside me is still there, sharp and stinging, but it's tempered now, replaced with something else—something colder, emptier. The fight feels drained out of me, and in the silence that follows, all that's left is the terrible weight of what's happened.
Miras lowers himself to sit beside the bed, his face buried in his hands, his body shuddering with every sob. I can't bring myself to touch him. I don't know if I even want to.
"I… I don't know what to do anymore," Miras whispers. I can't tell if he's talking to me or himself.
"Miras, I know this is a bad time right now," says Imani. "But you can't be near her for this next part."
Miras jerks his head up at Imani's voice, his eyes wide, and for a moment, it seems like he doesn't register what she's saying. He's still shaking, his face still wet from the tears that have yet to stop falling, but his gaze flickers between Imani and me. There's panic in his eyes, a desperate need to stay with me, even as the weight of everything begins to settle back on him.
"What do you mean?" Miras's voice is raw, jagged. His hands tremble as he wipes at his face, but it does nothing to hide the devastation written across him. "I'm not leaving her. I can't leave her."
Imani's expression is gentle, but there's an edge to his words, something urgent, something that doesn't allow room for argument.
"You have to, Miras," he says, his voice calm but firm. "She's been through too much. You can't be part of this next step. She's not ready for it."
I watch them, still lying on the bed, my body aching from the rawness of everything that's happened. My emotions are a jumble of exhaustion, anger, and guilt, but the one thing that cuts through it all is a desperate need for Miras, for his presence beside me. The thought of him stepping away—of losing him again—is enough to set my heart racing, to send that tight ball of panic back into my chest.
"Please," Miras says, his voice breaking. "She's not okay. I can't just… leave her. Not like this."
Imani's words hang in the air, heavy and insistent. The quiet tension between them cuts sharp, and Miras, already broken, looks like he's been shattered even more by the sound of his voice.
"But—" Miras starts, his voice raw, his hands still gripping the edge of my bed like it's the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
"I know this is hell, Miras," Imani interrupts, his voice softer, but unyielding. "But if you stay, Cherish will associate you with this, and we can't risk that. She's already in a place where she can't trust anyone, and you being here right now... it will make it worse."
Miras hesitates, his eyes darting between Imani and me. It's like he's being torn apart inside, watching me struggle, wanting to reach out to help but knowing that every second he stays will make it harder for both of us.
Imani steps closer, firm yet kind in his tone. "You have to go. Let me handle this. You have to trust me, kid."
Miras's breathing becomes labored, his eyes bloodshot from both exhaustion and the pain of watching me like this. He pulls away slowly, each step away from me feeling like another piece of him is being broken.
"Please... please don't do this," Miras murmurs, barely able to choke the words out. "Don't let this be how it ends, Cherish."
His voice cracks, but I can barely hear him through the haze of pain swirling around me. All I can do is clench my fists against the sheets, knowing deep down that what's happening right now is destroying him, just as much as it's destroying me.
Imani's eyes soften as he watches Miras retreat. He knows, he sees the guilt, the fear, but he doesn't have time to be gentle. The world has spun into a place where gentle is a luxury neither of us can afford.
When the door closes behind Miras, the room feels unbearably still, and the weight of it all presses down on my chest like a vice.
The moment Miras steps out, the air in the room changes. It's heavier now, thick with desperation and sorrow. But even through all of that, Imani remains focused, his hands steady as he adjusts the equipment around me, getting everything in place.
I can feel the tingling in my limbs again, the familiar sensation of something pulling at me, inside and out. I want to scream, but my voice feels like it's been stolen, locked away beneath layers of pain and betrayal.
"Cherish…" Imani's voice is low, controlled. He doesn't look at me as he sets the machines to work. "This is the only way. I know you hate me right now, but this is what needs to happen. You're not going to die. Not here. Not now."
I want to scream at him, tell him that I hate him, too. But my throat is so tight, my body so weak, that even the smallest motion hurts. The thought of him doing this to me, of him forcing me through this pain again—it's like being crushed under the weight of betrayal, every single muscle in my body locked in a state of helpless resistance.
Then the pressure comes.
It builds slowly at first, like a tightening coil in my chest, but soon, it escalates. The pressure hits my nervous system hard, and my body feels like it's being pulled apart. Every nerve, every inch of me burns with fire. I can feel my mind starting to crack, like the edges of my consciousness are fraying.
"Any minute now your nervous system is going to collapse. You're going to die. Your dad and I are going to figure out how to restart your nervous system, and we'll get you back as soon as we can."
"No…" I whisper, but it's barely audible, my breath caught in my throat. My eyes are squeezed shut, and all I want to do is escape. The pain is a living thing, crawling under my skin, sinking into my bones, and every part of me is screaming to stop.
It's happening.
The pain is everywhere. It's in my bones, my skin, my blood. It's alive, crawling, gnawing at every part of me, until I can barely remember what it felt like to be whole. I try to scream, but my throat feels tight, strangled. Every breath is a fight. Every heartbeat a hammering reminder that I'm still here, but I don't know how much longer I can stay.
I feel my nerves fraying, like threads unraveling inside me. I can't stop it. My body is giving up on me. The pain—God, the pain—it's too much. It's not just pain anymore; it's… something else. It's tearing through me like it wants to break me into pieces. I can't even focus on what's real, not with everything burning, with every inch of me being pulled in different directions.
I try to hold onto something, anything, to stay grounded. But the pain… It's eating me alive. My skin feels like it's on fire. My muscles feel like they're being ripped apart. I can't even think. My body's betraying me. I can't feel my hands or my legs properly, like they're just… there, but not really part of me. I want to move, to get away from it, but I can't. I can't escape it.
I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's like my body is a stranger to me, like everything I once knew is slipping away. I try to scream again, but it doesn't feel like my voice anymore. It's just another broken sound, lost in the chaos.
I feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breaths shallow and ragged. And then… I feel it. A coldness. A quiet creeping into the corners of my mind, like I'm slowly slipping away, like I'm fading into the dark.
I try to hold on, to stay with it, but it's like my mind is already giving up, already letting go. I can't think straight. I can't focus on the faces I want to see, the words I need to say. All that's left is the pain. And it's so loud. So unbearable.
I feel like I'm slipping… like I'm falling, but there's no ground beneath me. My body's giving out. I'm losing everything