"And so, even in the end, she never regretted choosing to love—no matter the price."
That last line clung to me like something alive.
Even as I slept, I could still hear it. Whispering, repeating. Not in my voice, but in one I couldn't place — soft and cruel all at once.
It was confusing and I started having weird thoughts in my head,like.. maybe I didn't actually fall asleep…? It was weirder than any dream I've ever had in my life, It felt different.
Or maybe sleep was just a door that something else had already opened.
Because when I thought I was waking up… suddenly… I wasn't in my bed.
I was somewhere else.
And nowhere at all.
It started like a memory.
Except I didn't remember it.
I was sitting at a table, legs swinging beneath a wooden chair that creaked too much. My feet didn't touch the floor. I looked down — small hands. Seven? Eight?
The wallpaper was peeling. There was toast with jam on a chipped ceramic plate. A child's breakfast.
And silence. The kind of silence that made your ears ache. The kind that meant something important was missing.
A woman was in the kitchen. She never turned around, but I knew she was my mother.
Or someone who used to be.
She stirred a spoon in her mug over and over and over. Even from here, I could hear the metal scraping the porcelain.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Like she was trying to hollow something out.
I wanted to say something. Ask what was wrong. But my throat felt stuffed with cotton. My mouth wouldn't open.
—————————————————————————————————
The scene faded.
Then came another.
I was older. Sixteen, maybe. It was winter. I was standing outside school, waiting.
For someone who didn't show up.
I remembered that coat I was wearing. It was too thin. I'd told my mother I loved it just so she wouldn't return it.
It didn't matter to me, anyway... I'd stopped feeling cold a long time ago.
—————————————————————————————————
Another flash.
My first boyfriend. College. He was laughing, but not at anything I'd said.
He was with his friends, and I was just… there.
A prop.
They asked what I was studying. I told them I wanted to work with books. They said: "Oh, cute. Like a school librarian?"
I smiled like it was funny. But I was dying inside. They kept talking. I kept nodding.
I don't remember what they said.
Just how small I felt.
—————————————————————————————
The memories were quicksand now. Moments bleeding into each other. Pain layered over confusion, over numbness, over things I thought I'd forgotten.
An apartment too quiet.
A birthday no one called for.
My first panic attack in a grocery store, next to the frozen peas.
A ring I wore like it meant something, even after he called off everything.
It was like someone had opened a box I'd buried inside myself and dumped everything out.
All of it messy. Loud. Out of order.
I tried to back away. To shut it down. To breathe.
But the scenes kept playing. Faster now. Like a film that was stuck on fast-forward.
I saw myself crying in a bathroom stall. Sleeping through an entire sunday just to avoid existing. Smiling on dates with people I didn't care about just to pretend I could still feel something.
And then—
I saw myself. From the outside.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, clutching a book like it was a lifeline. Eyes hollow. Shoulders hunched.
Miserable. Small. Pathetic.
That was the word, wasn't it?
Pathetic.
She looked so desperately lonely and It made me sick.
— Stop. I didn't say it out loud. But it echoed anyway.
— Stop. Please. I don't want to see this.
But it didn't stop.
The Elena in front of me started to move. She looked up — straight at me. Her eyes were mine. And not at the same time. Empty. But furious.
"You tried so hard," she whispered.
"And still… no one stayed."