The same day rolls in, like clockwork. It begins with sweat—and sometimes tears—as I jolt awake from yet another relentless nightmare. The weight of it lingers, clinging to me as I stumble through the morning routine—breakfast, a quick bath, the futile attempt to feel human again.
Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
A bump. On my stomach.
Am I gaining weight? I stare at the reflection, half-hoping it might offer answers.
I lower my gaze and reach for something loose-fitting, something that might conceal the shape quietly forming beneath my clothes. A flicker of unease rises in my chest.
I hope it's nothing serious.
It's been a couple of weeks since my last period, but I'm not alarmed. They've always been irregular. I've gone three months without one before—spiraling into worry—only for it to return the next month like nothing ever happened.
Still, I push the thought aside. My cravings have been relentless lately. I've been moody, emotional, and constantly exhausted. Honestly, how I look is the least of my concerns right now.
School offers no relief. I spend the day dodging Wilde like he's radioactive. Axton, though—he doesn't dodge. He confronts. And today? They finally threw punches. Straight to the principal's office. I'm almost certain suspension is inevitable.
They've been at each other for over a week. Wilde is stubborn and relentless, always pushing, always provoking. So I don't blame Axton for snapping—finally giving Wilde a piece of his mind, and maybe a fist to match.
The next day at lunch, I head to the cafeteria with Mikee and Jameson. Wilde and Axton both ended up suspended for nearly three weeks. That means no Axton for a while—but also, blessedly, no Wilde. At least for now.
We've already filled Jameson in on everything. It's important he knows what's going on. The last thing we need is for him to be blindsided if something happens. Besides, the more people we have around, the better our chances of steering clear of Wilde.
We're still trying to figure out how to deal with him. So far, he hasn't done anything overtly threatening, but his constant presence and attempts to talk to me are unsettling. He always seems to approach when Mikee and Axton are nearby—like he's trying to provoke them. It hasn't escalated into anything serious yet, but that doesn't mean we should let our guard down.
Honestly, we've been too relaxed. Just because Wilde hasn't crossed any obvious lines doesn't mean he won't. Something about the situation felt off from the beginning, but—true to form—I ignored my gut.
I should've listened.
Lunch was unbearable. I sat across from Mikee and Jameson, watching them flirt like I was invisible. Their giggles and stolen glances made me want to hurl everything I'd just eaten. But I held it in—food is food, after all. I rolled my eyes as Mikee melted over whatever sweet nonsense Jameson whispered. I couldn't take it anymore.
I stood up, leaving the lovebirds to their bubble of bliss. At least Wilde was suspended. That thought alone gave me enough relief to head to the washroom alone.
As I relieved myself, I realized the nausea I'd been battling had finally passed. What remained was fatigue—bone-deep exhaustion that made me want to crawl into bed and vanish. I finished up and moved to the sink, washing my hands slowly, letting the silence settle.
Then the door creaked open.
Footsteps. They stopped behind me.
I glanced up at the mirror—and froze.
Wilde.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on mine. My body tensed. I spun around, heart hammering.
"What are you doing here? This is the girls' washroom. And you're supposed to be suspended," I said, voice steady but sharp.
"I snuck in. Duh," he said, rolling his eyes like it was some harmless prank.
He pushed off the wall and started toward me. I backed away instinctively, step for step, until my spine met cold tile. His smile—usually fake and friendly—looked disturbingly real this time.
"You don't know how much I've missed you, Mille," he said, inching closer.
He planted one hand on the wall beside me, boxing me in. My breath hitched as he leaned in, inhaling like he was savoring my scent.
"Haaa..." he exhaled, eyes fluttering slightly.
Goosebumps prickled across my skin. I stood frozen, fear threading through me—but somehow, I found my voice.
"What do you want from me, Wilde?"
"I just want to talk," he said, stepping back, hands raised like that made him less threatening.
"Why? What's the point? Axton told us everything—about your case. You don't have to keep pretending. There's nothing left to say."
"No, Mille. You're wrong. It's the tension between us—it's what makes this real."
His voice was calm, but something in his eyes flickered. Off-kilter. Unsettling.
He sounded unhinged.
"Ha! You're delusional. There's no tension. This—" I gestured to the space between us "—is forced. By you. Do you even realize how threatened I feel right now?"
"You're just confused. Axton says those things to ruin me, and Mikee adds fuel to it—they've poisoned your mind. I don't want to hurt you, Mille. I'm not like that," he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
I turned my head away.
"I told you—I like you. No, I love you."
I scoffed.
"That's not love. It's obsession. You plaster pictures of me all over your wall. That's not normal."
"Mikee and Axton didn't put anything in my head. Your actions did. That recording is proof," I said, shoving him back.
He didn't budge.
"That just means I love you that much. I'm in love with you, Mille. Why can't you accept that? Accept me," he said, eyes blazing as he grabbed my shoulder.
I stared into his eyes. They weren't normal. This wasn't the Wilde I used to know. That version of him was a lie. My stomach dropped. I felt sick.
"Stop. You're hurting me. Let go!" I shouted, trying to pry his hand off.
He hesitated, then released me, stepping back—but not far.
"I'm sorry, Mille. You just frustrate me. Why can't you take what I say at face value?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He looked agitated. I felt terrified.
"What am I to you—a puppet? You can't force a relationship. That's not how this works!"
"I tried the normal way and you rejected me. So I'm being myself now—and you still say no. What do I have to do for you to love me too?" he said, voice trembling with something dark.
I stared at him, knowing nothing I said would get through.
While he paced, I bolted.
I burst out of the washroom, sprinting down the hallway toward the stairs. Footsteps thundered behind me.
"Mille!" he shouted.
I flinched.
As I hit the top step, Wilde lunged—his hand clamped around my wrist.
I yanked free.
Bad move.
My foot slipped. The world tilted. I was falling.
I braced for impact.
But it never came.
Two strong arms caught me.
I looked up—Nate.
I twisted toward the stairs. Wilde was gone.
That psycho. If I ever get my hands on him, I'll wring his—
"Mille, are you okay?" Nate's voice cut through my thoughts—low, steady, too calm to be casual.
"Huh? Uh... yeah," I stammered.
I was still in his arms. I pulled away quickly, brushing off my clothes, trying to compose myself. My cheeks burned as I cleared my throat and looked up at him.
"Thanks," I muttered.
His eyes scanned me, lingering a beat too long. Concern flickered across his face before he smoothed it out.
"You shouldn't run down the stairs. It's dangerous," he said, voice clipped—like he was trying to sound annoyed instead of worried.
Ha. He sounded like my dad after I fell off my bike. I bristled.
"I know," I snapped.
But then I remembered—he'd just saved me. I softened.
"I know," I repeated, quieter this time. "It's just... he was chasing me. I panicked. He grabbed my wrist and when I pulled away, I lost my balance."
Nate's expression darkened.
"Who?" he asked, voice low and sharp.
I shivered but said nothing.
"Who is it, Mille?" he pressed, more forceful now.
I flinched. His intensity startled me.
He caught himself, jaw tightening, then relaxed into a neutral mask.
"Who was it?" he asked again—gentler this time, but the edge hadn't disappeared.
I hesitated. Then looked away.
"It's none of your business, Nate. I'll handle it."
His jaw flexed.
"Doesn't look like you're handling it. You nearly fell down a flight of stairs. If I hadn't caught you..." He trailed off, voice tight. "You could've been seriously hurt."
That lit a fuse.
"What's it to you?" I snapped. "I said thank you, didn't I?"
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond.
"Next time something happens," I said, voice rising, "just ignore it. Like you do with everything else."
His face hardened.
"That's not what I meant—"
"Whatever," I cut him off. "I already said thank you. And if that's not enough..."
I dropped into a dramatic curtsy.
"Thank you, oh so great, Your Royal Highness," I said, dripping sarcasm.
I looked up at him. Something flickered in his eyes—amusement? Regret? Maybe both. It vanished so fast I wasn't sure it had ever been there.
I turned and walked away.
He didn't follow.
I glanced back.
Yup. Still watching.
I spun forward and picked up my pace.
I told Mikee and Jameson everything. Mikee's face darkened—she looked furious.
We messaged Axton to keep him in the loop. He replied almost instantly, telling us to meet after school to figure out our next steps.
We gathered at Mikee's house. It felt safer there—her place was surrounded by security cameras and a full alarm system. Her parents didn't mess around.
"We should go to the police," Mikee said, her voice tight with anger.
I shook my head.
"They won't do much. Maybe a fine or probation at best. Wilde's not rich, but he's got enough to pay off a fine. And probation? There are always loopholes."
I trailed off, frustration gnawing at me.
Wilde was suspended for three weeks. That's it. After that, he'd be back at school. Back in the same hallways. The same classrooms. And after what happened in the washroom... what if next time it's worse?
Mikee must've seen the panic creeping into my expression. She reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
"It'll be okay, Mille. I promise," she said softly.
"I'll talk to my parents too. Maybe they'll know what to do."
"You've already done so much," I said, voice low. "I don't want to drag you guys into my mess."
Mikee opened her mouth, but Axton beat her to it.
"What are you talking about?" he said firmly. "We're your friends. We don't bail when things get hard. We stick together."
I felt a lump rise in my throat. I managed a small smile.
"Thank you," I whispered, overwhelmed with gratitude for the two people who never let me face the storm alone.
Another week slipped by, and with each passing day, the end of Wilde's suspension loomed closer. The dread crept in like fog—slow, suffocating.
"Mille, breathe," Mikee said gently, patting my back.
I blinked, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
"Sorry," I muttered. "It's just... the days are moving too fast. I don't want the suspension to end. No offense to Axton."
"You don't have to apologize," Mikee said with a weary sigh. "I get it. This whole thing is just... too much."
She wasn't wrong.
Lately, I'd been riding a wave of emotions—anxious, paranoid, constantly on edge. Even on the walk home, I kept glancing over my shoulder, searching for that eerie gaze I'd been feeling. The one that made my skin crawl. The one I was sure belonged to Wilde.
But every time, there was no one there.
I sighed, rubbing my arms as if I could shake off the chill.
If this is the tension Wilde talked about... well, it's working.
"This is driving me nuts," I groaned, dragging my hand through my hair in frustration.
Class ended. We walked down the hallway when I saw Nate approaching. He looked at me, and I quickly turned my head, pretending I hadn't noticed him. As we passed, I felt a gentle tug on my hand.
I looked down—nothing was touching me.
I glanced back. Nate's eyes were still locked on mine.
There was something flickering in them—something I couldn't quite place. Then, for a split second, I saw it: a flash of ember. A color I hadn't seen in weeks. Familiar. Haunting.
And just like that, it vanished.
My thoughts spiraled, fragments of memory surfacing like broken glass in water. I tried to force them together, to remember that night—the one I'd buried deep.
The same ember eyes. The same touch.
A gentle warmth radiated from his touch, spreading through me like a quiet wave. The pain that had gripped me began to dissolve, replaced by a soft tingling that felt strangely comforting.
"Ahh..." The sound slipped out, unbidden, as the sensation deepened.
He steadied me with a gentle hold at my waist, then traced a slow path down to my thighs, fingers grazing the fabric before easing it down with care. Each layer slipped away deliberately, the soft rustle of cloth meeting the floor echoing in the quiet.
His hands found my legs again, firm and sure, as he leaned in—settling between them with aching precision. His breath skimmed my skin, warm and deliberate, stirring something deep.
But then it shifted.
"Ahh—!" I gasped, the sensation overwhelming.
Then it surged through me—velvety and molten, pulsing with heat. It was unfamiliar, electric, and it swallowed me whole before I could catch a breath.
"Stop... please, just stop," I had begged.
I remembered the moment I tried to speak, to resist—and my voice cracked under the weight of panic.
He didn't stop—his mouth relentless, lips and tongue drawing out sensations I couldn't name. I was drowning in it, unsure how to respond, my voice lost beneath the rush.
I remembered the confusion, the overwhelming sensations, the way my body froze.
My mind spun, overwhelmed and disoriented. My body tensed, every muscle locking up as fatigue crashed over me like a wave. My legs buckled beneath me, and the edges of my vision blurred—darkness creeping in, slow and relentless.
Gravity pulled me down.
But just before I hit the floor, a familiar pair of arms caught me—steady, strong, wrapping around me with practiced ease.
Then everything went black.
I woke to a ceiling I knew too well—the infirmary.
The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air. My head throbbed, my limbs felt heavy. I blinked slowly, trying to gather myself. A thin blanket was tucked around me, the cot beneath me stiff and cold.
For a moment, everything was still.
Why can't my memory just come back—or stay buried?
Frustration bubbled up inside me.
I remembered the arms that caught me—steady, grounding. The flash of green eyes, sharp and familiar. But there was something else too. A flicker of ember in them. Brief. Unsettling. Like a spark that didn't belong.
Nate.
A warmth stirred in my stomach. Why is he always there when something happens?
Like some silent guardian. Not that I needed saving—but if he could help me get rid of Wilde, that'd be one less nightmare clawing at my sanity.
Still... that ember in his eyes. What was that?
My thoughts drifted.
And why did it remind me of that night?
I tried to reach for the memory, but all I got was static. Blurred edges. Half-formed fragments that refused to settle.
Was Nate connected to that night?
I couldn't be sure. The pieces were still floating—close, but not quite clicking into place.
I sat up slowly, letting the questions swirl, unanswered.
The door creaked open, snapping me out of it. Mikee came in, followed by the infirmary resident, Ms. Christine, clipboard in hand.
"Hey! How are you feeling? You scared me half to death," Mikee said, concern etched across her face.
"Okay, I guess. I've been through worse," I joked, offering a weak shrug and a small smile.
She gave me a smile back then turned to Ms. Christine. I looked at Ms. Christine.
Ms. Christine stepped forward, her voice calm and clinical.
"You fainted from what appears to be a mix of stress, exhaustion, and low blood pressure," she said.
I nodded slowly, still piecing things together.
"Mille," she continued, "I've reviewed your vitals and symptoms. You've been experiencing fatigue, dizziness, nausea, and emotional swings. I need to ask you something personal—and I want you to know this is strictly confidential."
I blinked, confused. My body tensed. Mikee leaned in, her brows knitting together.
"What is it for?" I asked.
Ms. Christine looked me in the eye.
"Is there a chance you might be pregnant?"
The word hit me like a slap.
Pregnant? Me? What?
Mikee's mouth fell open, her eyes wide.
"I... I don't think so. I mean—" I stopped.
My mind reeled. That night. The fragments. The gaps in my memory.
Could it be? No. No. No.
My heart pounded. The signs were there—emotional swings, fatigue, cravings, nausea. Vomiting. I'd brushed them off. Maybe I didn't want to face it. But they'd been there all along.
Ms. Christine's voice broke through my spiral.
"Based on your symptoms and vitals, it's a possibility we shouldn't ignore. Have you noticed any changes—sensitivity, morning sickness, feeling more tired than usual?"
My thoughts raced.
Was I...? Did something happen? Why can't I remember fully what happened that night?
"I've been exhausted lately," I said, voice trembling. "And yeah... I've felt sick a few mornings. But I thought it was just stress. Everything's been overwhelming."
Mikee reached for my hand, squeezing it gently.
"Mille..." she whispered, her eyes swimming with emotion.
"We can run a test here, discreetly," Ms. Christine said. "No one else needs to know unless you want them to. But it's important we confirm, so we can take care of you properly."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I took a shaky breath.
"Okay. Let's do it."
Ms. Christine nodded and stepped away to prepare. Mikee sat beside me, still holding my hand. She didn't speak for a moment, just stayed close.
Then, in a soft voice:
"Mille... you don't have to tell me anything right now. Whatever happens, I'm here. We'll figure this out together."
My chest tightened. A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I felt the dampness on my cheeks before I realized I was crying—silent, aching sobs.
Mikee pulled me into a gentle hug, holding me as I cried. For the truth I hadn't wanted to face. For the change that was about to reshape everything.
The ride in Mikee's car was silent. The world outside blurred into streaks of color, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were thick, heavy—fogged over with disbelief.
Somewhere deep inside, I already knew.
Nothing would ever be the same.
The test came back positive.
I was pregnant.
Almost three months.
How?
I stared at the result, willing it to change, to make sense. My mind scrambled for logic, for memory, for anything that could explain this. But I'd never been with anyone. Not like that. The closest thing I had was that night—and even then, it was a blur. A fractured memory. Hazy. Like a dream I couldn't fully wake from.
I couldn't wrap my head around it. The words felt foreign, unreal—like they belonged to someone else's story. Shock hit first. Then fury. I felt violated. And beneath it all, a gnawing fear. Confusion. Anxiety. It was too much. Too fast.
Days blurred together. I stayed holed up in Mikee's room, barely speaking. Her parents were kind, gentle, endlessly supportive. Mikee never left my side. And somehow, that made it worse. Their warmth pressed against the cold weight inside me. I wasn't myself. I felt stifled. Trapped in a body that no longer felt like mine.
I needed air.
Late one night, I slipped out of the house. Reckless. Stupid. But I didn't care. I just walked—no destination, no plan. Letting the cold wind bite at my skin, hoping it would numb everything else.
It's unfair. This is so unfair.
My sobs grew louder as my feet carried me farther from safety. I felt a presence behind me, but my emotions blurred everything. I couldn't think. Couldn't react.
My hand drifted to my stomach.
There was life inside me. A child. Innocent. But born of violence. I didn't know what to feel. I couldn't accept it—not yet. Maybe not ever.
As my thoughts began to clear, I realized how far I'd wandered. Mikee would freak if she knew I'd snuck out. I turned to head back—
And froze.
Wilde stood there, smiling.
"Hey, Mille. Fancy seeing you out here," he said, voice laced with something dark.
I backed away instinctively.
"Hey, hey! Don't go. You looked sad... and you were crying. I just wanted to comfort you," he said, stepping closer.
"Of course. That's all you ever want," I snapped, sarcasm slicing through the air.
"Believe me, I haven't seen you in a while. I've missed you," he said, smile stretching wider.
"As if. I don't believe a word you say. Just go. Leave me alone. I don't have time for this."
But he didn't move.
"Don't worry, Mille. I'll make time for us." Another step forward.
I knew I'd get nowhere with him. I didn't want him any closer.
So I ran.
"Mille!" he shouted behind me.
I heard his footsteps pounding the pavement.
"This is the only time we get to be together—without anyone interfering!"
I didn't look back. I just ran.
"I just want to help you!"
"You can't run away from me forever!" he yelled, voice closing in.
I darted into an alley, heart hammering.
Wrong turn.
Dead end.
My breath came in sharp gasps. I was heaving, desperate.
"Whoo! Finally," Wilde said between breaths, catching up. "Let's have a chat, Mille."
I backed away, panic rising. I spotted a gap—an opening—and bolted past him.
But he caught me.
"You're not going anywhere," he said, grip tightening around my arm. I winced.
"Let go of me, Wilde!" I screamed, trying to shake him off.
I kicked out, but he caught my leg and shoved me hard.
I hit the ground, scraping my back and knee. Pain shot through me. I gasped.
Wilde froze, eyes wide. Shock flickered across his face. He rushed toward me, concern etched into his features.
"I'm so sorry, Mille. I didn't mean to," he said, frantic.
I might've believed him—if we weren't here. If he hadn't chased me. If I hadn't just been thrown to the ground.
"You should've just listened. Cooperated," he muttered, voice turning cold.
He reached out, caressing my cheek like I was something fragile. His touch was gentle.
But his eyes weren't.
They burned with something else.
Something I knew better than to trust.
Pain throbbed through my body as I lay there, breath shallow. Then—movement. A shadow loomed behind Wilde.
Before I could move, Wilde was torn from my side—hurled against the wall with a sickening thud.
He collapsed in a heap.
I blinked, stunned. Footsteps echoed toward me, deliberate and slow.
I turned, heart hammering.
A silhouette emerged from the shadows.
And then—
I opened my eyes in Mikee's room.
I sat up slowly, disoriented.
How did I get here?
It didn't make sense. I'd been outside. Wilde was chasing me. Someone—something—had thrown him like a rag doll. And just as I was about to see who it was—
I woke up here.
Was it a dream?
It didn't feel like one. It felt real. Too real.
I checked myself—no bruises, no cuts, no pain. But the memory clung to me, vivid and visceral. Like it had happened. Like it had happened to me.
And yet, my unmarked body told a different story.
Maybe it was the stress. Maybe Wilde's constant presence in my life had twisted itself into my subconscious, warping my dreams into something violent and surreal.
I was glad I was okay. Physically, at least.
But my mind felt like it was cracking along invisible fault lines.
Days passed. Axton and Wilde's suspension ended. The dread returned, slow and steady, curling around my spine like smoke.
Still, I forced myself back to campus.
Whatever was coming—I'd face it.
Mikee and I arrived together. Axton was already at the gates. We stuck close, scanning the crowd.
But Wilde was nowhere.
Not that day.
Not the next.
Not the one after.
Mikee and Axton stayed alert, always watching, always ready. They were cautiously optimistic—maybe Wilde had finally backed off. Maybe he'd gone abroad again.
But I wasn't buying it.
That night—the one I kept calling a dream—looped in my mind like a broken reel. The shadow. The voice. The blackout.
It felt less like a dream and more like a memory clawing its way to the surface.
And the mysteries kept stacking up.
That night.
My pregnancy.
The dream.
Wilde's disappearance.
I kept hoping the list would stop growing.
Because I wasn't sure how much more I could carry.
—
Hi, Mobsters!
Weekend recharge: achieved. But Sunday came in swinging, and—bam!—I dove headfirst into a chapter so emotionally intense it wrung me out like a damp towel. Writing a scene that makes your breath hitch? Yeah, turns out that's not exactly a spa day 😅. I funneled every last drop of stress and simmering chaos into it. That's me, bleeding onto the page like it's a lifestyle. Just another "woe of me" moment (yes, that was a Wednesday nod—still living for that series).
This chapter was one of the hardest I've ever written—right up there with the earliest ones. It's raw, sensitive, and emotionally heavy. My eyes were literally clouding over as I wrote (thank you, sleep deprivation). I hope it didn't weigh too heavily on you while reading, but if it did... that's exactly where I was emotionally.
Now, let's talk about what's next. The fantasy elements? They're finally stepping into the spotlight. You've been patient while the story simmered, and now it's time for the genre to show its true colors. Fantasy, mystery, and maybe a few surprises are on the horizon.
I've always been drawn to the supernatural—anything that defies reality and sparks wild imagination. It's where my creativity thrives... and sometimes wanders into spicy territory ~wink wink~.
Thank you for riding this emotional rollercoaster with me. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I can't wait to dive into the next one with you.
—mobpsych37