This story contains mature themes including emotional trauma, mental health struggles, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised

CHAPTER 11 (Charlie's POV)

Darkness. 

I’m falling. 

The ground rushes up to meet me, but I don’t hit it. 

Instead, I’m back in that night — the night everything fell apart. 

Dad’s car engine roaring to life, tires screeching as he drives away down the street. 

The front door slams behind him, shaking the walls. 

Inside, Mum staggers, reeking of alcohol, swaying as she yells at the empty room. 

Her words are slurred, angry, but I don’t understand half of them. 

Kara’s sobbing somewhere down the hall. 

I’m on the floor, clutching my arm where the blood seeps through my fingers. 

I want to call for help, but my throat’s tight — no sound escapes. 

Mum stumbles closer, her eyes wild, but she doesn’t see me. 

I try to reach out to Kara, but my limbs feel like they’re stuck in quicksand. 

The pain in my arm blurs into the ache of loneliness. 

I’m invisible. 

Alone. 

The walls seem to close in. The voices become distant murmurs. 

Then— 

I’m gasping for air, jolted awake. 

The room is dark and silent except for the ragged sound of my breathing. 

I’m drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst through my chest. 

I glance at the clock. 3:17 AM. 

The nightmare clings to me, but this is real — I’m in my bed, safe, at least for now. 

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and run a shaky hand over my arm — no fresh cuts, just the old scars, silent reminders. 

Somehow, the ache hasn’t left. But I’m awake. 

And maybe that’s a start.