I’m screaming so loud, but no one seems to care. They’re just laughing at me as I crouch on the floor, pain coursing through the body.

Another person comes at me, and I try to fight back, but they are much stronger than I am. They worked together, making it impossible for me to get away. Two others pin my hands down, stopping me from struggling.

They let me scream. They let me beg. For some reason, my fear seems to entertain them. I’m crying now, pleading for them to stop, but they don’t care. It’s like my pain means nothing to them.

“Stop. Stop, please. Please, Michael” I beg, my voice breaking.

“Camille! Camille!”

My eyes fly open. “Camille, baby, wake up!”

It takes me a moment to realize where I am. My bedroom. My bed. My mum beside me, trying to pull me out of whatever nightmare has trapped me.

I sit up abruptly, tears already slipping down my cheeks. My heart is racing and sweat clings to my skin despite the air conditioning.

“Oh baby”. Mum immediately pulls me into her arms. “I’m here princess. I’m right here. Don’t worry my”. I cling to her, burying my face in her shoulder as the tears come harder.

She doesn’t ask me to stop crying or tell me I’m overreacting. She just holds me, letting me get it all out. This is how I process things sometimes. By crying until I have nothing left.

By holding on to someone who reminds me that I’m safe, even when my mind refuses to believe it.

“Thank you, mummy” I whisper eventually. I manage a small smile, though I don’t let go of her. I don’t want her to see how sad it is.

“Of course, my baby”. She gently rubs my back. “I heard screaming, so I came to check on you. I tried waking you up, but you wouldn’t respond. You were still stuck in that dream until you finally woke up”.

She pulls back just enough to look at me; her expression filled with concern.

“When will they stop?” I ask quietly. “Haven’t I been punished enough?” The dreams feel so real. I’m right back here, experiencing everything all over again. And no matter how many times I wake up, a part of me remains trapped in that moment.

It’s terrifying.

“Camille, stop”. Her face is gentle but firm. “Don’t ever think that. Not for one second. None of this is your fault, do you hear me? None of it”. I look away.

“They’ll stop eventually, baby. And if they don’t, maybe we should call Dr. Naomi. She’ll help you”. She cups my cheeks in her hands, making me look at her.

I nod because I know that’s what she wants to do. But deep down, I still don’t believe her.

How am I supposed to stop blaming myself when everything that happened seems to lead back to me.

***************************************************************************

“Camille!”

I hear my name faintly from downstairs, but my mind is already somewhere else.

Lately, it feels like my thoughts have a life of their own. One moment, I’m fine; the next, I’m drowning in memories I don’t want to exist. Dr. Naomi keeps assuring me that I’ll be okay. At this point, I’m not entirely convinced.

But I have faith, I guess.

“Camille!” My mum calls again, a little louder this time. I pull myself out of my thoughts and get up to answer her.

“Yes mum?” “Your admission letter just came in!” Her face lights up as she holds out the letter, practically glowing with excitement. I walked towards her and managed a small smile.

Wow.

Is this really happening? Not the admission itself. I mean, I worked hard for this. I wrote a really good college essay, aced my SATs, and did everything I needed to do. I knew I had a good chance.

It’s what comes next that scares me.

Leaving.

Starting over.

Walking into a new environment and hoping it doesn’t break me the way the last one did. Will this place help me heal, or will it give me more reasons to fall apart?

Will things be different this time? Will I finally be able to move forward, or am I running away from everything I’ve been trying so hard to escape?

I stare at the letter in mum’s hands. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

“Camille?” Mum snaps her fingers gently in front of my face. “Baby, are you here with me?” I blink and look at her. “I’m here mummy” I assure her with a soft smile.

She smiles back before pulling me into a hug. It’s warm and familiar, the kind of hug that makes the world a little less overwhelming. For a moment, I allow myself to sink into it, to stop thinking about things going wrong.

Safe. That’s what being in mum’s arms feels like.

After a while, she pulls away and rests her palm against my cheek. “We’re always here for you, okay baby? We would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. We all love you, always and forever. Don’t you ever forget that”.

And there she goes again.

My mum is the sweetest person alive, and somehow, she always knows what to say when I’m struggling. Even when I don’t tell her what’s going on in my head, she notices.

Sometimes, I wonder what I did to deserve a mother like her. She never wanted me to go to university immediately after high school. Not after everything that happened. She thought I needed more time.

Honestly, I probably should have taken a gap year. But I couldn’t imagine spending another year in this house, with nothing to occupy my mind except my own thoughts.

I needed something to focus on. Something that would force me out of bed every morning and remind me that life wasn’t over.

Maybe school could be that something. Maybe a new environment was exactly what I needed. Or maybe I’m just desperately hoping that changing my surroundings will somehow change the way I feel.

Either way, I want to try.

“I know, mummy. And I love you guys so much”. “I know, baby”. She kissed my forehead. “Now, you can go back to your room. Just make sure to tell your dad about your admission, okay?”

“Yes mum”. I give her one last smile before heading upstairs. Back to my room. Back to the one place where I can be alone with my thoughts, whether I want to be or not.

And since we’re already here, I suppose it’s time I properly introduced myself.

My name is Camille Miller, though most people call me Cam. The only C name in the family.

I come from a wealthy family. My dad is the CEO of his family’s pharmaceutical company, which was passed down to him, while my mum is a lawyer who owns several grocery store branches.

Pretty fancy right?

You’d probably think I’m an only child, but, lmao, I’m not. I’m the last born. I have an older brother, Ryan, and an older sister, Rue. Well, technically, I had two older sisters.

There were four of us once. Until Ruth died in a car crash.

Every time I think about it, I feel sick. Because it was my fucking fault. If only I’d never met him. If only I’d stayed home. If only I hadn’t persuaded Ruth to drive me.

If only she’d taken another road. If only it hadn’t rained. If only the driver hadn’t drunk. So many ifs. So many different versions of how things could have happened. But no matter how many times I replay that day in my head, I can’t change what happened.

She’s still gone. And I’m still the one who has to live with it.

Since then, Rue has barely spoken to me. She used to be close to Ruth that people mistook them for twins. They were only a year apart.

They had their own little world; one I was lucky enough to be part of sometimes. Now Ruth is gone, and I can’t help thinking that Rue looks at me and sees the sister she lost.

Or worse, the sister who took her away.

I miss Ruth, too. More than I could explain. But how am I supposed to grieve someone I loved when I can’t stop blaming myself for her death.

After the accident, everything fell apart. I had to start therapy because of everything I went through afterward. Going back to school became impossible. I was ashamed, terrified, and exhausted, and it felt like everyone knew.

The whole school knew what those boys had done to me. They knew about Ruth, too. It didn’t matter that the boys were eventually arrested. It didn’t make the whispers disappear or make me feel any less exposed.

I couldn’t stand the thought of walking into a classroom and wondering who knew what, who was talking about me, or who was looking at me differently. So I stopped going.

I isolated myself from everyone, including my friends. I ignored messages, avoided conversations, and shut people out because they could get the chance to ask me questions I didn’t know how to answer.

I felt like shit. And for a long time, I thought that was all I would ever be.

Then I met Dr Naomi.

At first, I absolutely hated going to her sessions. I didn’t understand how talking to a stranger about the worst things that had happened to me was supposed to make anything better. If anything, I thought it would make me feel worse.

And honestly, sometimes it did. Talking about things I’d spent so long trying to bury wasn’t easy.

But Dr. Naomi never made feel like I was just another patient sitting across from her. She made me feel comfortable, like I could breathe around her.

She listened without making me feel judged, and she never rushed me when I struggled to say the right things. She treated me with so much patience.

Like I was someone worth listening to. Someone worth helping. Someone who wasn’t beyond saving. I still have a long way to go.

But at least I’m making progress.

Months later, the suicidal thoughts and nightmares that consumed me had slowly began to fade. I was starting to feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Happiness.

Not all the time, I still had bad days. Days when getting out of bed felt so hard and my mind dragged me back to places I desperately wanted to forget. But the good days were becoming more frequent, and I was learning to appreciate them.

There was just one problem. Rue.

Whenever I looked at her, I could see sadness in her eyes. No matter how much time passed, she never seemed to get any better. She hadn’t gone to therapy, either, and I didn’t know how to help her when I could barely help myself.

She came home every first weekend of a month, and honestly? Those were the worst three days ever.

She was in her final year at university, so she didn’t necessarily have to come home that often. But my parents insisted on it. They said that those weekends were important to them, that having all their children under one roof meant something.

I understood that. But every time Rue came home, I felt like absolutely crap. She barely spoke to me. A simple hi or how are you? was usually our conversations before she went back to whatever she was doing.

I missed her. I missed our sisterly conversations, random arguments, the little jokes we only understood. I missed going to her room to talk about absolutely nothing for hours, just be in each other’s space.

But whose fault was that? Mine. At least, that’s what my mind kept telling me.

My brother was barely around, either. He lived in another country, and although he made an effort to stay in touch, it wasn’t the same as having him physically here.

Sometimes, it felt like our family had been split into different pieces, and none of us knew how to put ourselves back together.

My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts. Dr. Naomi. Of course.

She calls me almost every day, either to check that I’m taking my medication, ask how I’m feeling, or remind me of things I apparently need to hear a hundred times before they’ll finally sink in.

I pick up. “Hello Camille. How are you today?” she asks in that familiar, calming tone of hers. “Well, I’ve taken my meds, so you don’t have to worry. Bye” I make a move to end the call.

“That’s good to hear, but unfortunately, that’s not my question”. I can hear the amusement in her voice. Sassy Dr. Naomi. I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me.

“I’m not really doing well, Dr. Naomi”. “What happened, darling?” I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should even say it. But this is my therapist. If there’s one person I shouldn’t pretend around, it’s her.

“Do you think I’ll ever get to close with my sister?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. Then she sighs softly. “My darling, time. You have to give her time. This is very painful for her, and people process grief differently. She might not be ready to let you in yet but doesn’t mean that’ll be permanent”.

I stare at the wall in front of me. “What if they are?”