𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚜 - 𝚁. 𝙼𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚡 𝙾𝙲

4 - Definitely Nothing

Chapter Four

Waking up gasping and in a cold sweat for the eighth consecutive day in a row, Rosemary was ready to bang her head against the wall. It'd been years since her assault and months since her last recurring nightmare, leaving her to wonder: why now? And why does this still control me?

After glancing at her clock only to see angry red numbers stating it was three in the morning, Rosemary rolled over to face her dark teal bedroom wall. She grabbed a pillow and cradled it to her chest, knowing the tears would come soon enough. If she went back to sleep she'd only fall back into the nightmare and repeat the cycle. At least if she was awake she was cognizant enough to know it wasn't happening all over again.

Having worked part-time as a baker at a popular cafe and pastry shop while she was taking accounting classes in university left Rosemary working very early in the mornings. While it wasn't ideal to work from three to seven a.m., it did allow her to arrange her courseload to as early in the morning as possible and she'd simply go to bed earlier to make up for it. Besides, the allure of the position itself was knowing that she wouldn't have to worry about anyone's judgement because she'd be working alone. Rosemary just didn't realize it'd come at such a cost.

Each nightmare felt the same. The uneasy stillness of the early morning, no trace of the sun in the sky while the moonlight began to dim ever so slightly to make way for the daylight. A shiver shot down her spine as she fumbled to take her keys out of her pocket, the feeling of someone watching her was one she couldn't shake. The crunch of a fall leaf under a heavy boot made her stiffen up straight and the laughter that followed immediately after was bone-chilling.

Surrounded by three males wearing baggy sweatshirts with the hoods pulled up over their heads, Rosemary couldn't remember how to breathe. Her blood ran cold and her lip trembled while tears began to fall from her eyes without her consent. Her assailants taunted her for being so weak before demanding she open the door so they could steal money from the register but when she gave no response, she was shoved to the ground. She cried out for help, a broken scream louder than any sound she'd ever made in her life. She tried...but no one listened. No one ever listened...

Rosemary remembered the first six injuries she'd sustained. A kick to the stomach, the middle of her back and her right shoulder were enough to leave her incapacitated and her keys were ripped from her clenched hand. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and one assailant took hold of it so he could punch the left side of her jaw. After making a joke to his friend about how she was practically a ragdoll, the other had yanked her hair into his own hand and punched her straight in the face, breaking her nose. He then let her fall to the ground and once her head hit the cement, she had a barely lucid moment where she heard the words: Oh shit, do you think she's dead?

The pillow she hugged offered little comfort while she lived her assault again, the dampness from her sweat making her uncomfortable but not uncomfortable enough to move. Rosemary truly did think she was dying in that muddled state between consciousness and otherwise, she'd never been in so much pain before. It may have only been for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime every instance she was forced to relive it.

Rosemary felt debilitated by her nightmare and in the moment she tried to stay as still as possible, a fight or flight response that had become ingrained into her; if she played dead then maybe no one would hurt her anymore. If she kept quiet, no one could actively ignore her. Not like there was a point in her speaking in the first place...

When Rosemary's tears finally subsided, she started her morning routine, showered and dressed for work. By the time she was out the door it was only six but there was no way she could sit at home any longer. She needed a distraction and right now she didn't give a shit if it meant working for free; anything was better than feeling so insignificant.