𝔸ℙ𝔸𝕋ℍ𝕐

04. 𝔹𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕕𝕒𝕪

Song; XXXtentacion-everybody dies in their nightmare "Tired of feeling like I'm trapped in my own damn mind...."

Myra🦋

I walked alone through the dark streets, the night cold and quiet, wrapping around me like a heavy coat. I wasn't going home not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to. I couldn't face anyone. Couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe without feeling like I was unraveling.

I was always put together. Always sharp. Always in control. And now? I was a tangled mess of doubt, anger, and confusion.

My feet carried me to the only place that felt safe the house of the woman who saved me. My heroine. Mrs. Eyana Suhail.

She wasn't my mother by blood, but everything in my soul screamed that she was. A widow in her forties, soft-spoken but steel-boned. A Turkish Muslim woman with a heart carved from both tragedy and grace. Her family was wiped out during the war. She told me once, eyes glassy but still burning, that she was the only one left. But even with all that pain, she wore her smile like armor.

I knocked once. Twice. A third time-and the door swung open to her warm smile. I couldn't hold it in. I broke.

I fell into her arms like a child.

She caught me like a mother.

I buried my face into her shoulder, clutching her like I'd sink if I let go. My tears soaked her scarf, and still, she held me tighter.

"Noúr, my dear," she whispered.

Yes. Noúr. She gave me that name. Said it meant light. God, I wanted to believe I still had that in me.

"Come in," she said.

I moved like I was half-dead, sinking into the couch as she disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she handed me my favorite-ginger and clove tea, steeped with love. I sipped slowly. Then faster. Then finished it in three desperate gulps.

She sat beside me, wiping the streaks from my cheeks.

"Why were you crying, my child?" she asked.

"I... I wasn't."

She smiled gently. "My child is not a liar. Don't start now."

I tried to speak, but the words broke inside me. "I... I don't even know what to say. I-"

"Breathe," she said.

So I did.

"Am I a fucked up bitch?" I blurted. Elena's words still clawed at my brain.

Her eyes flared. "No. You're not."

I told her everything. The man. Sophie. The chaos. The guilt.

"Tell me, Mama," I whispered. "Is this all my fault?"

She took my hands in hers, warm and firm.

"You defended yourself. That's not a crime. That's courage. And courage always costs something."

I nodded slowly.