Chapter 57 CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 57
YAEL
The morning of the test came too fast. I sat in the lecture hall, pen scratching furiously, heart pounding like it always did during exams. Knox had quizzed me half the night in that secret treehouse, his voice calm and patient, kissing my temple every time I got one right. “You’ve got this, baby,” he’d whispered. I hoped he was right.
When the professor called time, I handed in my paper with shaky hands. Mia, Jordan, and Liam were waiting outside, all looking as drained as I felt.
“How’d you do?” Mia asked, linking arms with me.
“I think… okay?” I said, exhaling. “Please God let it be okay.”
Jordan fist-bumped me. “We all survived. That’s a win.”
Liam nodded. “Definitely aced the section. You?”
“Same,” I said, smiling for the first time all morning. “Knox drilled that into me.”
Mia wiggled her eyebrows. “I bet he drilled a lot of things into you.”
We all laughed, the tension melting away as we headed toward the quad.
That’s when it happened.
One second I was walking, joking with my friends, the next—arms grabbed me from behind. Hard. Two girls on each side, pinning my arms before I could even react.
“What the—” I started.
Madison stepped in front of me, face twisted with ugly satisfaction.
“This is for the slap,” she hissed.
Her hand cracked across my face. Once. Twice. Three times. Sharp, stinging, relentless.
My ears rang. My friends were screaming—Mia yelling “Get off her!”, Jordan lunging forward, Liam shouting security—but the girls held tight.
Madison leaned in close. “Stay away from Knox, bitch.”
She turned to walk away, smirking like she’d won.
Something snapped inside me.
Red. Just red.
I don’t even remember breaking free. I just remember seeing a metal campus signpost nearby—the kind with the heavy base. My hands closed around it.
The next thing I knew, I was swinging.
The base connected with the back of Madison’s head with a sickening crack.
She dropped like a stone.
Everything blurred after that—screams, people running, someone tackling me, my fists still swinging. I didn’t feel the punches landing on me. I didn’t feel anything.
Just rage.
Then—black.
I woke up to bright lights and beeping. Hospital. My head throbbed, cheek swollen, wrists in soft restraints.
Aaron was standing by the bed, talking to a doctor. His face was pale, eyes red.
“…any history of anger outbursts?” the doctor was asking quietly. “Nightmares? Flashbacks?”
Aaron rubbed his neck. “She used to. When we were kids. Bad temper—fights at school, screaming matches. Then… after him.” He lowered his voice. “After that guy—she changed. Went completely soft. Couldn’t even watch violent movies. Said it made her sick.”
The doctor nodded. “This kind of explosive episode—it’s often suppressed trauma resurfacing. The pain doesn’t go away. It waits.”
I closed my eyes, pretending to still be out.
Him. The one we never named. The ex who’d broken me in ways no one knew except Aaron. The one who’d made me terrified of my own anger.
Aaron turned as the doctor left. “Yael?”
I opened my eyes. He looked wrecked.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re awake.”
I didn’t speak.
“The nightmares,” he said quietly. “Are they back?”
I turned my face away.
“Yael, talk to me. Please.”
Nothing.
He tried for hours—joking, apologizing for past fights, begging. I stared at the wall.
They discharged me around ten p.m. Aaron drove me back in silence. I walked straight to my dorm, ignoring his pleas.
“Yael, wait—”
Door shut. Locked.
I sank into the bathtub fully clothed, turning the water scalding. Steam filled the room.
Then the flashes came.
Screams. His voice yelling. My smaller self curled in a corner. Hands grabbing. Pain.
I came up gasping, water splashing over the edge.
I tried to sleep. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Madison’s face. Or his.
Knock knock knock.
On the window.
I froze.
Another soft tap.
I pulled back the curtain.
Knox.
His knuckles were bruised, split open, blood dried. He’d climbed the fire escape.
I opened the window with shaking hands.
He climbed in silently, eyes scanning my bruised face, and pulled me into his arms without a word.
I buried my face in his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I heard what happened. I wasn’t there—I should’ve been there—”
“I’m okay,” I lied, trying to smile. It hurt.
“You’re not,” he said fiercely. “Your face—God, baby, I’m gonna kill her—”
“No,” I said quickly. “No more violence. Please.”
He cupped my cheeks gently. “What happened? People are saying you just… lost it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He searched my eyes. “Okay. Not tonight.”
He helped me change into pajamas, careful around the bruises, then pulled me into bed.
“Come here,” he murmured, wrapping around me from behind. “I’ve got you.”
“I forgot to text you,” I whispered. “After the test. I was going to—”
“Shh. Doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears starting.
“Don’t be. Just let me hold you.”
He kisse
d my shoulder, my hair, my neck—soft, soothing.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His warmth finally pulled me under.
I slept.