Chapter 28

Chapter 28
The alarm is ringing. Even though I’m fully awake, I don’t have the energy to turn it off. I feel groggy—not because I didn’t get enough sleep, but because of what I discovered last night.

We’re supposed to shoot the first music video today. But here I am, lying in bed, feeling like dead. Harry brings out the darkness in me. I thought that darkness was buried for good, but now it’s here—and he’s the one to blame.

I stare at the ceiling, wondering how he managed to hide something so big from me. Wondering isn’t enough. These thoughts need to leave my mind to spit out to my tongue. But I’m afraid of what he’ll say.

There’s a thudding sound on the stairs. My mom storms into my room. I try to muster the energy to lift my head and look at her, but I fail. I sink deeper into my pillow.

“I can hear your alarm.” she says. She’s in a bathrobe, arms crossed. “Why don’t you turn it off and come have breakfast? I already cooked.”
“I’ll go downstairs in a minute.” I mumble, still staring at the ceiling.

She sighs. “Okay.”

The door squeaks as she closes it behind her. Anguish and confusion paint my face.
I don’t want to burden her—but I am burdened. The weight of what I read last night is dragging me down, and I’ve never felt this vulnerable.

Hours pass. Mom comes back into my room.
“Sweetheart, we’re going to be late.” she says gently.
She’s not mad. She’s worried.

“Is it okay if I don’t go?” I say slowly. My voice trembles with distress. I’m anxious—maybe that’s why.

“Are you okay?” she asks, walking closer. “Are you sick? Last night, I felt like something was bothering you.”
“I told you, I’m just thinking about your illness.” I lie.

“Well, don’t think about me.” she says, sitting on the edge of my bed and caressing my hair.
“I’ll be fine.”

“Can we go to the doctor today?”

She agrees without hesitation. We get ready and head to the hospital.

I don’t know if I’ll tell her what I found out about Harry. Right now, I just want to escape—for a day.

I text Mr. Kite and say I won’t be coming to the shoot. I say I’m sick. That’s partly true—I don’t feel well, not mentally, not emotionally. I notice ten unread messages from Harry, but I leave them alone. After I text Mr. Kite, I don’t touch my phone again.

Thankfully, the doctor sees us right away. He tells us that mom will need radiation. It’s stage 2.

“Is it possible to remove my breast?” Mom asks, her voice shaking.

“We don’t think that’s necessary, Mrs. Hernandez.” the doctor replies gently. “At this early stage, radiation is the better path.”

Mom nods, looking so fragile that it breaks my heart. I don’t want to worry her with anything else.

Afterward, we find a nearby teashop and sit in silence for nearly two hours.

“When?” I finally ask, my voice so weak I’m not even sure she hears me.

“I want you to start the radiation as soon as possible.” I’m shaking, but I swallow the fear like it’s water.

“I will, sweetheart. Okay?”

I nod.

We wander around the city together. Just the two of us. It feels special—we’ve never done this before. We go to the movies and eat cake inside the cinema. Mom used to tell me stories about her dates with dad. She said they’d always bring cake into the theater. Back then, I thought it was ridiculous. Who eats an entire cake during a movie? But today, I did it—just to recreate that memory.

It’s 7:00 PM when we leave the theater. I tell mom we should have dinner before heading home.
I’m not even hungry, but I don’t want her to worry about me again.

We get home. I still haven’t checked my phone. I know I have to be at the shoot tomorrow, so I try to sleep. But my life feels like a big joke.

The clock reads 3:15 AM. I’m still awake. My mind won’t quiet down. Another hour passes. Still awake. I give up. I sit on my bed and grab my phone. Twenty-six messages from Harry. I ignore them.

Instead, I open my browser and search:
‘Britney Castillo death.’

Nothing. No news. No articles. Suspicious. Maybe they deleted everything.

I decide to message Mrs. Castillo.

Elise: Good evening, Mrs. Castillo. I’m sorry to bring this up, but is there any news or article online about Britney’s death?

She replies quickly.

Anne: It’s okay, Elise. But... why are you still awake?
Elise: I can’t sleep.
Anne: As for your question—yes, there used to be articles. But we asked the publishers to remove them.
Anne: Is everything okay?
Elise: Nothing serious. I just wanted to clarify something.
Anne: You can ask anything.
Elise: Do you know who the guy is—the one in the video with her?
Anne: They said he moved to England.
Elise: I thought he died?
Anne: That was the uploader.

Now things feel clearer—but somehow still blurred. My breathing turns shallow. It feels like I’m being choked by invisible hands.

Elise: Do you know his name? Or what he looks like?
Anne: Who? The guy in the video?

My hands are shaking. I can barely type “yes” without hitting the wrong keys. I retype it several times before finally pressing send.

Elise: Yes.
Anne: I spoke to him. A month after Britney’s funeral.

I stop breathing. Everything stops—my heart, my pulse, time itself.

Elise: Who was he?
Anne: I’m sorry, Elise. I have to go now. I wish I had more time. Bye.

No. She knows something. She didn’t tell me. She just… logged out. Didn’t even read my last message. Just disappeared—like the truth she’s hiding.

The moon is wide awake. Its light spills into my room, gently illuminating everything inside. Sometimes, I wonder— Is it possible for the darkness to swallow me whole… and the moon to save me? It has, once. Harry was the moon. He saved me from the dark—only to pull me back into it. Now, I sit in silence, wrapped in a storm of emotions, a thousand questions echoing in my head. I don’t even notice when sleep finally takes me.