CHAPTER 411: GRAVITY

The dawn did not bring light, only a gradual graying of the shadows. I woke not from sleep, but from a state of exhausted paralysis, my body feeling as if it had been filled with wet cement overnight.

Each limb was a dead weight. The simple act of drawing breath was a conscious, laborious effort. And my heart, it was no longer a beating organ but a cold, heavy stone lodged in my chest, dragging everything inward.

The night before played on a relentless loop behind my eyes. Sarah’s voice, soft and syrupy, each word carefully placed. "He threatened me... I had no choice... I’m so sorry, Aria..." It was the same tone she used to use when soothing me after a nightmare,except now I could hear the calculation beneath the sweetness, the manipulation masquerading as vulnerability.

I didn’t know what to trust. My own mind felt like a foreign country. The story was a puzzle piece forced into a space it didn’t fit, its edges grinding against the picture of reality I thought I knew.

I wanted, with a desperation that was a physical ache, to believe Kael was incapable of such a thing. That the man whose hands had learned the geography of my skin would never use them to threaten. That he wouldn’t fracture me so completely. But when I tried to summon his face,the image was blurred, stolen by doubt. And Sarah, what possible reason could she have to invent this?What did she gain?

My stomach clenched, a vicious, twisting spasm. Whether it was the cheap noodles from last night or the pure rot of anxiety inside me, I didn’t know. I rolled over, pressing a fist to my abdomen, willing the feeling away.

It was useless.

The sickness rose fast and violent. I barely made it to the bathroom, collapsing onto the cool tiles as my body convulsed, expelling everything... the food, the water, the unshed tears that finally broke free. It went on until there was nothing left but the hollow, aching heaves, my ribs screaming with each shudder.

When it finally passed, I slumped against the wall, my forehead pressed to the porcelain, gasping. My hands shook as I turned the faucet, splashing cold water on a face I could barely feel. I brushed my teeth twice, scrubbing at the sour, bitter film coating my tongue, but the taste of betrayal remained.

I stood under the shower, the water scalding hot, but I felt nothing. The steam fogged the glass, and I stared into the white void, my mind slipping away from me.

Fragments of memory, sharp and bright, cut through the numbness. Kael’s touch,a brand of possession and reverence along my spine. His voice, rough and raw in the dark, breathing my name like a prayer. A balcony in Spain, the salt air on our skin, his gaze holding me as if I were the entire world.

Then, Sarah. Sarah,her head thrown back in laughter that shook her whole body. Sarah, her weight warm and trusting against my side during a late-night film. Sarah, her fingers laced with mine at my mother’s grave, her thumb stroking my hand, a silent vow of solidarity. "I never meant to hurt you..."

I braced my palms against the cold tile, the shock of it a brief anchor. I could not fall apart. Not here. Not again.

I moved through the motions of dressing like a ghost. The person in the mirror was a stranger, bleached of color and spirit, her eyes two dark holes in a pale face. I had to get out.To move. To find a space where the air wasn’t thick with the ghosts of my own poor judgment.

The small Pentecostal church a few streets away surfaced in my mind. I knew its quiet hours. I knew when I could slip into a back pew and become invisible.

I didn’t believe. Not in a long time. But sometimes I craved the illusion of a presence larger than my own pain. Something to witness the silence with me.

The nausea was a low, persistent hum as I walked, a companion to my footsteps. The November chill needled my skin, a welcome sting of reality.

Inside, the church was nearly empty. A handful of elderly parishioners dotted the pews, their voices a thin, reedy chorus singing hymns that were echoes from a childhood I barely remembered.

I slid into the last row. The music washed over me, and my mind began to drift, that familiar, frightening detachment pulling me under. The world softened, its edges blurring. The stained-glass windows melted into pools of color. The voices became a distant hum. I was sinking, weightless, into a quiet deep enough to drown in.

A voice, thin and cracked with age, yet gentle as worn velvet, pierced the haze.

I looked up.

She stood beside my pew, one of the regulars. Her hair was a cloud of white, her face a roadmap of a long life. Her eyes, however, were keen, seeing straight through the fragile shell I presented.

"Are you alright, child?"

I attempted a smile. It felt like a crack in clay. "I’m fine. Thank you."

She didn’t move. Her gaze held a depth of knowing that was unsettling.

She leaned closer, the scent of lavender and old paper enveloping me. "Ah, my dear... you look different today," she murmured, her hand, light as a dried leaf, coming to rest on my arm. "So tired. So pale. Like the light inside you is fading."

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"You carry yourself like something is pulling you down," she continued, her voice a soft, rhythmic cadence. "As if a part of you is working too hard, stealing all your strength."

Her smile then was slow, deep, and held a universe of secrets. "You don’t have to say a word.I can see it... your body is telling its own story." Her fingers gave the faintest pressure on my shoulder. "Rest, child. Eat warm things. Be gentle with yourself. Keep safe."

Her gaze dropped to my middle for a fleeting, devastating second before returning to my eyes. "The body doesn’t lie,"she whispered, the words final as a sealed letter. "Not when a new life has begun to root."

My breath stopped.

New life.

The words were a key turning in a lock I had kept bolted shut.

New life. What did that... No. It was impossible...

I crushed the thought before it could fully form. "Thank you," I stammered, lurching to my feet before my legs could give way. "I... I have to go."

She only nodded, that ancient, knowing smile still gracing her lips, a blessing that felt like a sentence as I hurried past her and out into the day.

The cold air was a slap. The sky was a sheet of low, oppressive gray.

My mind was a whirlpool.

When was my last period? The thought dropped into my consciousness like a stone.I tried to count back, to pin down dates, but the weeks were a blurred and messy watercolor, days bleeding into one another without distinction.

I walked, my footsteps automatic, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs.

A pharmacy appeared on the corner. I looked at it. Walked past.

I don’t need to. She’s just a lonely old woman. She doesn’t know me.

But my steps faltered. Slowed. Stopped.

The air tasted of iron and impending rain. My pulse throbbed in my ears.

I turned around.

Before resolve could fail, I pushed the pharmacy door open, a small bell announcing my surrender.

The lights were aggressively bright. The aisles were too orderly. The calm was a mockery.

I picked up three different boxes. Just to be certain.

The cashier didn’t meet my eyes. She scanned them, dropped them into a thin white bag, and slid it across the counter with a vacant, "Have a nice day."

The bag weighed nothing and everything.

The walk home was a tunnel. Each step was an effort. As my building came into view, my lungs felt tight.

That’s when I saw him, my landlord, standing on the front steps, deep in conversation with someone whose back was to the direction I was coming from.