The sterile smell of disinfectant clung to the air as Yasmine slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred, the world around her a hazy blur of pale white walls and faint, rhythmic beeping from the heart monitor. The dull ache in her stomach was constant, but it paled in comparison to the chaos swirling in her mind.

"Where... am I? What... happened?" Yasmine's voice was a hoarse whisper, her eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. Fragmented memories surged forward—flashes of Carly's face, the gleam of the knife, the rush of pain—and her chest tightened in response. She instinctively clutched at her stomach, the ache intensifying as her body seemed to recall the terror her mind couldn't fully grasp.

"It's her!" Yasmine screamed, her voice breaking as panic flooded her. She shrank back against the bed, her wide eyes locking onto the door, convinced that Carly was still coming for her. "She's here! She's going to get us again!"

The nurse was at her side instantly, her calm, steady presence anchoring Yasmine's spiraling thoughts. "Yasmine, you're safe," she said gently, her voice firm but soothing. "Take deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it—focus on my voice."

Yasmine struggled to follow the instructions, but the weight of Carly's rage, the knife—it was all too much. "She's going to hurt me," Yasmine gasped, her fingers clutching at the nurse's sleeve, as if her touch could stave off the looming terror. Tears slid down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable, leaving streaks of helplessness in their wake.

"She's not here," the nurse repeated, her tone unwavering. "You're in the hospital. You're safe now."

Yasmine's breaths became shallow, but the nurse's words slowly worked their way through the fog in her mind. Reality began to settle in, and with it came a heavy, exhausted relief. She let out a trembling sigh. Maybe I'm safe, she thought. Maybe I can forget.

But even as she felt the weight lift from her chest, a new, different burden settled in her heart. She wouldn't let Marie see her like this. She wouldn't let her see how broken she had become. If she could just keep it together, maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe she could forget about the chaos, about Carly.

The soft hum of machines filled the room until a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Yasmine? Are you okay? How are you feeling?" Marie's voice, laced with concern, sent a wave of warmth and guilt through Yasmine. She turned her head to see Marie standing there, her tired eyes wide with worry.

Seeing the exhaustion etched into Marie's face made Yasmine push her emotions down even further. She forced a faint smile, doing her best to mask the storm of fear and trauma swirling inside her. "I'm fine, Marie. Really. Just a little sore."

Marie studied her for a long moment, her brow furrowing as if she were trying to read something Yasmine wasn't saying. But then, a small smile broke through, and relief washed over Marie's face. "That's good to hear. I've been so worried about you."

Marie reached out to adjust the blanket on Yasmine's lap, but Yasmine felt the weight of her decision pressing down. She had to stay strong—for Marie's sake, if not her own. But beneath the surface, the shadows of her memories threatened to rise again, to suffocate her in their grip the moment she was alone.

In the days that followed, Yasmine's physical wounds began to heal, but the mental scars only deepened. Every shadow in the room felt like Carly lurking. Every beep of the heart monitor, every shift in the hallway, was an alarm of impending danger. The smallest sound made her tense, her mind latching onto the worst possible scenario.

Each night, she jolted awake in a cold sweat, her chest tight with the echoes of that moment—Carly's rage, the knife, the blood. It was a broken record, playing on repeat inside her head.

Marie stayed by her side, offering quiet reassurance, but Yasmine could feel the helplessness hanging in the air. The once vibrant, confident friend she had known was now a fragile, shadowed version of herself—withdrawn, jumpy, her eyes scanning the room as though bracing for another attack. It was as though the light inside Yasmine had been extinguished.

One afternoon, as the sun dimly filtered through the hospital blinds, a whisper broke the heavy silence.

"Do you think Carly regrets it?"

Marie froze. The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she was lost in the stillness. Her thoughts churned, and she found herself scrambling for an answer—any answer. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "I don't know," she admitted, her throat tight. "But I don't think it matters. What she did... it was unforgivable."

Yasmine didn't respond, her eyes drifting up toward the ceiling, unfocused. "She wasn't always like this," she murmured, her voice a faint, sad whisper. "How did she... how did we all end up like this?"

Marie's heart sank. She swallowed hard, the weight of Yasmine's words settling deep within her chest. She wanted to offer comfort, to make sense of it all, but she had no answer. Nothing she said would fix this. Nothing would undo the damage Carly had done.

The room fell silent again, the quiet hum of the machines filling the space between them. It felt heavier than words, the silence pressing down on them both like an invisible weight, suffocating and unyielding.