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MARISOL FLUTTERED HER EYES OPEN. She looked around, her mind filled with a jumble of confusion and fear. The last thing she could recall was the horrifying sight of her sister tied up in that car, desperately screaming for help through the cloth in her mouth. As her eyes scanned the room, her heart pounding, she expected to find herself in a grimy, unsanitary basement. But to her surprise, she found herself standing in a normal bedroom. The walls were painted a soft shade of pink, adorned with a vibrant rainbow unicorn. It was in that moment that Marisol's realization hit her like a wave crashing over her. She knew exactly where she was.

Marisol's eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the familiar surroundings. It was Sophie's old room, the place where countless childhood memories were made. She couldn't help but be transported back in time, remembering how their family used to live in a different house before she was even born. It was a small, cozy place, but when their mom found out she was expecting Marisol, they made the decision to move into the house they currently called home.

As Marisol's gaze fell upon the My Little Pony bed, a mix of confusion and surprise painted her face. She couldn't shake the memory of seeing a picture of this very room, but how was it all still here? Did her mom never let go of the old house? Did she secretly keep the furniture all this time? The questions swirled in Marisol's mind, leaving her both intrigued and bewildered by this unexpected twist.

She slowly made her way over to Mila, her heart pounding with worry. Kneeling down in front of her friend, she gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Mila's eyes met hers, wide with terror, as she shook her head and took a shaky breath. The worried look on her face pierced her heart, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of fear herself. She leaned in closer, her voice filled with urgency, "What happened when I was knocked out? Please, tell me." Her eyes scanned Mila's face, searching for answers, but all she saw was pure fear. It sent shivers down her spine, making her own fear intensify.

Mila's body trembled, and she instinctively pulled her knees up to her chest, seeking comfort and protection. Her voice quivered as she tried to find the words to explain the horrifying ordeal she had just experienced. "The man... he came into the room and started causing chaos. It was terrifying. But I yelled 'no' and Mom rushed in, stopping him. I heard screaming and then a glass shattered," she explained, her voice filled with fear and vulnerability.

Marisol's mouth dropped open in shock as she processed the gravity of what her sister had just revealed. The realization that Mila had come dangerously close to experiencing something so traumatic hit her like a ton of bricks. Her eyes welled up with tears as she felt a wave of empathy and sorrow wash over her. She couldn't bear to see her sister in pain.

Feeling the weight of the moment, Marisol gently asked, "Can I give you a hug?" Mila, overcome with emotion, nodded her head, tears streaming down her face. Mila sobbed into Marisol's shoulder, seeking solace and comfort. Marisol held her tightly, rubbing her back, silently offering support and love.

Marisol gently released herself from the comforting embrace, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of a possible exit. And then, her gaze landed upon a window, located on the first level of the house. A glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes as she turned to Mila, a hopeful expression on her face.

"I think I may have found a way out of here," Marisol whispered, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and determination. With a newfound sense of purpose, she stood up and made her way towards the window, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

As Marisol reached the window, she discovered that it wasn't sealed shut like the others. A small smirk played at the corners of her lips as she realized that her mom hadn't glued this particular window closed. It was a lucky break, and Marisol couldn't help but feel a rush of relief wash over her.

Glancing back at Mila, Marisol waved her over, motioning for her to join her at the window. With a hushed voice, she whispered, "You go out first." Her words were filled with a mixture of encouragement and reassurance. Mila understood the plan and nodded in response, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation.

With a deep breath, Mila climbed out of the window, her body trembling with a combination of anxiety and hope. Marisol watched her sister carefully, ready to follow her lead and make their daring escape together.

The door swung open, causing Katherine's voice to echo through the room, "Hey!" Marisol's eyes widened in shock as she turned to Mila, panic evident on her face. "RUN! Call Eli!" she exclaimed urgently, tossing her phone to Mila who wasted no time in dashing away.

But before Marisol could make her escape, Katherine's grip tightened around her collar, forcefully slamming her against the wall. The anger in Katherine's voice was palpable as she yelled, "You ungrateful brat!"

Despite the fear and pain, Marisol's gaze hardened as she locked eyes with Katherine, a surge of defiance coursing through her. In an act of defiance, she spat in Katherine's face, a symbol of her refusal to be broken.

Katherine involuntarily gagged, her revulsion evident as she instinctively stepped back, allowing Marisol to break free. The older woman cast a disgusted look at Katherine, who responded with a perplexed, "What the hell?" Wiping her face in frustration, Marisol clenched her fists, transitioning seamlessly into a determined fighting stance.

"Fuck you," she spat defiantly, executing a swift kick that connected with Katherine's face. The impact left Katherine audibly grunting, blood spilling from her mouth. Undeterred, Marisol swiftly followed up with a forceful punch aimed at Katherine's chest, escalating the confrontation to a physical exchange.

Struggling for breath, Katherine spat out, "You—You fucking fag! Samantha LaRusso teach you that?" She taunted between gasps. Marisol tightened her jaw, shooting a piercing glare in response.

A primal battle cry erupted from the bleached-blonde as she forcefully propelled Katherine to the floor, swiftly ascending to a dominating position. Straddling Katherine, she unleashed a torrent of harsh punches onto her face. Each blow resonated with audible groans and cries of pain from Katherine, who struggled beneath the onslaught.

"Damn you! You're a heartless bitch! You were never a mother to us! You abandoned us when Sophie died! You killed Sophie!" The words were punctuated by relentless punches, and tears mingled with sweat on her flushed cheeks. The room bore witness to the visceral and emotionally charged confrontation, a turbulent mix of anger, betrayal, and grief.

Ascending to her feet, she stood as a formidable figure over her unconscious mother, who lay in a critical state—alive, but vulnerable. The shock on her face was palpable as she examined her blood-smeared hands, momentarily frozen by the harrowing scene.

With rapid breaths, Marisol abruptly broke free from the paralysis, escaping through the window. Her sprint was fueled by a torrent of emotions, tears marking her path. The relentless run carried her until the sight of a familiar street gave her a momentary reprieve. Recognizing the proximity to Miyagi-Do, she knew she had found a refuge in the midst of chaos.

Thundering down the street, Marisol's eyes locked onto the reassuring sight of Miyagi-Do. With determination, she flung the front gate open, the metallic clang capturing the attention of those within. Stares and curious faces turned toward her as she entered the familiar haven.

"Marisol!?" Miguel's exclamation cut through the ambient noise, his worry evident. Hunched forward, hands on her knees, Marisol struggled to regulate her breath. As she gasped for air, she lifted her gaze to find Miguel standing before her, genuine concern etched across his face.

"I was so worried," Miguel confessed, his voice a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos. Marisol, still catching her breath, surveyed her surroundings. The weight on her chest intensified as she felt the collective gaze of onlookers. The air seemed charged with unspoken questions, and the multitude of voices ringing in her ears added to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions.

"Marisol, are you alright? Try some breathing exercises," Daniel suggested with concern in his voice.

"God, we need Eli here, but he's picking Mila up from the gas station," Chris remarked.

"Cervantes, toughen up!" Johnny urged with a firm tone.

"Mars, it's going to be okay," Sam reassured gently, her expression carrying a touch of sadness.

"Ari, what happened to your hands?" Hollis started, concern etched on his face, but before he could finish, Miguel intervened with a swift smack to Hollis's arm, accompanied by a discreet headshake.

"Marisol's having a panic attack," Demetri revealed, his voice carrying a mix of empathy and understanding. Miguel, sharing a knowing look with Demetri, retorted, "I think we can see that, Metri," acknowledging the evident distress that surrounded them.

She turned towards the gate, determined to push it open once more. Stepping into the road, the distant hum of an approaching car grew louder. As the headlights neared, she turned to face it, a paralyzing fear taking hold. Stuck in place, she felt a surge of panic.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her forcefully out of the busy road. Turning to identify her rescuer, she found Miguel at her side, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding her senses. As they stood on the sidewalk, a passing car sped by, its driver venting frustration with a loud yell: "Dumbass!" The distant echoes of the insult lingered in the air as they both processed the narrowly avoided danger.

Marisol's eyes widened as the fog of confusion lifted. "How did I get here?" she asked Miguel in a hushed tone, shifting her gaze toward him. Seated together on the grass, Miguel remained by her side, his concern palpable. "Mari, what's the last thing you remember?" he inquired, keeping a steady gaze on her as they navigated the puzzle of her fragmented memories.

"I... I saw Mila jump out of Sophie's window?" Marisol replied, her brows furrowing in perplexity. Miguel exchanged a concerned look with Daniel and Johnny, who stood nearby with worried expressions, the gravity of the situation hanging in the air as they sought to piece together the events that led Marisol to this perplexing moment.

Marisol scoffed, her defiance evident. "I'm not crazy!" Rising to her feet, she stretched her arms out by her sides, a physical manifestation of her frustration. "Mila and I were kidnapped! She can confirm that. Our mom took us to her old house, where she, my dad, and Sophie lived before I was born. Got it?" she exclaimed, her voice a blend of anger and desperation.

It wasn't that they doubted her; their concern was directed at the visible aftermath on Marisol. Bruises adorned her arms, and blood stained her knuckles, telling a tale of struggle and pain. "We believe you, Mari. It's just that..." he trailed off, his gaze shifting to her arms and fists, a silent acknowledgment of the physical toll that accompanied her harrowing experience.

She looked down, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "W- What?" she stammered in shock, glancing back up at Miguel. Her gaze returned to her hands, fingers trembling as she tried to make sense of the situation. The events seemed hazy, and confusion clouded her thoughts.

Unable to comprehend what had transpired, she couldn't divert her gaze from her hands. Her lips quivered, and a fresh wave of tears welled up. "I need Eli," she admitted, her voice strained, attempting to walk past Miguel.

Sam swiftly stepped in front of her. "No. You're coming with me back to my house. We're going to call your dad, and I need to bandage your hand," Sam explained with a firm resolve. "But-" she began to protest, uncertainty written across her face.

Sam fixed her with a stern gaze. "No 'buts,'" she emphasized with a determined look.

The room was filled with a palpable tension as Sam carefully unwound the bloodied bandage from Marisol's injured hands. Bruises adorned her knuckles, evidence of a struggle that still lingered in the air. With a gentle touch, Sam began wiping away the traces of blood on Marisol's hands, her focus unwavering.

While tending to the wounds, Sam spoke softly, concern etched across her face. "Marisol, do you remember anything else?" The question hung in the air, the silence echoing the weight of Marisol's fragmented memories.

Marisol remained silent, her eyes distant as if searching the recesses of her mind. Sam continued her task, methodically cleaning and bandaging each bruised knuckle. The cloth, once white, now bore the stain of their shared ordeal.

As Sam finished the bandaging, Marisol broke the quiet with a whispered, "Thanks for helping..." The gratitude in her voice carried a vulnerability, a quiet acknowledgment of the solace found in Sam's care amid the chaos of the unknown.

Within the walls of the LaRusso residence, Marisol found solace on the couch, her expression void of any discernible emotion. Deep in thought, she attempted to unravel the enigma of the moments following Mila's daring jump from the window. A frustrating emptiness loomed in her memory until the abrupt encounter with the speeding car.

Sitting in contemplative silence, the dyed blonde directed her gaze downward, eyes fixed on an invisible puzzle. Furrowed brows mirrored the intensity of her internal struggle, as if she could unearth the missing fragments by sheer force of concentration. The room held a quiet tension, as Marisol delved into the recesses of her mind, desperately seeking clarity amid the murky shadows of recollection.

Sam's gaze bore into Marisol's, etched with genuine concern. "Are you okay?" she inquired softly, her brows knitting as she observed Marisol's demeanor. Marisol, her voice muffled, offered a somewhat reassured, "I'm okay." However, Sam's sigh carried a weight of skepticism.

The room held a lingering tension as Sam completed the task at hand. Despite the apparent conclusion, her tone remained serious. "I mean it. Are you really okay?" Sam pressed on, her worry palpable. Her gaze shifted from Marisol's face to the tangible aftermath of the traumatic experience – the stained shirt, bruised fists, and the silent testimony of the bruises on her arms. In a gentle yet firm gesture, Sam clasped Marisol's wrist, conveying not just a physical connection but a deep-seated concern for the friend who had endured an ordeal beyond words.

Marisol's groan of frustration filled the room. "I'm fine! Just leave me the hell alone!" She yanked her arm away, words dripping with irritation as she rose to her feet, determined to distance herself. As she walked towards the bathroom, a chorus of concerned murmurs lingered behind her.

"Marisol?" A voice cut through the air, drawing her attention. She turned sharply on her heels to find Eli at the entrance, Mila by his side. Concern etched on his face, Eli couldn't hide his worry. "Oh my god, what happened?" he questioned, his eyes scanning Marisol's disheveled state, and then shifting to Sam for an explanation.

Sam stood, her fingers absentmindedly smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. "I'll share the details later, but right now, you should go check on her. Something's not right; she's keeping it to herself. She insists she can't remember what happened, and her dad isn't picking up when mine tries to call him." Sam's hushed tone conveyed the urgency of the situation.

Mila surreptitiously eavesdropped from the kitchen, her brow furrowed with confusion. In response to Marisol's eye-roll, she exclaimed, "I told you, I don't remember! I swear," accompanied by a pleading look. Eli, picking up on the tension, shot Marisol a knowing glance as he approached. With a gentle grasp on her arm, he steered Marisol toward the living room.

Meanwhile, Sam, sensing something amiss, walked out to the backyard with Mila, hoping for an explanation. Mila inquired urgently, "What happened? When they took you, I had no choice but to leave, or things would've taken a dangerous turn. I was determined to track you down, but they managed to disable your location."

Marisol's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, though her eyes betrayed a distant unease. "All I remember is waking up in Sophie's old room, the place she lived before I was born. Mila was there, huddled in the corner, tears streaming down her face. It was surreal. I spotted a window, opened it, and urged her to run and call you. Just as she fled, the door creaked open, and that's the last memory I have." Her voice wavered slightly, and tears etched a path down her cheek as she recounted the haunting details.

Eli's brow furrowed in concern. "Okay, I believe you. Have you ever considered therapy, Mars? I know it might not be your favorite idea, but it could really help." Despite his well-intentioned suggestion, she remained defiant. "No! I don't need therapy. You think I'm crazy!" Her voice escalated, and she stood, looking down at him with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Eli shook his head, rising to Marisol's eye level. "No, no. I just don't want to lose you. You've been different, Mari. I'm genuinely worried about you. It's like you're not yourself," he said with concern, his eyes searching hers.

"Why are you worried?" she asked, her voice monotone, sadness evident in the droop of her eyes.

"Because I care about you, okay? Is there anything I can do to help? I know you're reluctant about therapy," he added, a pleading look in his eyes, a genuine desire to support her etched on his face.

She struggled to hold back the tears. "I feel like I'm on the edge of losing my sanity. These days, I often find myself alone in my room, just staring at the ceiling, consumed by dark and troubling thoughts—terrible, very terrible thoughts. There are moments when I'm happy, energetic, and confident, but then there are those days when I'm just down, exhausted, feeling utterly worthless, and my mind spirals into negative self-reflection. It even reaches a point where I contemplate things I shouldn't," she admitted, tears pouring down her face, baring the raw vulnerability of her emotions.

Eli's eyes widened in shock, and he felt a profound heaviness in his chest. Seeing her in such distress tore at him. "You don't mean that. You're the best thing that has happened to any of us, to me. I genuinely care about you. Your happiness matters to me more than you know. I want you to open up to me, to share your burdens. Lately, it feels like you've been pushing me away," he implored, his words carrying a mix of heartfelt concern and a yearning for a deeper connection.

A look of gratitude softened her features. "Thank you for being patient. I'm sorry for pulling away; fear has been a constant companion. I've found myself caught between choosing you or Sam. It's a difficult decision, and I'm gradually working through it, but I still need time. The struggle to understand myself has been overwhelming, leaving me uncertain of my identity. This confusion has become the reason I've distanced myself from everyone," she confessed, her voice carrying the weight of introspection and inner turmoil.

Eli's gaze lingered in her eyes, a silent plea for connection. "You don't need to push me away. After all we've been through, how can I just let you go?" he expressed knowingly, prompting a warm red tint to flood Marisol's cheeks. "I was scared that I lost you along the way," Eli continued, baring his vulnerability and the depth of his feelings for her.

Marisol leaned in, her vulnerability evident as he gently clasped her hands, their eyes locked in a shared moment. "Just please don't leave me," she whispered, a plea filled with emotion.

He responded by flickering his eyes down to her lips, leaning in for a kiss. However, their intimate moment was abruptly disrupted by a sudden movement in the room. They quickly separated, turning their heads to find Sam standing at the doorway, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"S-Sorry. I didn't see or hear anything," Sam quickly lied, her embarrassment evident as she swallowed nervously. She crossed her arms, attempting to regain composure. "I just wanted to see if Marisol was still up for dinner tonight. Your dad and Natasha are here, and my dad is updating them on what happened. Your dad looks pissed," she explained, seamlessly transitioning into a more composed demeanor despite the awkward interruption.

Marisol clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "Sure, can Eli stay?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows with a playful yet hopeful expression. Sam managed a forced smile, "Yeah, he can," she replied, her smile revealing a hint of reluctance. Marisol's face lit up with joy. "Great!" she exclaimed, her excitement filling the room.

Sam started to walk out of the room, Eli and Marisol following closely behind. The atmosphere carried a mix of anticipation and the subtle tension of unspoken sentiments.

Sam had overheard everything, her hidden emotions now exposed. A pang of jealousy consumed her as she yearned for Marisol's return, even though it was evident that Marisol was leaning towards choosing Eli. The realization shattered Sam's heart into pieces.

Marisol's dad wasted no time and filed a police report before dinner, setting the wheels in motion for a substantial event. The following morning, they were slated to head down to the police station for statements and to check for potential eyewitnesses. The weight of the situation hung in the air, turning the upcoming dinner into a significant affair.

Hollis and his mom soon arrived, followed by Miguel, his mom, and his grandma. Fortunately, the LaRussos had a generously sized table. However, for Marisol, the prospect of this dinner was daunting. Having endured a kidnapping the day before, the contrast between her recent trauma and everyone else's seemingly normal lives made her feel uncomfortably out of place. The itch beneath her skin persisted as she grappled with the incongruity of the situation.

Stepping through the LaRusso house, Marisol set out to find Mila. A soft knock on Anthony's door preceded Marisol opening it, only to discover the two locked in a kiss. Marisol's mouth dropped open in astonishment, "Oh my god," she uttered in disbelief.

Mila, realizing they were caught, swiftly made her way toward Marisol, panic in her eyes. "Marisol, get out!" she yelled, pushing Marisol back and slamming the door shut. The unexpected encounter sent Marisol into a fit of laughter. Giggling, she sprinted down the hallway, eager to share the amusing incident with Sam.

Gently tapping Sam's shoulder, Marisol wore a mischievous expression. Sam turned, a look of confusion on her face, while Marisol couldn't contain her giggles. "I just saw the most horrific thing ever," she shared, laughter still bubbling through her words. Sam raised a skeptical brow, half-expecting Marisol might be recounting an exaggerated story or, worse, describing an odd hallucination or the aftermath of some dubious choice.

Marisol struggled to hold back her giggles, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I... I just walked in on my sister and your brother kissing!" she exclaimed, the laughter bubbling out of her. Sam's eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately joined Marisol in a fit of hysterical laughter. "What! Like making out or just a kiss?" Sam asked, her curiosity piqued, eager for the scandalous details. Marisol, still chuckling, gave an exaggerated shrug.

"I don't know, but it was so funny! She slammed Anthony's own door! His face turned red like a tomato!" Marisol mimicked, adding a touch of dramatic flair to her storytelling. Laughter echoed in the room until an unexpected scowl cut through the jovial atmosphere. "You told Sam!" Mila's indignant voice rang out, expressing her displeasure at the revelation.

Marisol swiftly turned to face her irate sister, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "Oh shit, she's gonna murder me," she commented, anticipation glinting in her eyes. Mila, fueled by annoyance, lunged after her, but Marisol skillfully dodged and laughed as she darted away. "You won't be able to catch me! I'm older and know karate! You're just tiny with small feet!" she teased, playfully showcasing her agility while weaving through Carmen, Natasha, Holly, and Amanda.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Mila shouted in frustration, her determination clear. Natasha, stepping in as the voice of reason, scolded, "Hey! No threatening each other," attempting to maintain order as the chase continued, echoing with laughter, up the stairs.

From Marisol's perspective, the dinner unfolded relatively smoothly, with the exception of Miguel's unfortunate mishap. Accidentally knocking down Holly's wine glass, he expressed endless apologies and retreated into an embarrassed silence. Despite this hiccup, the rest of the evening appeared uneventful.

However, when Marisol returned home later that night, the vibrant happiness and energy she displayed earlier seemed to dissipate. It mirrored the feelings she had shared with Eli. A growing concern crept in, making her question if there might be something wrong with her. Feeling a subtle weight on her chest, she rolled over onto her side, reaching for her phone on the bedside table. Clicking on Safari, she typed in 'how to know if I'm bipolar.' A list of results appeared, and she selected a test, hoping to find some clarity to the internal struggles she was facing.

Having completed the test, the results ominously hinting at a potential bipolar diagnosis, Marisol emitted a disheartened groan. Disconnecting from the distressing revelation, she powered down her phone and placed it on the bedside table. The weight of uncertainty pressed upon her as she grappled with unsettling thoughts once more. Frustrated, she ran her hands through her hair, a futile attempt to dispel the invasive negativity.

Summoning the strength to confront her emotions, Marisol sat up in bed and ventured into the adjoining bathroom. The water started to cascade from the showerhead, the rhythmic sound providing a backdrop to her contemplation. Returning to her room, she sought comfort in ritual, retrieving a set of incense from a drawer. With a lighter in hand, she ignited the incense, its fragrant tendrils weaving through the room like a soothing balm for her troubled mind.

Caught in a tumult of despair, Marisol's contemplations took a harrowing turn as she clutched the lighter in her hands, briefly entertaining the chilling notion of self-harm. A resolute shake of her head marked the internal struggle to dispel such thoughts, and with a deep breath, she returned the lighter to the drawer, closing it as if sealing away a haunting temptation.

The dimly lit bathroom beckoned as a sanctuary of solitude, and Marisol, yearning for distraction, decided on a late-night shower. Stripping away her clothes, she stood vulnerable before the mirror, where the harsh scrutiny of her own reflection intensified the ache of self-loathing. Tears welled up as she fixated on perceived flaws, her hand instinctively shielding her stomach from her own critical gaze. The weight of inadequacy bore heavily on her, a torrent of sobs escaping as she retreated to the sanctuary of the shower.

As the water cascaded over her, Marisol, now a silhouette of vulnerability, slid down the cool shower wall. Wet hair clung to her face, tears mingling with droplets. Folding her knees to her chest, she succumbed to the emotional turmoil, overwhelmed by a pervasive sense of not measuring up, a haunting feeling that she wasn't enough.

—

ash speaks!

In no way am I romanticizing any of this. I am trying to show awareness to show that things like this happen to me. And these things have happened to me personally, it helps me put it into writing to help with my feelings. I am getting help (therapy and journaling). There are many ways to get help, if you are struggling there are hotlines that you can call (or text). This is very serious topics and a lot of people go through this, but not everyone gets help or get heard. I am only trying to show that you are not alone.