Kapitel 11: CHAPTER 11

I sat there on the cold floor, clutching my wrist, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My heart was still racing, my chest tight with fear. The can of soup lay discarded beside me, its metal edge glinting in the dim light, mocking my desperation.

I tried to catch my breath, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand, willing myself to stop crying. Don't make any more noise. Just… don't.

But the trembling wouldn't stop. My entire body felt shaky, like it had given up on holding itself together. I cradled my wrist to my chest, biting my lip hard to keep from whimpering at the pain. It wasn't broken—just bruised, maybe. But it hurt.

How did I get here? The thought lingered for a moment, but I shoved it away. There was no point in asking that. I knew how. The world had fallen apart, and with it, people had too. He wasn't some monster—I told myself that. He was just… surviving. Like I was. Like we all were.

I hadn't meant to make him angry. I was just hungry. And now, I was paying for it.

I could hear him moving around in his room, the sound of drawers opening and closing, heavy footsteps pacing. I stayed where I was, frozen in place, afraid to move. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to stay small, stay silent. Don't make him angrier.

Minutes ticked by, but I didn't dare get up. The fear of him coming out again, of another outburst, kept me rooted to the spot. I could still feel his grip on my wrist, the bruises forming under the skin.

After a while, the pacing stopped, and the apartment fell silent. I listened closely, straining to hear any sound that would signal his return. But it was quiet—too quiet. The only noise was the soft hum of the refrigerator, and even that felt like it was too loud in the stillness.

Eventually, the pain in my wrist dulled to a deep ache, and the tears dried on my cheeks. I couldn't stay here on the floor forever, but I didn't know where to go. The couch seemed too far, and even standing felt like too much.

But hunger gnawed at me, relentless and insistent. The soup was still there, within reach. I glanced toward the bedroom, heart pounding, wondering if Alex would come out again, if he was listening, waiting for me to make another mistake.

Don't. Don't do anything.

But I was so hungry.

With trembling fingers, I reached out and grabbed the can. It felt heavy in my hand, the metal cold and sharp against my skin. I brought it to my lap, holding it there, not daring to open it, not daring to make a sound.

My stomach growled, loud enough to make me wince. I pressed a hand to it, trying to muffle the noise, trying to hold everything in. But it was no use. My body was betraying me, screaming for something, anything to fill the emptiness inside.

I stayed like that for what felt like hours—curled up on the floor, holding the can of soup, too scared to open it, too hungry to let it go.

At some point, I heard the bedroom door creak open, and my heart stopped. I held my breath, waiting for his footsteps to come closer, waiting for the anger in his voice, the demand to know what I was doing. But nothing came.

He just stood there in the doorway, watching me. His eyes flickered down to the can in my lap, then back up to my face. For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The tension in the air was suffocating.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked back into his room, shutting the door behind him.

I exhaled shakily, relief washing over me like a wave, but the fear never left. It clung to me, cold and unforgiving, reminding me that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

I put the can back on the counter, untouched, and slunk back to the couch. I couldn't risk it. Not again.

Instead, I curled up under the blanket, clutching my wrist, hoping sleep would take me away from this nightmare.

But that was wishful thinking. Even my dreams were haunted.

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