Page 71 of Shattered Obsession

It’s reverent.

Damian may believe he still has a claim over my life, that he can haunt me indefinitely, but I refuse to be his prisoner any longer. I will reclaim what is rightfully mine, even if that path leads me to take his life in the end.

Journal Entry

-Thalia-

Trauma is a thief. It doesn’t just steal peace; it steals time. Days pass, but I’m still trapped in that night. I keep replaying it in my mind, the cold steel of the knife pressed mercilessly against my throat, its chilling bite making my skin crawl. I can remember precisely how his weight felt as it bore down on me, heavy and suffocating, a reminder of my powerlessness.

The smell of his breath still haunts me; it’s a foul mix of stale smoke and something rancid.

It’s as if these memories are carved into my bones, etched so deeply that I can’t scrub them out, no matter how hard I try.

Everyone around me perceives me as fragile glass, convinced that a single push would send me crashing to the ground in a million irreparable pieces. Glass can cut. Glass can kill. They forget that.

Xander hovers nearby, constantly vigilant, while Isla frets with her worried glances, and even my therapist regards me with a care that suggests I’m on the brink of shattering. They don’t understand, though. I’m not breaking. I’m sharpening.

Damian still thinks he owns me; he still believes I’ll forever be that girl on the floor, gasping for air beneath his hand. He thinks fear is a chain that binds me forever. But that night, when I broke free from his grip, something shifted.

I realized I could run. I realized I could fight.

One day, I’ll be the one standing over him. One day, it will be his breath that catches in his throat, his body that trembles with fear. One day, he will be the one begging for mercy. And when that day finally arrives, I won’t hold back.

I am not prey anymore.

The future used to terrify me. Now it’ll terrify him. Because this time, the monster should be afraid of me.

I used to think healing meant forgetting.

Now I know healing means remembering and choosing differently.

Damian haunts my past.

But I will write my future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

-Xander-

I can’t tear my gaze away from the faint red mark etched on Thalia’s throat. It has faded over the evening, but it’s burned into my memory, a lingering ghost of her pain that refuses to let me go. Every time I close my eyes, I see it: an indelible reminder of what she’s endured. She sits on the couch across from me, curled up in a blanket, Bella nestled protectively at her feet. She looks so small, too damn small for all the heaviness weighing on her. My chest aches with the unbearable weight of that reality.

“You’re safe now,” I assure her for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice rough around the edges with emotion. “He’s not here. He’s not going to touch you again. I won’t let him.” Thalia’s eyes flick up to mine, brave, steady, and yet I can discern something deeper. She’s hiding behind that facade of strength. I lean forward, desperation pushing me to reach out. “Talk to me, Thalia. Don’t keep it inside. Please.”

-Thalia-

I want to believe him. God, I want to. But safety feels like a foreign language that I never learned to speak. My body reacts before my brain does. My shoulders curl in. My breathing shortens. A phantom ache blooms where fingers once locked around my throat. I know it’s not real, not anymore, but trauma doesn’t care about time or logic. ‘Safe’ is just a sound. My nervous system hears footsteps in memories.

My therapist once told me the body keeps score.

I didn’t understand it then.

Now I do.

Because sometimes fear isn’t a thought; it’s a reflex. A muscle memory. Something as small as the click of a door closing can jolt electricity down my spine. A shadow moving across the wall makes my ribs tighten. I try grounding like I was taught. Five, four, three, two, one.

But sometimes all I can feel is my pulse dragging me back into the past.

Xander watches this happen quietly. He tracks the way my chest rises too fast, the way my hands start shaking even when I pretend they’re not. And the worst part? I hate that he sees it. I hate that he recognizes every microscopic shift in me.