Chapter 28

The nightmare never began at the beginning. It always started somewhere in the middle- where panic was already blooming, where her breath was already shallow, where her body already knew it was trapped long before her mind caught up. Tonight, it began with a sound. The low creak of a wooden floorboard. Her eyes snapped open, but she wasn't in her bed.

The ceiling above her was wrong- too low, stained yellow with age and smoke, a single bulb flickering like a dying heartbeat. The air was thick, humid, laced with sweat, cheap perfume, and something sour beneath it all. Fear had a smell. She had learned that long ago. Her throat tightened.

No. No, no, no- She tried to move, but her wrists were pinned above her head, tied with rough rope that burned into her skin.

The knots were familiar. Too familiar. Her fingers curled uselessly, nails scraping against splintered wood. The bed beneath her sagged in the middle, springs groaning softly as if whispering secrets they had witnessed too many times. Her heart began to race, each beat loud enough to echo in her ears. This wasn't a memory, she told herself desperately. This was just a dream. A bad dream. A nightmare.

But nightmares, she knew, lied by telling the truth too well. The door creaked open.

Light spilled in from the corridor, harsh and yellow, slicing across her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't help. She could still hear it- the clink of a belt buckle, the slow drag of footsteps that took their time because they always could.

A man stood in the doorway. Or maybe many men.

In the nightmare, faces blurred together, melting and reforming like wax left too close to a flame. Sometimes he was tall. Sometimes short. Sometimes laughing. Sometimes silent. Sometimes all of them at once.

"You're awake." a voice said.

Her breath hitched. Her body reacted before her mind did, muscles tightening, legs trying to close, shoulders curling inward as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear. The rope bit deeper into her wrists.

"I--- Please." Her voice cracked. She hadn't meant to speak. She never did.

The sound came out anyway, thin and broken. The word tasted like blood. The man stepped closer. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the bed groaned again, helpless, complicit. A hand brushed her thigh- not rough yet, never rough at first. That was part of the cruelty. The softness, the illusion of choice.

"You'll behave tonight." he said. It wasn't a question. She shook her head violently, tears spilling hot and fast down her temples into her hair.

"I'll do anything. I'll clean. I'll work. I'll---just don't---" she sobbed.

Her pleas dissolved into choking gasps as the room closed in around her. The walls seemed to breathe, pulsing inward, plaster cracking like skin splitting under pressure. The flickering bulb swung slightly, casting shadows that twisted into reaching hands.

Her body betrayed her- freezing, locking, responding in ways that made her hate herself even now, even years later.

In the nightmare, the shame was louder than the fear. It screamed in her ears, telling her she was dirty, complicit, broken beyond repair. The man leaned down until his breath brushed her ear.

"No one's coming." he whispered.

And that was when the true terror set in- not the pain she knew was coming, not the violation her body already anticipated, but the certainty. The absolute, suffocating certainty that this was her entire world. That this room was all she would ever be. That time would stretch endlessly forward, one faceless man after another, until there was nothing left of her that could still scream.

Her chest burned. She couldn't get enough air. The room shifted suddenly. She was no longer tied to the bed. Now she stood in a narrow hallway, barefoot on cold stone. Doors lined both sides, each one shut tight, each one pulsing faintly as if something alive pressed against them from within. From behind the doors came sounds- crying, pleading, laughter, the rhythmic creak of beds. Her stomach twisted.

She knew those sounds. They had been her chorus once. She began to walk, though she didn't remember deciding to. The hallway stretched longer with every step, the lights overhead buzzing angrily. As she passed the doors, they began to open.

Inside each room was a version of herself.

Younger. Thinner. Bruised. Smiling emptily. Crying silently. Lying still.

One reached for her. Another turned her face to the wall. Another stared straight ahead, eyes glassy, lips moving as if reciting something over and over. This is what you are, the nightmare whispered. This is all you will ever be. She clamped her hands over her ears, screaming.

"Stop! Stop, please!" She sobbed out.

But her voice echoed back at her, multiplied, layered with the voices of all the women she had known there- some who escaped, some who disappeared, some who stopped speaking long before they stopped breathing. At the end of the hallway was a mirror. She didn't want to look. She knew what waited there. She knew because the nightmare always took her here.

Her reflection stared back at her, eyes hollow, skin dull, mouth bruised into a permanent, obedient curve. Words were carved into her arms, her stomach, her thighs- names, prices, commands. Ownership written into flesh. She reached out, trembling, touching the glass.

The reflection smiled wider.

"You survived but you never left." She said it in her voice. Her knees gave out.

She collapsed to the floor, sobbing so hard her ribs ached, fingers clawing at her chest as if she could rip the memories out of herself. The hallway began to flood, dark water seeping in, rising fast. It soaked her dress, her hair, her mouth. The water tasted metallic, like rust and blood. She thrashed, trying to stand, but hands grabbed her ankles from beneath the surface.

Pulling.

Dragging.

She screamed.

Her scream tore through the nightmare like a blade. She jerked upright in her bed, gasping violently, lungs burning as if she had been underwater for too long. Her sheets were twisted around her legs, soaked with sweat. Her heart slammed against her ribs, wild and desperate.

The room around her was dark- but familiar.

It was a dream.

A bad dream.

Her bedroom. Her walls. Her window. Sunlight spilled gently across the floor, golden and calm. No flickering bulb. No ropes. No locked doors. She pressed a hand to her chest, then to her throat, grounding herself in the reality of her own body. Her wrists were free. Her skin was unmarked. The air smelled like clean cotton and the faint lavender of the soap she used every day.

She was safe.

"I'm safe. I'm here. It's over." She whispered it out loud, voice shaking.

Her breath slowly began to steady, though tears still slipped down her cheeks, silent and heavy. The dream receded, but it never vanished completely. It lingered like a shadow at the edge of her mind, waiting.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor, feeling the solid ground beneath her.

She named things softly, a ritual she had learned: "Bed. Window. Door. My hands. My name."

With each word, the past loosened its grip just a little. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking gently, holding the woman she had been and the woman she was now. The survivor. The one who woke up.

And as the day slowly quieted around her, she looked around and saw a book at the mattress which she was trying to read and understand before slipping into a deep sleep.

She looked around and she slept for half an hour without realising it. Even if she survived that brothel, the memories never left her. They were behind her like shadows hidden in the dark and whenever she sleeps it comes back. She decided to look for Aria as her heart pounded in her chest. Evenings in the apartment arrived gently.

Not all at once, not with the drama or noise- but in small, almost invisible ways. The sun lowered itself behind the neighbouring buildings, light changing from harsh gold to something softer, dustier. Shadows stretched longer across the tiled floor, settling into familiar shapes. The city outside slowed, just enough to be noticed. She walked out of the bedroom looking for Aria.

"Aria?" she called softly. No answer.

Innara frowned slightly- not in alarm, just awareness and moved toward the living room. The apartment was bathed in that muted amber light that made everything look gentler than it really was. The sofa cushions were slightly out of place. One of Aria's stuffed animals lay on the floor, abandoned mid-play. Her baby elephant. She picked it up and settled it on the couch, adjusting the cushions too.

And there on the coffee table sat Aria.

Cross-legged. Tongue peeking out in concentration. One small hand gripping a red crayon. And beneath that crayon- Nitya's book. Innara stopped. For a moment, she just watched. Aria was deeply absorbed, little brows furrowed, curls falling into her eyes as she drew looping shapes across the open page.

The book was thick, medical- one of Nitya's old anatomy references, margins already full of her handwritten notes. Aria had added her own interpretation: stars, circles, something vaguely resembling a house with legs. Innara inhaled slowly. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't rush forward.

She walked calmly to the table and crouched beside her daughter. Her hand gently caressed Aria's head.

"Aria." she said gently. Aria looked up instantly. Her eyes widened.

"Oh…hi, Momma." she said with a tiny wave. Innara glanced at the book, then back at Aria.

"What are you doing, baby?" she asked.

Aria followed her gaze and seemed to understand belatedly that something might be wrong. She looked at her with a scared expression.

"I was drawing. For Maasi." She said honestly and carefully. Innara nodded.

"I can see that, baby. But whose book is this?" she replied. Her tone was calm, but firmer now. Aria hesitated.

"…Maasi's." She replied in her slow voice scared of something.

"Yes, and did Maasi say you could draw in it?" Innara said. Aria shook her head slowly.

"No." She said with a tiny waver in her voice.

Innara closed her eyes briefly- not in frustration, but to choose her words. She reached out and gently took the crayon from Aria's hand, placing it on the table. Her actions were gentle because she didn't want to scare or fill fear in her. She just wanted to make her understand and it can happen with gentle parenting too.

"Aria, you know you're not in trouble, right?" she said softly. Aria nodded, but her lip trembled slightly anyway. Innara cupped her cheek and pulled her into her lap.

"But this is not okay. Even if you didn't mean harm. Even if you wanted to make something nice." she continued, Aria's eyes were filled with confusion.

"But I wasn't bad, I just---" she said quickly.

"I know and that's why I'm telling you this now." Innara interrupted gently. She straightened slightly, meeting Aria's eyes fully.

"When something belongs to someone else, you must always ask. Always. Even if you think they won't mind. Even if you think it's small." She explained in her firm voice. Aria sniffed.

"I won't do it again, momma." she promised quickly. Innara studied her for a moment, then nodded.

"I believe you but believing means trusting you to remember." she said. She picked up the book carefully, closing it and setting it aside.

"This was harmless. But some harmless things become habits. And habits matter." Innara continued. Aria nodded seriously, absorbing every word as if it were law.

"I'm sorry, momma." she said quietly. Innara pulled her into a hug.

"I know. Come on. Let’s clean up." she murmured into her hair. Aria nodded gently.

They tidied together, crayons back in their box, the table wiped down. Aria was unusually quiet, glancing at Innara now and then as if checking whether everything was truly okay. She was still scared that Innara was mad at her but she wasn't. When they were done, Aria looked up suddenly.

"Momma?" she called out cautiously.

"Yes baby?" Innara replied softly while turning towards her, with a smile.

"Can I go play with Sofia?" Innara paused.

Sofia lived next door. A quiet little girl with braids and shy smiles. Her mother Lucía was polite, observant, and kind in a careful way that Innara trusted. Still, the instinct to hesitate was automatic.

"How long?" Innara asked not wanting to keep Aria caged like a bird.

"Just a little, please." Aria said quickly. Innara exhaled.

"Alright. But I'll take you." she said not wanting to send her alone and compromise her safety. Aria beamed.

"Okay!" She said jumping up and down like a baby Kangaroo and her small strand of hair came onto her cheeks.

Innara smiled looking at her excitement.