Silence that hurts

Fiona’s POV

Morning came without light; I had shut all my curtains to keep the rays from leaking in.

I struggled to open my eyes slowly, but everything still felt dark.

My head throbbed. My eyelids burned like I had rubbed spice into them. When I touched my face, my fingers met dry, tight traces of tears that had long stopped flowing but never truly ended inside me.

For a few seconds, I didn’t move from the spot I was stuck at, I just stared at the ceiling as the memories of last night started to flash back into my mind.

The dinner, Marian’s voice, my father’s surged anger.

Jalen in the woods, the way he held me like I was the last piece of importance in his life, like there was no place he would rather be .

“We’re done,” the words that slipped out of my dry lips again before I could stop it without regrets.

My chest tightened so painfully I had to sit up slowly just to breathe. Then, my hand reached for my phone beside the pillow, I didn’t know why but some part of me hoped that Jalen could have messaged me, maybe, it was a foolish hope which indeed it was.

I unlocked it and stared at the screen but there were no notifications, no missed calls. Nothing. Then I knew I was all alone once again, my skin crawled with nostalgia as the feeling of my childhood crushed my thoughts.

When I used to be very lonely, without friends and the attention of my parents, when Jalen used to be the only one that would stay with me all day, take me to the pack and buy me ice cream. My vision was laced with tears but I sucked it back in. I needed to be strong and get myself back up.

I hissed and dropped the phone back on the bed like it had betrayed me, my heart aching so bad.

There was nothing left to cry with.

I felt empty, completely hollow.

I turned my head toward the corner of the room where my painting tools were stacked. The canvas I brought home from school leaned against the wall, half-covered with a cloth.

For the first time in days, something inside me moved. I wasn’t sure if it moved on or just ignored the pain I was going through at the moment, but something shifted and I was fine with it.

I slid out of bed slowly and walked towards my plain canvas—sitting at the other side of my window quietly, waiting to be touched and used.

My fingers brushed the edge of the canvas, and I remembered a version of myself that existed before all of this, before everything, the canvas used to be my resting place, my paintings kept me alive, they used to be a reflection of all my emotions. Peaceful, and safe.

I set the canvas on the stand and picked up a brush.

My hand trembled at first, but I played a slow tune on my phone, immersing myself in my own world as I dipped it into color and made the first stroke. Just suddenly my breathing slowed.

The noise in my head softened, the world outside my room stopped existing, It was just me, the brush, and the quiet ambience of my room.

Hours passed without me knowing.

I didn’t bother going out of my room for breakfast, not even lunch. I didn't feel hunger, I didn’t feel thirst, and my parents never bothered me.

I didn’t feel anything except the need to keep painting whatever comes to my head so my thoughts wouldn’t catch up with me.

The days blurred together without a word from my lips, my mouth was beginning to hurt, my room scattered with papers and colors, my room smelled of paints and harsh chemicals. My hair—my bed was a mess.

I slept without eating, painting without strength, I didn’t step out of the room, I never opened the curtains, I didn’t speak to anyone, and I didn't want to be spoken to.

Sometimes I heard my parents’ voices outside the door, low and worried, but I stayed silent. I didn’t want to exist.

My body started feeling lighter.

Weaker.

My head often spun when I stood up too fast, so I stopped standing up too much.

Until one afternoon, a faint knock came on my door.

“Fiona?” my mum’s voice came softly through the door.

I didn’t respond.

“Sweetheart, please come out for breakfast. I made your favorite.”

Silence, I promise that mom has never spoken to me in such softness before, she has never cared but right now, she had me thinking i was being pranked just to step out to continue the chores.

“I promise I won’t scold you. I promise I’ll listen. I know I haven’t been the best mother to you.”

Her voice cracked like she was about to cry.

“I want to change baby. Please just come out and talk to me. Give me another chance to show you how much I love and care for you, I know it might take a while to recover from all that has happened but I want to help you be yourself again, please come out, my love.”

I sat on the floor with my back against the bed, staring at nothing.

I wanted to respond.

I really did.

But my body felt too heavy.

My mouth felt too tired to speak.

So I stayed quiet.

Minutes passed.

Then I heard her footsteps fade away.

I thought she had given up. I tried to raise my hand but it fell right back, I was too weak to lift a finger, I needed help, I was giving up, my breath itched like it was decreasing minute by minute, i couldn’t scream even though i desperately wanted to.

The room felt like it was spinning gently, I don’t know how long I stayed like that, I remember trying to stand up but my vision turned black at the edges.

I remember reaching for the wall.

And then—blank. Total darkness, my body gave up.

Faint sounds floated into my ears.

A scream.

“Harry! Harry, come quick! Oh my god my baby”

My mum’s voice.

Panicked.

I wanted to open my eyes, but they wouldn’t obey.

I felt her hands gently wrap around me like I was fragile—shaking me softly before tapping on my cheeks.

“Fiona! Baby Wake up! Fiona!” My father's deep voice echoed this time and I could feel the fear at the end of his throat.

“Call 999 Harry, don’t just stand there doing nothing, hurry, please…” she snapped before she started crying.

I felt myself being lifted, my head rolled to one side limply.

My mum was crying.

“Oh my God, she’s not responding!”

Everything sounded distant.

Like I was underwater.

Then a fast movement followed, footsteps, and voices echoed from the back of my ears, it felt like I had taken my last breath.

When I finally opened my eyes, bright white light stabbed into them.

I blinked slowly.

The ceiling above me wasn’t familiar. It was too white, too clean to be mine.

A beeping sound echoed somewhere near my ear.

I tried to move my hand, and something tugged at it, something sharp like a needle.

I was in a hospital. Then my nose was struck with the smell of antiseptic and a mix of a relaxing vanilla fragrance coupled with some familiar cologne.

My head felt heavy, but my thoughts were slowly returning like I had to borrow them.

I turned slightly and saw my mum sitting beside the bed.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

She was holding my hand tightly like she was afraid I would disappear again.

When she noticed I was awake, fresh tears filled her eyes.

“Fiona…” she whispered.

I couldn’t speak.

My throat felt dry and tight.

She leaned closer. “You scared us.”

I blinked slowly, trying to understand how I got here. Last I checked—I was painting jalen in my room, and I had settled on his beautiful lips.

“You fainted,” she said softly. “You haven’t been eating. You haven’t been drinking. You locked yourself away for days.”

Her voice broke.

“I almost lost you. I thought I would never see you again.”

That sentence hit me harder than anything else.

Almost lost you? my chest tightened from guilt again.

My father stood at the other side of the bed, silent but visibly shaken.

He looked older, and worriedly helpless, I had never seen him like that before.

A doctor walked in, checking the monitor.

“She’s severely dehydrated and weak,” he said calmly. “She needs rest and proper care.”

I closed my eyes again.

I didn’t want to cry but a tear slipped out anyway for my parents.

Because for the first time, I saw how much my pain was hurting them too.

And that hurt me more than anything even though I wasn't supposed to care.