I Got Stuck Novels & Stories

~Nikki~ Time passes, but I don’t move; I can’t move. I’m stuck in this spot, stuck in my heartbreak. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Get up. I can’t deal with Aluma right now. I put a block up, but it wasn’t a strong one. My emotional upheaval is too much. Get up! Nnnnnoootttt….not nnnnoowww, Aluma. Not nowwww. Not now and not later. I don’t know when I’m going to break out of this funk; I don’t know how.

Argh ! I was in trouble because of him. Nggghhhhh. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I just need answers, that’s all. I walk over to the bed, sit down, and take a deep breath, trying to focus. I close my eyes and try to push into the mind-link. But nothing. It’s like I slam into an invisible wall. I frown, shift around on the bed to get more comfortable, and try again. Still nothing. The same frustrating block. What the hell is going on?

I pull the door open and slide into the back seat, giving the driver the address of the coffee shop. He nods, pulling back into traffic. Silence settles in. My gaze drifts to the window, watching the city blur past. People walking. Cars honking. Life moving. Meanwhile, I feel… stuck. Stuck somewhere between what I had and what I just lost. My phone feels heavy in my hand again before I even realize I’ve picked it up. The screen lights up…. still nothing. My thumb hovers for a second over her name. I could call. I could text.

If not, she would probably have caught me lying on her face. I did what she told me. I went home a bit early, not to rest, but to hope that Elijah is now home. “Is there no other way?” I asked my driver. We've been on the road for almost twenty minutes and we are not even moving. We're damn stuck with this heavy traffic. “We're too stuck to go the other way,” he uttered. I shut my eyes firmly. I guess this day isn't for me at all. “Shit,” I muttered.

No problem. Except I leaned too far. And then I reached a little further. And then somehow - SOMEHOW - I tipped forward and now I'm wedged halfway into the washing machine, my hips jammed against the rubber seal, my ass in the air, my face pressed against the cold metal drum, and my feet kicking uselessly behind me. I can't get out. I've been trying for five minutes. I've wiggled, squirmed, pushed, pulled. Nothing works. My hips are stuck at the widest point and every time I try to back out, the rubber seal grips me tighter like the machine itself wants to keep me trapped.

But this stupid motherfucker was so strong; no matter how many times he banged, it still wouldn't break. I felt so frustrated knowing he was finally going to help me, even though he did not even know I was the one. And yet this stupid fucked-up mirror wasn't going to help him at all. I kept trying until the stick broke in half, and I gave up. I fell to the ground, trying to catch my breath. I was tired, hungry, chapped—everything all together. I couldn't even explain how I felt. I stood up again and watched him try to break it, but still couldn't do anything.

I tried again, pushing harder, willing my body to move, but it was like I was locked in place by something stronger than me. My breathing became uneven as I looked around, watching people run past me, their faces filled with panic as they tried to escape. No one stopped. No one looked at me long enough to notice that I was stuck. I was standing in the middle of chaos, completely unable to move. “Move,” I whispered to myself, my jaw tightening as I tried again. Nothing. My chest tightened as the realization settled in. This wasn’t normal. This was intentional. Someone was doing this. But just then I felt it.

I know I had four, I put them in the corner where I could find them, and four was not six and six was not nine, and I went at it for a while trying to build the days out of what I had and got nowhere at all. “Nine.” “That’s right.” “I don’t—” I stopped. “Sorry.” “You don’t have to be sorry.” “I can’t get it to fit.” “It won’t for a while,” she said. “That’s normal.” “Callum,” I said. “That’s right.” “I don’t know where that is.” “No. That’s all right.” “Where’s—” I stopped, because the next word had four different candidates and I could not get any of them to the front.

After three years in a psychiatric hospital, I finally escape. Three years ago, I watched my fiance, Ethan Cregger, die in a car accident right in front of me. Already born with a heart condition, I spiraled under the weight of grief. Then everything else fell apart. My family lost everything. Dad seemed to age overnight. Mom cried until there were no tears left. Adrian Mercer, my childhood friend, gave up the money he'd saved to study abroad just to pay for my treatment. Even my younger sister, Mia Bennett, worked three jobs and begged me through tears not to give up on life. Not wanting to burden them any further, I voluntarily admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital. Three years l