It was day thirty. Finally.
Or maybe I should scream noooooo.
Anyway, if the hospital doesn't remind me, I'll probably just forget I ever booked that appointment—forcefully. I don't know. I'm just… really scared of what tomorrow might bring. I know I need this, but still, something in me just wants to run.
So, let's focus on today.
Today, Lily, Mia, and I are going shopping. We called it a girls' day. There's nothing I love more after my quiet time than a good shopping spree. Lily and Mia said they'd meet me at my apartment, and from there, we'd go together. They came around 1:30 in the afternoon, laughing about something as I opened the door. It felt good—normal—like the world hadn't broken me.
Lily drove her parents' car, and we hit the mall like we owned it: from Victoria's Secret to Gucci, from Gucci to Balenciaga, from Balenciaga to Valentino, then Christian Dior, and finally Fendi. We got them all—courtesy of me paying the bills.
Told you, I'm rich. Rich-rich.
We shopped until about 4:30 p.m., exhausted but glowing. For a while, I almost forgot everything—forgot the nightmares, the therapy, even Uncle Luke. It was all fun—just three girls laughing too loud, trying on things we didn't need, taking pictures we'd probably never post.
Afterward, we stopped by Starbucks, ordered our drinks, and had a late lunch. I got my usual caramel macchiato, extra syrup, because who cares about sugar when life itself is bitter?
Then my phone buzzed.
> Dear Miss Vivian,
This is a reminder that you have an appointment with us tomorrow at 2:30 p.m. at Ravenshore Medical Center. We will be expecting you. Thank you and have a nice day.
Seeing that message felt like standing on Mount Everest one moment—and falling straight down the next. My stomach twisted, my throat went dry. The noise of the café faded, replaced by the familiar hum of panic in my ears.
"Are you okay, Vivian?" Mia asked, her hand brushing my arm. Both of them were staring at me with that look—half worry, half helplessness.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Let's just continue."
We tried to. We laughed again, but it was thinner now—like a balloon leaking air slowly.
After lunch, we headed out. Lily drove me back to my apartment first. The car ride was quiet, except for the faint music from the radio. When she dropped me off, she looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't.
It was already 7:30 p.m. when I walked into my apartment. I didn't even bother turning on all the lights. I just went straight to bed, lying there in the dim glow of the streetlight through my window.
My mind wouldn't stop spinning. Will all this be worth it? Should I go or not? The fear of being seen, of talking about what happened, of reliving it—it all clawed at me.
Somewhere between fear and exhaustion, I fell asleep.
At exactly 2:00 a.m., I woke up again—shaken, sweating, my heart pounding from the same nightmares that refused to let me go. I sat up, staring into the dark for what felt like hours.
And that's when I decided—
whether I liked it or not,
tomorrow, I was going.