---
The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of the fan above. Divine's body lay still, but her mind was wide awake, drifting into shadows.
That night, sleep didn't come gently.
Divine shifted under the covers, brows pinched, fists clenched against her chest.
In her dream, the silence was the first thing that felt wrong.
She was inside the car again.
Rain tapped softly against the windshield, the wipers sweeping in slow motion. Her fingers were clenched around something—she didn't know what. The road ahead was winding, endless.
Her mother's voice echoed faintly, like it was coming from underwater.
> "I know this road like I know your heartbeat…"
Then—a flash of light.
Screeching tires. Her body lifting.
Silence.
Then, impact.
She saw herself—upside down, gasping.Crushed metal, Blood on her forehead. Smoke curling like hands around her neck.
Her leg screaming beneath the weight of the dashboard.
"Mom…?" she croaked.
The word left her lips in the dream like a breath she wasn't allowed to take.
She reached, again and again, toward the crumpled driver's seat. But every time her fingers got close, fire bloomed between them. And her mother's face blurred into smoke.
> "Mom… I'm here—please…"
A soft voice came from the other seat—barely audible, broken. "Go…"
Divine's eyes blurred. "No… no, I'm not leaving you…"
She reached. Pulled. Screamed.
Her chest tightened. She tried to run, but her legs didn't move. She tried to scream, but her voice cracked into static. A thousand shards of glass floated around her like snow.
The world began to fold in.
The heat. The metal. The dark.
> "You left her."
A voice—not hers—whispered from somewhere in the dream.
> "You got out. She didn't."
Divine gasped.
And woke up.
---
She sat up in bed, gasping — her heart hammering against her ribs. Her skin clammy with sweat. She clutched her wrist, the one she always bandaged too tightly, fingers shaking as she tried to steady herself.
The walls of her room suddenly felt too close.
Too loud.
Too much.
She pressed a pillow against her face to muffle the sob that escaped her lips—just one. Just enough to keep the dam from breaking.
Her eyes found the clock on the nightstand. 3:47 AM.
She sat there in silence, knees to her chest, knuckles white.
She wouldn't sleep again.
Not tonight.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the water bottle Lara had left by her bedside
And as she stared out into the soft blue shadows of early morning, her hand drifted absentmindedly toward the inside of her arm—where the newest scar was still tender.
She didn't touch it.
She just needed to remember it was there.
---
---
Chapter Title: "Cracks in the Glass"
The sun rose like any other day, but Divine felt no warmth in it.
She moved through her morning routine like a ghost—face washed, hair brushed, clothes ironed. She even picked a soft pink lip gloss, hoping it would brighten her face, distract from the shadows under her eyes. She wore her favorite oversized sweater
Smile. Straight shoulders. Head high.
She told herself: Be normal. Try.
When she came downstairs, the room hushed slightly. Kingsley was at the dining table with a cup of tea growing cold. Lara stood near the counter, flipping through her phone. Joseph crunched softly on cereal.
"Morning," Divine said, too brightly.
Lara turned first. "Morning, sweetheart." Her smile was gentle, but her eyes lingered too long on Divine's face.
Kingsley looked up. "You sleep okay?" he asked, voice cautious.
"Yeah," Divine said quickly, walking past. "Just a little tired."
Kingsley nodded slowly, but something in his jaw tightened. His eyes followed her like he was trying to read something unspoken.
Joseph pushed his bowl aside. "You sure you're good?"
Divine gave him a half-smile. "Yeah. Don't start."
He didn't answer—just tilted his head slightly, noticing how her fingers trembled when she poured water into a glass.
She drank too fast, wiped her mouth, and grabbed her bag. "Bob will be here soon."
Right on cue, the honk came from outside. She opened the door and stepped into the morning air—too quickly, like she needed to escape.
Bob was leaning against the car, sunglasses on, expression unreadable.
"You look cute," he said.
Divine smiled. "Thanks."
But as she opened the door, he stopped her.
"You dreamt again, didn't you?"
She froze.
Her hand tightened around the handle. "I'm fine."
"Divine."
She looked up at him. His usual sass was gone—no teasing, no jokes. Just quiet concern.
"You don't have to pretend with me," he said.
She got into the car without answering.
As Bob started the engine, he glanced at her again. "You're not weak for hurting. You're surviving."
Divine stared out the window, willing herself not to cry.
After dropping her off, bob decide to see her In the hallway,
Bob gave her a sidelong glance. "You sure you slept last night? You're blinking like a busted Barbie."
"I'm fine," she lied.
He didn't push—but his smile faltered.
Throughout the day in school divine nodded politely at teachers, gave a soft laugh when the class clown slipped near homeroom, and even managed to answer a History question without stuttering
By lunch,
Divine sat alone under the almond tree beside the school courtyard, she was exhausted from trying. Her lunch untouched in the brown paper bag Kingsley had lovingly brought because she didn't had Breakfast and a note that read: "You got this, my star girl."
But she didn't feel like a star. She felt like a collapsing moon—silent, cracked, barely hanging on.
Her phone buzzed.
Lara calling .
She debated ignoring it. But something told her not to.
"Hi," she answered, voice soft.
"Hey, love," Lara said gently. "I've been thinking about you all morning. Just wanted to check in."
Divine's throat tightened. "I'm okay."
Lara didn't respond right away. Just a soft breath, like she was choosing her words carefully.
"You don't sound okay," she said gently. "And I know you're trying to be. That's brave, Divine. It is. But… it's okay to need help too."
Divine looked down at her fingers—thumb pressed against the scar on her wrist like a nervous tic.
"I'm fine," she repeated, quieter this time. "Just tired."
"You've been having dreams again?" Lara asked.
Divine's throat tightened.
"It's not just the dreams," Lara continued softly. "You're holding too much in. I can hear it in your voice."
Divine didn't respond, She didn't have to.
There was a pause, and then Lara's voice
more. "You don't have to be strong all the time. It's okay to say it hurts. Even now."
Divine stared at a dry leaf spinning on the pavement beside her.
"I'm… trying," she whispered.
"I know you are," Lara said. "And I'm proud of you for that. Really proud. But you don't have to carry it all alone."
Divine's voice cracked. "Everyone keeps looking at me like they're waiting for me to break."
"They're not waiting for you to break, Divine," Lara replied. "They're hoping you'll let someone catch you before you fall."
Tears welled up in Divine's eyes before she could stop them.
"I hate talking about it," she said. "I hate remembering."
"You don't have to relive it all at once. But maybe just… let a little bit out at a time. I spoke to Dr. Anya this morning she said she's free after school. Just a short session. Ten minutes if that's all you want." You don't have to say anything deep. Just… check in. Okay?"
Divine swallowed hard. "What if I say the wrong thing?"
"There is no wrong thing," Lara said gently. "There's just your truth. As messy or quiet or angry as it wants to come out."
Divine leaned her head against the tree bark, eyes closing.
"Do I have to?" she whispered.
"No," Lara said. "But I really hope you will."
There was something in her tone—not pressure, not pity. Just love. And quiet worry.
"Okay," Divine murmured. "I'll go."
Lara exhaled—relieved but careful not to sound it too loudly. "Thank you. I love you."
"I know."
"Eat something, okay?"
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Half-promise."
They both smiled.
When she hung up, Divine tucked her phone into her sweater pocket sat still for a moment, letting the silence breathe around her.
Then she opened the paper bag, broke the meat pie in half, and took a bite.
She was still here. Still hurting. Still trying.
And that had to count for something.
---