Last weekend was supposed to be quiet. My girlfriend went out with her friends to a club, laughing as she grabbed her jacket and told me not to wait up. I stayed home, planning to relax, maybe watch a movie and catch up on rest. The apartment felt unusually silent once the door closed behind her, but I didn’t think much of it. That calm didn’t last long. Out of nowhere, a deep, overwhelming pain surged through my body—sharp enough to steal my breath and leave me disoriented. I sat down, then lay down, telling myself it would pass. But it didn’t. Panic crept in as the minutes stretched on.
I reached for my phone and called her, hoping to hear a familiar voice and ask for help. The music on her end was loud, the conversation rushed. I tried to explain that something felt wrong, that I was scared, but my words came out tangled and weak. She sounded annoyed, convinced I was exaggerating or trying to interrupt her night. Before I could finish explaining, the call ended. A moment later, my messages stopped going through. Alone again, I focused on breathing and staying conscious, unsure whether to call someone else or wait it out. Time became hard to measure, and every second felt heavier than the last.
Eventually, the pain eased just enough for me to move. I made it to the couch and stayed there, exhausted and shaken. When the front door finally opened hours later, the sound startled me. She walked in laughing at first, still caught in the energy of the night—until she saw me. The smile disappeared instantly. I didn’t look the way I normally did. I was pale, drained, barely able to sit up. The room fell silent as reality settled in. Without saying much, she sat beside me, her expression shifting from frustration to worry.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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