Chapter 1- Falling Isn’t the Worst Part
Stella’s POV
“STELLA, STELLA!? Are you okay?”
My name echoed —distorted, distant, slipping in and out of reach. A sharp, relentless pounding throbbed through my skull, each pulse louder than the last. The world tilted violently, spinning so fast it made my stomach churn. Shapes hovered above me—faces, I think—but they were nothing more than blurs melting into one another. Shadows whispered. Or maybe people were actually whispering. I couldn’t tell.
I tried to push myself up, desperate to ground myself, but the second I lifted my weight, my body betrayed me. My knees buckled, and I dropped hard, dizziness crashing over me like a wave.
“Hey—hey, easy!” Bree’s voice cut through the chaos. Her arm slipped around mine, steady, anchoring me before I could fall again. She guided me down gently, her grip firm but careful, like she was afraid I might shatter.
“What… what just happened?” My voice came out weak, barely more than a breath.
“You just fell down a flight of stairs, you big klutz,” Bree said, though her voice trembled with worry. “Are you okay? Your head is bleeding, Stella. Like… a lot.”
I blinked slowly, trying to process her words, but everything still felt disconnected—like I was watching myself from somewhere far away.
Bree. My best friend. My constant. We’d been inseparable since middle school, ever since she moved from Kentucky to Texas and sat next to me in class like it was fate. There had been something unspoken between us from the start—an understanding that didn’t need explaining. We both knew pain in ways most people our age didn’t. We both knew what it was like to grow up in houses that didn’t feel like homes.
Her father had been a drunk who used his fists more than his words. Her mother had been a ghost—either gone or locked away in her room, chasing highs instead of responsibilities. And me? I wasn’t much better off. We clung to each other like lifelines. We spent every possible second away from our homes—sleepovers, late-night drives, studying anywhere but where we were supposed to live. Over time, she became more than a friend. She became my sister—the one person who never let me fall apart completely.
After high school, moving in together hadn’t even been a question. It was survival. It was freedom. It was our way out. We were putting ourselves through college, scraping by however we could, determined to build something better than what we came from. Because no one else was going to do it for us. My mom… she had never really been a mother. My entire childhood was a revolving door of strangers—men who smelled like alcohol and bad decisions. She’d meet them at bars, bring them home, pretend it was love. It never was. It always ended the same: shouting, broken things, bruises. And I wasn’t spared from any of it. If anything, I was an easy target. She never defended me. Never protected me. Somehow, everything that went wrong was always my fault.
I was six when my real dad died in a car crash. Six, when my world first broke. And it never really got put back together. I hadn’t seen my mom in eight years—not since she ran off with another man, leaving me behind like something she forgot to pack.
“You really should go to the campus nurse,” Bree said, pulling me back to the present as we walked slowly down the hallway. “Your head looks bad.”
“I’ll be fine,” I muttered, even though every step sent a sharp ache through my skull. “I just need to clean it up. Head wounds always bleed more than they actually are.”
She gave me a look—one of those looks that said she didn’t believe me for a second.
“Plus,” I added, forcing a weak shrug, “the last thing I need is someone else worrying about me.”
Before she could argue, a voice interrupted.
“That was a pretty serious fall.” I turned slightly, and there he was—Professor Walker. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Too attractive for his own good. The kind of man people wrote stories about. The kind I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.
“Do you need help getting to the nurse?” he asked, stepping closer.
My cheeks burned instantly.
“Um… no. I’m okay. Thank you.”
His hand brushed lightly against my back—just a simple, supportive gesture—but it sent an unexpected warmth through me, sharp and electric. I hated how my body reacted—hated how my mind wandered.
“Thank you for checking,” I said quickly, stepping away before I could embarrass myself further. “I’m just going to head home.”
Because if I stayed any longer, I might forget every bad decision I’d ever made—and make a new one. And I couldn’t afford that. Not again. People always seemed to care at first. They said the right things. Did the right things. And I always believed them. I gave too much. Felt too deeply. Got attached too quickly. And every single time, it ended the same. Used. Broken. Discarded. I swore that when my mom left, I wouldn’t become her. Wouldn’t repeat her mistakes. Wouldn’t need someone who could destroy me. But somehow… I still ended up here.
It was my senior year. Just one more stretch, and I’d have my degree in Child Therapy. I wanted to help kids like us—kids who didn’t have anyone else. Maybe if I could fix someone else… it would make me feel a little less broken.
“I’ll take you home,” Bree said as we sat on a bench near the office.
I shook my head, leaning it back against the wall.
“No, you have class. I’m not messing that up for you.”
“I don’t care about class,” she shot back. “I care about you.”
I let out a small laugh, instantly regretting it as pain shot through my head. “Pretty sure the whole campus already saw me eat it down the stairs.”
She didn’t laugh.
“I’ll call Aaron,” I said instead. “He can come get me.”
The moment his name left my mouth, something shifted in her expression—but she didn’t argue.
“Okay,” she said softly. “My last class ends at 5:30. You still want to go out later?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said automatically. “I’ve taken worse hits.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. We both knew what I meant.
She pulled me into a tight hug. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
As she walked away, I pulled out my phone and texted Aaron.
A few seconds later, it buzzed.
Aaron: Seriously, Stella? I’m busy. But I’ll drop everything like I always do.
My jaw tightened. I could’ve told him how much pain I was in. Could’ve told him I needed him.
Instead, I typed, “Thank you.” Love you.
Because it was easier. Because it always was. Aaron wasn’t… easy. Not anymore. But he was familiar. And sometimes, familiarity felt safer than the unknown—even when it hurt.
The bathroom light was too bright. It made everything look worse. I stood there gripping the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection like I didn’t recognize the girl looking back at me. Blood had dried in uneven streaks down the side of my face, dark and sticky against my skin. The gash near my hairline looked angrier up close—raw, swollen, and still slowly seeping. I reached up with trembling fingers, brushing lightly over it. Pain exploded instantly. I sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the end of the sink harder as the room tilted again. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself.
“Pull it together, Stella,” I whispered to myself.
Girls came and went behind me, their voices hushed, eyes lingering too long.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you need help?”
“Should someone call—”
“I’m fine,” I repeated over and over, even as my reflection told a completely different story. I wiped away what blood I could, though it didn’t do much. It just smeared, leaving faint pink streaks behind. After a moment, I couldn’t stand looking at myself anymore. I turned and walked out, pushing through the heavy doors and into the open air. The cool breeze hit my skin, grounding me slightly. I closed my eyes for a second, letting it wash over me, trying to quiet the chaos in my head.
Twenty minutes later, I heard it before I saw it. Tires screeching. My stomach dropped. Aaron’s car whipped around the corner of the parking lot, moving too fast, too aggressively. He slammed on the brakes right in front of me, the high-pitched squeal cutting through everything. A message. A warning. An announcement of his mood. I swallowed hard and walked toward the car, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The passenger door opened with a sharp jerk. I climbed in quietly, shutting it behind me without a word.
The silence was suffocating. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Didn’t say anything at all. The entire drive back to the apartment passed in a thick, heavy quiet that pressed against my chest. I kept my eyes on the window, watching the world blur by, pretending I wasn’t sitting next to someone who used to feel like home. When we finally pulled up, the engine idled for a moment before he spoke.
“Do you realize how inconvenient that was for me?”
His voice was flat. Cold.
I turned slowly, blinking back tears.
“Aaron, I—”
“Unlike you,” he continued, cutting me off, “I actually have responsibilities. Real things to take care of.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Are you serious right now?” My voice cracked. “I fell down a flight of stairs—”
“Oh, here we go,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Always something with you. Always about you.”
My chest tightened. I turned my head, pulling my hair back just enough to expose the gash.
“Does this look like nothing to you?”
He glanced at it briefly, unimpressed.
“You were probably distracted. Checking out some other guy.”
Something inside me snapped. “FORGET YOU. WE’RE DONE!”
The words came out louder than I expected—stronger, sharper, filled with everything I’d been holding in for far too long. For a split second, there was silence. Then, a sharp crack. Pain exploded across my face, sudden and blinding. My head snapped to the side as the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I froze. The world went still.
“Look what you made me do,” Aaron said quickly, his tone shifting, panic creeping in. “Stella, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
But I was already moving. I threw the door open and stumbled out of the car, my heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst. My vision blurred as I ran toward the stairs, my body screaming in protest.
“STELLA! WAIT!” he shouted behind me. “I’M SORRY! STOP!”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped them. The second the door unlocked, I shoved it open, rushed inside, and slammed it shut behind me, locking it as fast as I could. Just as his footsteps hit the top of the stairs. I pressed my back against the door, sliding down until I hit the floor. My entire body trembled uncontrollably as sobs tore their way out of my chest. The banging came seconds later.
“STELLA! Open the door!”
Each hit made me flinch.
“Stella, I’m serious! Open it!”
I covered my ears, curling into myself, trying to disappear. After a moment, the pounding stopped. Silence. Then—
“Fine,” he said coldly from the other side. “You want to play this game? You’ll come crawling back tomorrow. You always do.”
His footsteps faded. And just like that… he was gone.
Time passed, though I couldn’t say how much. Minutes. Hours. It all blurred together. Eventually, I forced myself up, my body heavy and aching. I moved slowly toward the bathroom, peeling off my clothes like they weighed a hundred pounds. The bathwater ran, steam rising as I sank into it. The heat should’ve been comforting. But it wasn’t. I sat there for a long time, not wanting to come back to reality. The water was cooling around me as everything I’d been holding in finally broke loose. I cried. I yelled. I let every memory, every bruise, every broken promise rise to the surface. By the time I got out, my skin was pruned, my eyes swollen, my body exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t fix. I dressed in silence and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. I just needed a moment. Just one moment of peace.
The knock came out of nowhere. Loud. Sharp. My entire body tensed.
Slowly, I pushed myself up and walked to the door, my heart pounding again. I peeked through the peephole. Aaron.
His face was tight, desperate.
“Stella… please,” he said through the door. “Just give me a second. I need to explain. I can’t lose you.”
My hand hovered over the lock. Part of me wanted to tell him to leave.
To be strong. To finally choose myself. But another part, the part that remembered who he used to be, hesitated. I turned the lock. And that was my mistake. The door flew open with a violent force, slamming into me and throwing me backward. Before I could react, his hands were on me. Wrapped around my throat. Cutting off air. My hands clawed at his, panic running through me.
“Aaron—stop—please—” I choked out, my voice barely there. His grip tightened, harder still. My vision darkened at the edges. Then, suddenly, he threw me aside as if I were nothing. My body hit the floor hard, pain radiating through my side as I gasped for air. I scrambled backward, but he was already moving—heading toward the kitchen. The knife. My blood ran cold. Adrenaline surged through me as I pushed myself up and ran. The bedroom. If I could just—
The door slammed open behind me, crashing against the wall as he burst in.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped.
He grabbed my hair, yanking me back before throwing me onto the bed. The air rushed from my lungs as he climbed on top of me, the knife pressing cold against my skin.
“I told you,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, “you’re not leaving me.”
I shook beneath him, tears streaming uncontrollably.
“Please… Aaron… don’t…”
For a moment, everything froze.
Then his arm lifted—
And came down.
Pain tore through my collarbone as I screamed, the sound ripping from my throat—
“STELLA!”
I shot upright in bed, gasping for air, my heart slamming violently against my ribs, reaching and pulling at anything I could reach. The room spun as I looked around wildly. Dark. Quiet. Empty. No Aaron. No knife. Just me. Shaking. I reached up slowly, my fingers trembling as they found the scar along my collarbone—jagged, raised, permanent. Real. A reminder. A warning. I pressed my hand against it, trying to steady my breathing. But the fear… The fear never really left.
