Chapter 10 : The Thing He Never Let Go Of.
988 Words
"Some fears don’t scream. They wait.” — Wendy
---
The message arrived at 11:47 p.m.
No greeting.
No name.
No explanation.
Just a notification that made Wendy’s blood turn cold.
Unknown Number: You remember this.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the mattress with a dull thud. For a second, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her room felt too small, the walls closing in slowly, patiently — like they had all the time in the world.
She didn’t open the message.
She didn’t need to.
Her body already knew.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself, like cloth could protect her from memories that didn’t belong to the past anymore. Her heart beat wildly, unevenly, like it was trying to escape her chest.
“No,” she whispered. “Not again.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The images came anyway — not clear, not sharp, just fragments. Voices overlapping. Laughter that didn’t sound human anymore. A door closing. Someone saying Relax, it’s just a joke.
Calvin’s voice.
Her stomach twisted violently. Wendy rolled onto her side, pressing her palm against her mouth to stop the sound trying to escape her throat. She hadn’t screamed that day. She remembered that clearly.
She had gone silent instead.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
She didn’t open it. She threw the phone across the bed like it burned. Her chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow. She felt lightheaded, like the room was tilting.
Breathe, she told herself.
Count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Her bedroom door creaked open.
“Wendy?” Taylor’s voice was cautious. “You okay?”
Wendy swallowed hard and forced herself upright. “Yeah. Just… couldn’t sleep.”
Taylor stepped inside, studying her carefully. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s cold.”
It wasn’t. The night was warm. But Taylor didn’t argue. She simply nodded and sat beside her on the bed.
“Bad dream?” she asked softly.
Wendy hesitated.
Then she nodded.
Taylor didn’t push. She never did. She just rested her shoulder lightly against Wendy’s, a quiet presence, a reminder that she wasn’t alone. Wendy clung to that feeling desperately.
After Taylor left, Wendy finally picked up her phone again.
With shaking hands, she opened the message.
It wasn’t a picture.
It was worse.
A file name.
Her name.
A date from two years ago.
Her vision blurred instantly. Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and uncontrollable. She felt like she was seventeen again — smaller, weaker, trapped inside a moment she never agreed to remember.
She locked the phone and shoved it under her pillow, like hiding it could make it disappear.
It couldn’t.
---
At school the next morning, Wendy moved like a ghost.
She sat in class but heard nothing. Words floated past her ears without meaning. Her hands stayed clenched in her lap, nails digging into her palms until it hurt — because pain was easier than panic.
Wayne noticed immediately.
He always did.
“Hey,” he murmured when the teacher turned to the board. “You okay?”
Wendy nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”
He frowned slightly. “You sure?”
“I said yes.”
Her tone came out sharper than intended. Wayne didn’t react — he just leaned back, giving her space. But his eyes stayed on her, concerned, steady.
At lunch, she barely ate. She pushed her food around, lost in thought, jumping at every vibration of her phone.
When the bell rang, she rushed out before anyone could stop her.
Wayne followed.
“Wendy,” he called gently. “Wait.”
She turned, heart pounding. For a moment, she thought she might cry right there in the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, but her voice betrayed her.
He studied her face — the tension in her jaw, the fear she couldn’t hide fast enough.
“Did Calvin do something?” he asked quietly.
Her entire body stiffened.
Wayne noticed.
“I didn’t mean—” he started, but Wendy had already stepped back.
“I need air,” she said. “Please.”
He nodded immediately. “Okay. I’m here if you need me.”
She walked away quickly, afraid that if she stayed one second longer, she would fall apart in his arms — and she wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
Not with this.
---
That evening, Wendy sat on her bed staring at her phone again.
Another message appeared.
Unknown Number: You should be careful who you trust.
Her hands went numb.
She typed back before she could stop herself.
Wendy: What do you want?
The reply came instantly.
Unknown Number: For you to remember that I still exist.
Her throat tightened painfully.
Wendy: Leave me alone.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Unknown Number: You don’t get to decide that.
Wendy dropped the phone like it shattered something inside her.
She curled into herself, hugging her knees, breathing shallow and fast.
But this time, something was different.
This time, fear wasn’t the only thing in her chest.
There was anger too.
And beneath it — a quiet, stubborn truth she hadn’t let herself believe before:
She didn’t want to face this alone anymore.
Her phone buzzed again.
A different name.
Wayne: Hey. Just checking in. You don’t have to reply. I just want you to know I’m here.
Wendy stared at the screen for a long time.
Then, slowly, she typed:
Wendy: I’m not okay. But I want to be.
The reply came seconds later.
Wayne: Then we’ll take it one step at a time. Together.
Wendy closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks — but for the first time, they weren’t only tears of fear.
Calvin had resurfaced.
The past was knocking violently.
But Wendy wasn’t alone anymore.
And this time…
she wasn’t planning to stay silent.
- Writer
