Against all odds (anchored by you)

PROLOGUE….. (Amelia’ pov) The air was heavy and stifling, each inhale felt like a painfully scratch at my throat as if the walls were tightening their grip around me. Outside, the wind screamed, shaking the windows like an ominous warning, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside me. I stumbled forward, my bare feet slipping on the cold, tiled floor. My hands reached out, desperately looking for something solid to hold onto. But they glided against the wall, wet and warm. I froze. Slowly, I looked down. Blood. It coated my trembling hands, sticky and heavy, staining the fabric of my shirt. The metallic scent filled my nose, thick and suffocating, making my stomach churn. It wasn’t my blood. My heart pounded against my ribs, hot tears blurring my vision. A sob escaped my lips as I staggered backward, but my legs felt weak, barely holding me up. Then I saw him. A human figure lay on the ground, unmoving, partly engulfed by darkness. I didn’t have to look at his face to recognize him. I could feel it, the fight, the fear, the pressure of his hands holding me tight, the echo of my own screams, engulfed by the deep stillness of the home. And then after, the stab I hadn't given it any thought. I had taken hold of something pointed; what could it be? A blade? A damaged item? I really don't know. I had swung it in a fit of sheer terror, and now he was lying down there... Lifeless. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, but I suppressed it. I needed to move. I had to get out of here I turned and stumbled down the corridor,bmy hands leaving red smears on the walls as I dragged myself forward. Doors passed by in a blur, my sight clouded with tears. My heartbeat roared in my ears, drowning out every other sound. The house felt endless. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to run. Get out. Just get out. At the end of the corridor, the front door stood, a fragile barrier separating me and freedom. It felt incredibly close, yet impossibly far. My chest heaved, each breath ragged and sharp as I lunged forward, my trembling fingers scrambling against the cold metal knob. It slipped from my grip once, twice, before I managed to clutch it tight. Blood spread under my fingers, warm and sticky, marking the door with streaks I couldn't clean off. The view made my stomach churn, but I compelled myself to twist the knob. With a desperate yank, I pulled the door open. And froze. Standing beneath the pale glow of the moon was her. My mom. She remained still on the porch, her figure enveloped in her worn wrap, its floral design swaying in the wind. The light hit her features just right to brighten her face, serene, too serene, as if she had been waiting for me. But her eyes... Cold, piercing. They looked onto mine, deep and aware. The words stuck in my throat, heavy and suffocating. “I…I didn’t intend to” My voice cracked, tears clouding my sight. “I did not …” “Shhh…Quiet.” Her whisper was intense yet quavering, a blend of caution, anxiety and fear Before I could alter a word again, she closed the distance between us in two quick steps. Her hands, steady but urgent, reached for me, cleaning the blood on my arms. Her touch was harsh, scrubbing at the stains like they could vanish, but they only smeared further. She grabbed the hem of my ruined shirt, pulling it off my head quickly. “Mom..” I gasped, but she didn’t stop. She quickly wrapped me in her wrapper, pulling it tightly around my shoulders. It smelled like her, like home, like safety, but now it felt alien, suffocating even, as if it was trying to smother the horror that clung to me. Her hands shook while holding my shoulders, her knuckles white. "Run," she murmured, her voice trembling beneath the pressure of the situation. “Leave now….” “I” My tears spilled over, my vision blurring as I grabbed her hand. “Mom, I didn’t mean, he was going to” Her face contorted in agony, her lips quivering, yet she managed to free her hand. “You don't have time.” Her voice broke. "If they find you here..” I shook my head, unable to move, but she pushed me, forcefully. I stumbled backward, my bare feet scraping against the cold porch. “Run while you still can!” she shouted, her voice rising as her calm began to falter. I turned and ran, my legs moving before my mind could catch up. The gravel beneath my feet was sharp, the stones cutting into my skin, yet I continued. Every step seemed more burdensome than the one before, my breathing sharp and labored as the house faded behind me. I didn’t dare look back. But in the corner of my eye, I caught one last glimpse, my mother, still standing at the doorway, her figure growing smaller and smaller, silhouetted against the house I could never return to. And then— I tripped. The world spun as my body crashed to the ground, my palms scraping against the jagged gravel. Pain shot through my arms and legs, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. I gasped for air, the weight of everything, the blood, the body, my mother’s eyes, crashing down on me all at once. But I couldn’t stop. I forced myself up, my hands shaking, blood dripping from fresh cuts. My legs felt like they could give out any second, but I pushed forward, deeper into the night, away from the house, from the truth, from everything. Because now, there was no going back. But something was wrong, the world blurred, swirling around me. The trees stretched upward, twisting unnaturally, the stars blinking out, one by one. No… I opened my mouth to scream.. And sat up. Gasping. The room was dark, save for the pale slivers of moonlight seeping through the thin curtains, casting ghostly patterns on the walls. Everything was still, too still, but inside me, chaos raged. My sheets were tangled around my legs, twisted and damp with sweat. My chest rose and fell in frantic bursts, my heart thundering so loudly it echoed in my ears, relentless and unforgiving. It was a dream. I kept repeating it in my head, trying to force the words to stick. Just a dream. But the tears streaming down my face? The shaking in my hands? The tight ache in my chest? All too real. I sat up, the mattress creaking beneath me, and pressed my palms against my face. They felt smooth. Clean. No blood. No sticky warmth. But my mind… it refused to let go. The images clung to me, sharp and vivid, the body on the cold floor, the crimson stains spreading like ink, my mother’s cold, knowing eyes under the moonlight. I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A fragment of the past I had spent years trying to bury, pushing it deeper every time it clawed its way to the surface. But it was stubborn, like a wound that refused to heal, festering beneath the surface. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my hands clutching my head as if I could squeeze the images out. But they stayed. They always did. I wished I could forget everything, God, I really wished I could. But now I know better.It is already a part of me. The past had sharp claws, and they were still sunk deep into me.