Renee

Distorted Reality

I woke up to the sensation of every muscle in my body aching. My arms, my legs, my back—even my fingers felt like they had been run through a grinder. My head throbbed as if someone had been banging a drum inside my skull.

The room around me felt...off. Shadows lingered in corners they had no business being in. The air was heavy, the kind of weight that clung to my skin and made it hard to breathe.

When I sat up, the ache in my ribs made me gasp, and that’s when I noticed the bruises on my arms—purple and yellow blotches painting my skin like a grotesque mural.

“What the…” I whispered, dragging my fingers over the marks. They didn’t sting, but the sight of them sent a cold shiver down my spine.

I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the mirror on the wall. What I saw stopped me cold.

My reflection was a stranger. My lips were swollen, a faint cut tracing the corner of my mouth. My left eye looked puffy, and there were more bruises creeping along the curve of my neck. My skin, usually smooth and flawless, looked...battered.

I touched my face lightly, the cold glass of the mirror meeting my fingertips. “What happened to me?” I said aloud, my voice trembling.

The door to my room was ajar. For some reason, that detail stuck out to me. I never left my door open.

My legs carried me downstairs, each step making my body groan in protest. The house was eerily quiet. No sound of Mom humming in the kitchen. No clatter of dishes. No Charles watching his obnoxious morning cartoons.

“Mom?” I called out, my voice echoing in the silence.

No answer.

I checked the dining room. The living room. Even the bathroom. Nothing.

The pictures on the wall caught my attention. They were the same ones I’d seen every day of my life—family portraits, candid moments of smiles and laughter. But something was wrong.

There was no Charles in any of them.

Every image featured only me, my mom, and my dad. They were old enough that I was a toddler, giggling in my mother’s arms. But Charles? He was missing.

Every image seemed to erase him from existence, leaving no trace of his wild grin or the awkward way he always hunched in pictures.

“What is going on?” I muttered, my heart thundering in my chest.

I grabbed my bag, deciding that I needed normalcy. School. Kara. The routine of life. That would ground me, I thought.

The moment I stepped outside, the strangeness intensified.

Kara and Kalim were waiting by the gate, their faces lighting up the second they saw me.

“Morning, Renee!” Kara called out, practically skipping toward me.

Kalim offered a bright smile. “Finally! We thought you’d sleep all day.”

I stopped short, staring at them. “You…what?”

Kara looped her arm through mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Come on! We’re going to be late.”

Kalim nodded, falling into step beside us. “Don’t want to give Mr. Adebanjo another reason to glare at us, do we?”

They were so...chipper. So casual. It was disarming.

“Wait,” I said, pulling away from Kara’s grasp. “What are you two doing here?”

Kara frowned. “What do you mean? We always meet up before school.”

“No, we don’t,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “And you—” I turned to Kalim, my tone sharp. “We’ve never even spoken before.”

Kalim looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Of course, we have.”

“No,” I said firmly. “We haven’t.”

“Renee,” Kara said, her voice tinged with concern. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

Weird? I wasn’t the one acting weird. They were.

I didn’t argue further, letting them guide me toward school. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. Kara and Kalim chatting like old friends? Kalim, who had never said more than two words to me before today, cracking jokes and laughing with me?

And the bruises. The pictures. The emptiness of my house.

None of it made sense.

At school, things only got stranger.

People greeted me with smiles and waves, their warmth unsettling. Teachers who barely acknowledged my existence were suddenly praising me for work I didn’t remember doing.

By lunchtime, I felt like I was losing my grip on reality.

Kara and Kalim sat with me, their bubbly energy clashing with my growing unease.

“So,” Kara said, popping a fry into her mouth. “Are you coming to the restaurant after school?”

I blinked at her. “What restaurant?”

She laughed, nudging me. “Very funny. Your workplace, obviously.”

I stared at her, my heart skipping a beat. “I don’t work at a restaurant.”

Kalim exchanged a glance with Kara, his brow furrowing. “Uh, yes, you do. You’ve been working there for months.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

Kara’s laughter faltered. “Renee, what’s going on? Did you hit your head or something?”

I looked between them, their faces a mix of concern and bewilderment. “I’m serious. I don’t work at a restaurant. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

They didn’t believe me. I could see it in their eyes.

“Let’s just go after school,” Kara suggested, her tone cautious. “You’ll see.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to.

The restaurant was unfamiliar, yet somehow, everyone there seemed to know me.

“Renee! You’re late,” the manager barked as soon as we walked in.

I froze. “I—I don’t work here.”

The man laughed, shaking his head. “Very funny. Now get to your station before I dock your pay.”

Kara gave me a pointed look. “See? This is what I was talking about.”

I stared at her, my mouth dry. “This…this isn’t real.”

Kalim reached out, his hand brushing my arm. “Maybe you just need some rest. You’ve been acting really off today.”

I pulled away from him. “No. Something’s wrong. None of this is right.”

By the time I got home, my nerves were shot.

The house was still empty, the silence oppressive. I curled up in my room, trying to piece together the fragments of the day.

When my father finally came home, I heard his footsteps approaching my door.

“Renee!” he barked, his voice sharp. “Why isn’t dinner ready?”

I opened the door cautiously, my heart pounding. “I…I didn’t know you were coming back. I haven’t seen you or Mom all day.”

His eyes narrowed, his expression cold. “What kind of excuse is that? You know your responsibilities.”

“I didn’t even know what to cook,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His slap came so fast, I barely registered it until my cheek stung.

“Three hours,” he snapped. “Get it done.”

I stumbled back, tears blurring my vision.

This wasn’t my father. Not the man I knew.

I went to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I prepared his dinner. The bruises on my arms throbbed as if they were fresh.

When I finally returned to my room, I collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself.

“This has to be a dream,” I whispered to the darkness. “Please, let me wake up.”