Who is B?
1447 Words
Chapter 4
Annabelle’s POV — Age 15
We kept living. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. Life didn’t magically get better after everything that happened—it just continued, dragging us along with it whether we were ready or not. I learned to move carefully around my mom, watching my words, measuring my actions, trying not to trigger her anger. It became second nature to me, like breathing. I didn’t even realize when I got used to it.
Johnson started daycare, so I didn’t have to take care of him as much anymore. That should have made things easier, but somehow it didn’t. Toria wasn’t the same either. She barely smiled, and the light that used to shine in her eyes had faded. She looked tired all the time, like she was carrying something heavy she couldn’t put down. And maybe she was.
As for me, I started having headaches. Not the regular kind that comes and goes, but the kind that stays. The kind that sits in your head and refuses to leave, making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to exist. At first, I ignored it. Then I started taking painkillers. Just one at first. Then two. Then more. I didn’t even notice when it became something I depended on.
One afternoon, the pain was unbearable. It felt like my head was splitting open, like something inside me was trying to tear its way out. I reached for the pills like I always did, my hands shaking slightly as I brought them to my mouth. That was when my mom walked in.
She froze when she saw me.
“Do you want to kill yourself?”
she screamed.
Her voice startled me so much that I almost dropped the pills. I just stood there, shocked, confused, not understanding how we got from me trying to stop the pain to her thinking I wanted to die. I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, that I just needed relief, that my head hurt so much I couldn’t think straight. But the words didn’t come out.
She rushed over, snatched the pills from my hand, and cleared out the entire cabinet. Before I could even react, she dragged me to my room and locked the door.
The pain didn’t stop. If anything, it got worse. My vision blurred, my eyes burned, and tears kept falling no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I curled up on the floor, holding my head, wishing it would all just stop. I didn’t know how long I stayed like that. Hours, maybe. It felt endless.
I think it was a migraine. I was never diagnosed, so I can’t say for sure. All I know is that it was one of the worst things I had ever felt.
The next few days were even harder. My body had already gotten used to the pills, and without them, everything felt off. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like how dependent I had become without even realizing it. So I stopped. Completely. Even if it meant living with the pain.
A week later, I woke up feeling exhausted. Not just tired, but drained in a way sleep couldn’t fix. I wanted to stay home, but I couldn’t. Graduation was only two months away, and I had too many assignments to complete. So I forced myself to get up and go to school.
I spent most of the day in the library, surrounded by books and papers, trying to focus. My head still throbbed faintly, and my eyes felt heavy, but I kept going. I had to. There was no one else who would do this for me.
At some point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rested my head on the table, telling myself it would only be for a few minutes. Just enough to clear my mind. Just enough to breathe.
I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Sweet. Warm. Comforting. Chocolate.
I lifted my head slowly, confused, and that’s when I saw it. A tray sitting right in front of me. Chocolate muffins. Ice cream. My favorite kind.
For a moment, I just stared at it, trying to process what I was seeing. I looked around, expecting to catch someone watching me, but the library was quiet. Normal. Like nothing unusual had happened.
My heart started racing when I remembered my assignments. I checked the time and realized I had been asleep for over an hour. Panic hit immediately. I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be done.
But when I looked down at my work, everything was completed.
Every single assignment.
I froze.
The handwriting was mine. Exactly like mine. But I knew I didn’t do it. I had only finished two out of seven before I fell asleep. I flipped through the pages, my confusion growing with each one.
This didn’t make sense.
A small, almost nervous laugh escaped me. “Maybe I have a fairy godmother,” I muttered under my breath, even though I knew that wasn’t possible.
Still, something about it didn’t feel scary.
It felt… kind.
Careful.
Intentional.
I picked up one of the muffins and took a bite. It tasted so good that I almost forgot everything else for a moment. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was until then. The ice cream was chocolate too. My favorite.
Whoever did this knew me.
That thought stayed with me longer than anything else.
I couldn’t finish everything, so I packed the rest into my bag. Before leaving, I took a small piece of paper and wrote a simple note. Thank you. I placed it on the table, hoping whoever it was would see it.
For the first time in a long time, I felt… light.
I walked home with a small smile on my face, something I hadn’t done in years. It felt strange, but in a good way. Someone had taken care of me. Even if I didn’t know who.
For one day, I was a baby girl. I wasn't the strong one.
I wasn’t the one holding everything together.
I was just… taken care of.
When I got home, I shared the muffins with my siblings, still holding onto that feeling. But it didn’t last.
It never does.
The phone rang.
“Hello, this is the Mercedes residence,” I said, my voice laced with joy and warmth
“Hello, this is City Hospital. Mrs. Vivian Mercedes has been in an accident.”
Everything inside me went cold.
At the hospital, reality hit harder than anything else. The bills were high. Too high. Even with insurance, it wasn’t enough. There was no time to cry, no time to break down.
So I did what I had learned to do.
I kept going.
I found a job at a fast-food restaurant. The pay wasn’t much, but it helped. I balanced everything—school, work, taking care of my siblings, and checking on my mom. It was exhausting, but there was no other choice.
I stopped dancing. I didn’t have time for it anymore. I didn’t go to prom. I didn’t attend my graduation ceremony. I just wrote my exams, passed them, and moved on.
At sixteen, I graduated quietly. No celebration. No pictures. Just… done.
When I went back to school to clear out my locker, I wasn’t expecting anything.
But when I opened it, I froze.
It was filled.
Letters. Jewelry. Clothes. Chocolates. Even a phone.
My hands trembled as I picked one up, then another, trying to understand what I was seeing. And then I noticed something that made my heart stop.
Every single item had the same initial.
B.
I stood there for a long time, my thoughts spinning, my heart beating faster than it should.
One question echoed in my mind.
Who is B?
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD