Chapter 24 Breaking Point
Bam Saralee did not follow her.
That was the first mistake.
The second was pretending she could go back to normal after that conversation.
Because the moment Oom walked out—
Something inside her didn’t just shift.
It cracked.
---
The club room slowly returned to its usual rhythm, conversations resuming in low murmurs, chairs scraping lightly against the floor, the ordinary hum of people pretending nothing dramatic had just happened.
Bam sat back down.
Calm.
Composed.
Controlled.
At least—
That was the image.
Inside, it was chaos.
“…you kissed me.”
The words echoed again, louder this time, sharper, more intrusive.
Her grip tightened around her notebook.
She stared at the blank page in front of her, trying to focus, trying to anchor herself to something real, something tangible, something that wasn’t—
Her.
Because that version of her—
The one Oom described—
Was not someone she recognized.
“…stop.”
She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling slowly, forcing her breathing to even out.
This wasn’t new.
She had dealt with intrusive thoughts before.
Unwanted emotions.
Unnecessary memories.
She knew how to handle this.
Suppress.
Control.
Distance.
That was the system.
That was what kept her functioning.
That was what kept her—
Safe.
“…it didn’t happen.”
But the words didn’t feel as solid as they used to.
Didn’t carry the same certainty.
Because now—
There were cracks.
Fragments.
Pieces that didn’t align with the narrative she had built so carefully over the years.
“…you stayed…”
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes snapped open.
No.
That wasn’t hers.
That voice—
Soft.
Desperate.
Needy.
It wasn’t—
“…don’t go…”
Her chest tightened.
Her hand pressed against it instinctively, as if she could physically stop whatever was trying to surface.
“This is irrelevant,” she whispered under her breath.
But her body didn’t agree.
Her body remembered.
The warmth.
The closeness.
The way her fingers had—
Bam stood abruptly.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Heads turned.
Tantan raised an eyebrow.
“Leaving again?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too sharp.
But no one stopped her.
No one questioned her.
Because Bam—
Didn’t invite questions.
---
She didn’t stop walking until she reached the empty stairwell of the building.
Quiet.
Isolated.
Safe.
Or at least—
It should have been.
Bam leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply, her usual composure slipping just enough for her to feel it.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
She clenched them into fists immediately.
“…get it together.”
This was ridiculous.
She wasn’t breaking.
She didn’t break.
She had already gone through worse.
Handled worse.
Survived worse.
So why—
Why was this affecting her?
“…it’s just confusion.”
That’s all it was.
A temporary disruption.
A misalignment.
It would pass.
It always did.
But then—
Another fragment hit.
Stronger this time.
Clearer.
More vivid.
Oom’s voice.
Soft.
Careful.
“…I’m here.”
Bam’s breath caught.
Her hand pressed harder against her chest.
Because that—
That wasn’t just a voice.
That was a memory.
And not a distant one.
Not something vague or unclear.
It felt close.
Recent.
Real.
“…no.”
Her head shook slightly.
Because if that was real—
If Oom was telling the truth—
Then that meant—
Bam had allowed herself to feel.
To want.
To need.
And that—
That was dangerous.
Because the last time she had allowed that—
It had destroyed her.
---
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Bam stiffened.
Mint.
Of course.
She turned slowly.
“I’m fine.”
Mint didn’t look convinced.
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re lying.”
Bam exhaled sharply.
“I don’t have time for this.”
Mint stepped closer.
“You’re remembering.”
Bam didn’t deny it this time.
Because there was no point.
“…fragments,” she admitted.
Mint nodded.
“That’s how it starts.”
Bam’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t need commentary.”
“You need honesty.”
“I have control.”
Mint’s expression softened slightly.
“No, you don’t.”
Silence.
Because that—
That was the problem.
Bam had built her entire life around control.
Around structure.
Around certainty.
And now—
All of that was slipping.
“…she confronted me,” Bam said quietly.
Mint didn’t react.
Didn’t ask.
Just—
Listened.
“She said things that—”
Bam stopped.
Because saying it out loud—
Made it real.
Mint tilted her head slightly.
“That you remember.”
Bam looked away.
“…parts of it.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is.”
Bam shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“I do.”
“No,” Bam said, her voice sharper now. “You don’t.”
Mint didn’t flinch.
“Then explain it to me.”
Bam hesitated.
Because how did she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself?
How did she put into words the feeling of losing control over her own emotions?
Over her own actions?
Over—
“…I let her in,” Bam said finally.
Mint’s gaze softened again.
“Yes.”
“And now—”
Bam swallowed.
“I can’t handle it.”
There it was.
The truth.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Uncontrolled.
Mint didn’t respond immediately.
She just watched her.
Carefully.
“…you don’t have to handle it alone,” she said quietly.
Bam laughed softly.
Not amused.
Not happy.
Just—
Tired.
“I don’t do that.”
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I won’t.”
Silence.
Because that—
That was the real conflict.
Not the memories.
Not the confusion.
But the choice.
To face it.
Or to run from it.
---
Meanwhile—
Oom was not handling things well.
“Okay,” Yada said, watching her pace back and forth in the living room. “This is officially the worst you’ve been.”
“I told you,” Oom snapped. “I’m not okay.”
“You look like you’re about to start a war.”
“I might.”
“With who?”
“My feelings.”
“That’s not winnable.”
“I don’t care.”
Oom ran a hand through her hair, her movements restless, her thoughts spiraling again despite everything she had told herself earlier.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What part?”
“All of it.”
“Too late.”
“I pushed her.”
“You confronted her.”
“I made it worse.”
“You made it real.”
Oom stopped pacing.
“…she denied everything.”
Yada sighed.
“She’s scared.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And it hurts.”
Yada softened slightly.
“…yeah.”
Oom dropped onto the couch, her energy draining all at once.
“I thought if I said it out loud, she’d—”
“Admit it?”
“Something.”
Yada shook her head.
“That’s not how people like her work.”
Oom closed her eyes.
“…I know.”
“But you did what you had to do.”
Oom didn’t respond.
Because knowing that—
Didn’t make it hurt less.
---
Back in the stairwell—
Bam slid down the wall slowly, sitting on the cold floor, her usual composure completely gone now that no one was watching.
Her hands rested loosely in her lap.
Her thoughts—
Loud.
Too loud.
Because now—
She couldn’t ignore it anymore.
The fragments.
The feelings.
The truth.
“…you stayed…”
Her eyes closed.
“…don’t go…”
Her breath shook.
“…I need you…”
Her hands clenched.
Because that—
That wasn’t just a memory.
That was her.
A version of her she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Didn’t want to accept.
Didn’t want to—
Feel.
“…this is why I stopped,” she whispered.
Because this—
This vulnerability.
This need.
This dependence—
Was exactly what had broken her before.
And she had sworn—
Never again.
But now—
It was back.
And this time—
It had a name.
Oom.
Bam pressed her forehead against her knees, her body curling inward slightly, her usual strength slipping just enough to reveal the truth underneath.
“…I can’t do this.”
But she already was.
And that—
That was the problem.
Because for the first time in years—
Bam Saralee was losing control.
And she didn’t know how to stop it.