Chapter 7
SAGE
As the festival drew closer, something subtle but undeniable shifted within me.
It wasn’t a sudden, groundbreaking moment that changed everything. It was gentler than that—a quiet recalibration beneath my skin, like the slow, steady turn of a dial I hadn't even realized was off.
For the first time in months, maybe longer, I felt balanced… like a newfound rhythm took hold.
The days no longer felt like punishments to endure. Instead, I moved through them with an ease that surprised me. There was a fragile equilibrium between my tedious job, the cautious steps toward a social life, and the restless chaos still lurking in my thoughts.
The nightmares still came.
They still clawed at me in my sleep, pulling me back into the dark places I’d desperately tried to bury but their grip was weaker now. Their relentless cycle had softened into background noise, something I’d grown used to.
And numbness?
Numbness was manageable.
I knew avoidance wasn't healthy. Logically, I understood that. A part of me—the part desperately clinging to sanity—recognized it clearly. But feeling nothing had become infinitely easier than feeling everything. Exhaustion had long since stolen my ability to choose otherwise.
Yet… beneath layers of disconnection and apathy, a flicker of something vibrant stirred.
Excitement.
The past somehow felt lighter. Its hold around my throat had eased just enough for me to breathe freely again or at least pretend to breathe for a time.
Just enough to let myself want something new—to finally look forward.
Tonight, I wasn’t going to drag my shadows around like chains.
Tonight, I would spend a night out with Sam—my best friend, my accidental salvation—and finally meet the elusive boyfriend she’d been raving about for weeks.
And for once in my life…I wasn’t dreading it.
***
When the knock came at my door, I exhaled slowly before opening it.
And for a few seconds, I forgot how to speak.
Sam stood there on my doorstep like a vision conjured from some fever dream of light and color.
Electric and radiant.
She caught the porch light in just the right way, her skin shimmering like moonlight caught in motion. Every small gesture, every tilt of her head, seemed deliberate—mesmerizing in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
Her platinum blonde pigtails, each one streaked with vivid aqua and hot pink extensions, flowed like the ribbons, she always wore on her wrists, every time she moved.
The butterfly corset she wore clung to her frame, its iridescent sheen shifting between shades of teal and fuchsia, the colors alive with every breath she took.
A distressed denim skirt hung low on her hips, her legs bare save for a pair of high boots laced to perfection.
She looked like she belonged under neon lights or in the middle of an EDM parade.
Then there was me.
I glanced down at myself: an old dark concert tee, ripped jeans worn soft with time, and a pair of battered sneakers that had seen better days.
It started to feel like I’d missed a memo for the attire of this event. Like there was an unspoken dress code I hadn’t realized existed.
“I hope this is okay,” I muttered, my fingers tugging absently at the hem of my shirt. I shifted on my feet, the weight of comparison settling across my shoulders like something physical. “I haven’t really had time to go shopping.”
Not entirely true.
I could have made time, but I hadn’t.
Sam’s sharp gaze flickered over me, catching my discomfort instantly.
She didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t give it time for that feeling I had to take root.
“You look fantastic,” she said, her tone warm, certain, but then she tilted her head, that familiar gleam lighting up her expression. “But… I think I have a trick or two to make your outfit pop.”
And just like that, she was analyzing my apartment, moving with practiced ease like she’d lived here for years instead of just visiting when she felt like it.
She swept through the space, eyes searching, until they landed on the bundle of wildflowers, I’d gathered earlier that morning.
“May I?” she asked, though her grin told me she’d already decided the answer.
There was something in her expression—mischievous, yes, but also reverent.
Like the flowers meant something.
Like she saw something in them I hadn’t.
“Sure,” I said, stepping closer without really knowing why.
She crossed the room in two strides and unpinned my hair, letting it fall in loose waves around my shoulders.
Her fingers worked quickly, but there was a tenderness in the way she braided the flowers into my hair, like she was weaving in more than petals and stems.
Like she was stitching pieces of my self-esteem back together.
When she finished, she spun me toward the mirror by my door.
The girl who stared back at me was softer somehow.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of her—the other side of me—staring back from the mirror.
Sage from Sanele.
The shattered version.
But I didn’t let Sam see that reflection. That version was mine alone to carry, crystal clear only to me.
The words felt small, but they carried weight. “It’s perfect.”
Sam beamed. “Makes sense,” she said, without missing a beat, “because you’re already perfect.”
I smiled—real this time, not forced—and she looped her arm through mine.
“Now,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement, “let’s rock and roll!”
***
The festival was sprawling. Massive tents and stages rose out of the hills built for chaos and sound.
Four stages.
Four worlds.
Folk and country to the left—acoustic melodies floating on the breeze like smoke. R&B and rap nearby—bass heavy and thrumming, every beat a pulse in my bones. An emerging artists’ stage set far off to the right, full of raw voices and electric hope.
And at the center, towering over everything else, the main stage.
The reason we were here.
Point North. Archers. Nerv. Traceless.
Names that had lived in my playlists and headphones for years. The thought of hearing them live sent a thrill racing down my spine.
Sam and I linked arms and plunged into the crowd. Everywhere I looked, people were alive with the kind of reckless joy I’d only ever envied from afar. Neon lights flashed in dizzying arcs against the darkening sky, painting us in streaks of all different colors.
As we made our way to our viewing spot, Sam called out to me over her shoulder, as she let go of my arm, “Hold tight! I’m grabbing drinks. Might even indulge a little on the way back.” Then she winked and disappeared into the crush of people.
I stood there, alone but not lonely, knowing my friend would return soon.
My gaze drifted over the crowd, watching strangers laugh and dance, when I felt it.
Eyes on me.
I turned and found him easily.
Sun-kissed skin. Beachy blonde hair. A surfer-boy smile that seemed perfectly at home in this chaos. His aura was relaxed, easy in a way that felt practiced.
He closed the distance between us, moving with the confidence of someone who had never been told no.
“You’re absolutely stunning,” he said, like it was fact. Like he wasn’t used to his words being questioned.
“Thank you,” I replied automatically. “That’s sweet of you.”
He chuckled, a warm, practiced sound.
“You shouldn’t be shy,” he said, eyes sweeping over me. “Most of these women don’t hold a candle to you.”
Before I could respond, he held out a drink.
A vibrant purple concoction in a clear plastic cup.
“It’s our special mix,” he said. “We make it at tailgate parties. Here…it should help.”
I hesitated.
My fingers brushed the side of the cup as I took it.
It smelled sweet, fruity, harmless, but something in my gut twisted tight.
My past’s ghost whispered in my ear. A lesson I thought I’d already learned. I had promised myself—never again. Never take a drink from a stranger.
But I didn’t want to make a scene.
So, I smiled and took the drink.
He grinned like he’d won something. “Enjoy the show,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I stared at the drink in my hand, the condensation slick against my fingers.
Was I being paranoid?
Overly cautious?
I wanted to not worry, to learn to trust again.
So I took a sip.
It tasted fine.
Sweet and harmless, but deep inside I knew better and for some reason I didn’t care if I risked it.
Before I could think too hard about the war in my mind, a voice cut through the noise. Low and unyielding. “You shouldn’t take what isn’t yours.”
I turned and found him there.
Dark hair. Eyes like a storm. Inked arms crossed over his chest. His presence was effortless. Commanding. Like the earth shifted to the ground beneath his feet and we all moved to his rhythm.
Before I could react, he reached out. Took the cup from my hand and poured it onto the ground.
“What the hell?” I snapped, adrenaline spiking.
His gaze didn’t flicker.
“A warning,” he said.
My stomach knotted, as I asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It was spiked.”
Flat. Certain.
Cold dread slithered down my spine. I tried to process it but before I could, the lights began to blur and the music swelled.
All of a sudden I couldn’t focus on what I was supposed to be doing. I could only focus my body towards him, away from the stage, and opposite to where everyone was staring.
He stood behind me. Close, like a wall between me and everything else.
Then his hand was on my arm, gentle but firm. He turned me toward the stage. “You came here to enjoy the music,” he said, his breath warm against my ear. “Let’s make sure you can.”
His proximity should have unsettled me, but it didn’t.
For the first time since leaving Sanele, I felt safe, safer than in the fields, even with Sam, and that continued for what I remembered of the rest of the night.
The night blurred.
Music.
Adrenaline.
His presence beside me, steady as stone, and when the crowd surged, when the mosh pit exploded into chaos, I found myself keeping close to him. Clinging to the strange foreign security he was offering me.
I felt alive, until something shifted, the end of the set and a song coming through the speakers that took me back to where I had come from. Back to that night.
A wrongness bloomed in my gut.
Heat pooled behind my eyes.
The world tilted.
And when the darkness swallowed me whole, his arms were the last thing I felt and a familiar song—the last thing I heard, before everything went black.