36. Chapter 31
Drowning In The Holidays
Evin
T he winter holidays were supposed to be a break, a moment to breathe—but for Evin, they became a battlefield. Every attempt to cling to stability was met with an invisible force pulling her deeper, dragging her beneath the surface of her own mind.
It wasn’t just numbness. It was drowning. The feeling was like being caught in quicksand, sinking slowly but surely into a thick mire of despair, the weight of it pressing down on every limb until she was completely submerged.
Some days, she fought against it. Others, she let herself sink.
Outside, the world carried on—vibrant, unbothered—while inside, everything remained frozen in suffocating stillness.
And yet, somewhere within, a fragile spark of resistance lingered. A part of her refused to be swallowed whole. She clung to that small defiance, even as exhaustion whispered how much easier it would be to let go.
Her body, however, was a traitor. Nausea hit her in sudden, violent waves, wrenching her out of her hollow state. Her mother blamed a stomach bug.
“It’ll pass,” she said lightly. As if words alone could fix what was broken. But Evin knew better. This wasn’t a virus. It was something deeper, something clawing at her from the inside out.
Still, she forced herself to function. She went to ballet, moved through the steps, performed with mechanical precision—not because she wanted to, but because it was the only thing that reminded her she was still here.
But the passion was gone.
Her body still knew the routines, but each movement felt weightless, detached, like she was watching herself from a distance.
Some days, she danced flawlessly. Other days, her limbs felt foreign, heavy, uncooperative.
But no matter how well she performed, the feeling was missing.
The thing that had once made her stand out, that had secured her place in the spotlight—gone.
The mirror showed the evidence. Her reflection had changed. The girl staring back at her was pale, her frame thinner, her clothes hanging looser. She barely recognized herself.
She barely felt like herself.
“Evin, you’re looking stronger these days.” The words came casually from her instructor as they passed in the hallway, but they clung to her like a weight. Stronger? She clenched the strap of her dance bag as she forced a smile, murmuring a quiet “thanks” before heading toward the changing room.
Stronger.
The word echoed in her head as she stared at her reflection, at the hollowed-out girl blinking back at her. If only they knew.
No matter how much she tried to push them away, the memories of Sergej found her anyway.
Like a physical weight, they pressed down on Evin, tingling her skin with unease and heaviness.
They lurked in the quiet, in the spaces between conversations, in the silence of her bedroom at night.
He had taken something from her, something that could never be given back .
After training, she let the shower scald her skin, hoping the heat would reach the parts of her that felt dead. But it didn’t. It only prickled the surface, leaving her just as cold as before.
And the nights…
The nights were the worst.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts droned so loud she could barely think. And yet, at the same time, it was all nothing. A crushing weight of exhaustion mixed with a restless, aching energy that refused to let her sleep.
Some nights, she felt like she was burning from the inside out. Other nights, she was ice.
And then there were the days when all she wanted to do was disappear. Sleep became the only escape. Because sleep meant silence. Sleep meant a break. She could go hours without moving, curled beneath the blankets, hoping she’d wake up different. Or not wake up at all.
Her phone buzzed—a last remaining tether to the world outside. But every message from Sergej only pushed her further into the abyss.
Sergej
Let’s talk one more time.
I never wanted to hurt you.
You’re important to me! You know that!
She stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but she couldn’t type. She couldn’t answer. It felt like her body wasn’t her own anymore. Like she had lost the right to make choices.
Her body refused food. Rejected rest. Succumbed to an exhaustion so deep it felt like sinking.
And the world around her blurred, becoming nothing more than a distant hum.
_________ _
Christmas was a farce.
Two weeks had been just enough to build a mask—convincing enough for her family, and nearly for herself.
Evin played the role she was supposed to.
She smiled. She responded when spoken to.
She sat through family meals, her presence accounted for, her absence unnoticed. And yet, she wasn’t really there.
Every glance from a relative made her stomach twist, an irrational fear that somehow, they knew. That they could see what had changed.
That they could tell she wasn’t— … Impossible.
Evin shoved the thought down.
She played her part, ate just enough, laughed at the right moments. Because that was what was expected. Because what choice did she have?
“Evi, can you pass the salt?” Her uncle leaned forward, not really looking at her. She reached for it, handed it over.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Her mother smiled at her, lifting her glass to her lips.
Evin wanted to nod, wanted to say something, but at that moment, a familiar scent drifted past her nose.
Cigarette smoke.
Her stomach clenched violently, bile rising in her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing the nausea back down as her throat went dry. It was faint—probably from an open window, maybe a neighbor outside. Maybe imagination. And yet, it was there.
Suddenly.
A dark room. Smoke hanging in the air. A voice saying her name, quiet, almost amused. A hand at her waist.
No.
She blinked. The dinner table was back in front of her. Her family kept talking, as if nothing had happened.
I am here. Not there.
“Evi?”
She flinched slightly and looked up.
Her aunt was smiling at her. “I asked how ballet is going. You were somewhere else just now.”
“Oh… good. It’s going well.” The words came too fast.
Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “You’re barely eating, sweetheart.”
“I’m just not that hungry.”
A perfect lie.
She spent most of her time in her room, staring at the ceiling, letting the minutes dissolve into nothing. Occasionally, she’d pick up her phone, scrolling mindlessly, ignoring unread messages. Even the familiar comfort of ballet felt distant, the movements automatic, detached from anything real.
And then, finally, Christmas was over. The leftovers were packed away, the gifts forgotten, and life moved on—whether she was ready or not.
The city shifted its focus to New Year’s Eve.
The Pearl.
The party everyone was waiting for.
A new start.
One night to prove to herself that she was still her. That she wasn’t just the sum of the things that had happened to her.
She would take it back.
If she could make it through one night—just one—without feeling like she was being swallowed whole, maybe she wasn’t as broken as she felt.