He gently squeezed her hand, his voice steady yet full of emotion.
"Then don't fight alone. Let me help you. You're not alone in this."
"Thank you for being there for me," Cherry said softly, her eyes meeting his as a tender smile lit up her face.
But just as the warmth settled between them, something in Jim's expression shifted.
Suddenly, a flashback surged through his mind.
"You're the murderer! You killed her!" a voice roared in his head.
"You deserve to be alone!"
"You are cursed..." a woman's voice whispered, echoing like a ghost from the past.
Jim shot to his feet, running a trembling hand through his hair, eyes wide and unfocused.
"What happened, Jim? Are you alright?" Cherry asked anxiously, rising to her feet.
"Stay away from me!" he snapped, stumbling back from her as if her presence burned.
"What? Why? Jim, what's going on?" Cherry stepped toward him, her voice tight with worry.
"I said just leave!" Jim's voice cracked, trembling with the storm building inside him.
"I'm not leaving you, Jim. You're not okay. I can't leave you like this," she said, reaching out to hold his hand.
"Please... stay away from me!" he gasped, pushing her back as panic overtook him.
His breath grew shallow. His chest heaved.
The anxiety crashed over him like a wave.
"Jim—hold on! I'll get help!" Cherry cried, rushing out of the room.
Cherry sprinted down the dimly lit hallway, her heart pounding louder than her footsteps. The air was thick with the scent of rain and something else—fear. She flung open the door to the hospital, calling out into the empty room.
"Someone! Please! I need help—Jim's having a panic attack!"
Back in the room, Jim collapsed to his knees, his hands clutching at his chest.
The past refused to stay buried.
Every breath felt like swallowing glass.
Her face appeared again.
Blood.
Tears.
His own hands—shaking, stained.
"It wasn't me... I didn't... I didn't mean to..." he whispered to no one.
Suddenly, gentle arms wrapped around him.
"I've got you," Cherry said, kneeling beside him. She had returned with a wet cloth and a doctor—tall, with kind eyes and a calm voice. A medical student.
"Jim," the student said evenly, crouching in front of him. "You're safe. You're not in danger. Just breathe with me. In... and out."
Jim shook his head violently. "I can't—I can't do this again."
"Yes, you can," Cherry said, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "You're not alone this time."
Minutes passed like hours. Slowly, Jim's breathing settled, his trembling eased.
The storm in his mind began to clear, revealing a battlefield littered with memories, guilt, and something fragile—hope.
He looked at Cherry, his eyes glassy but focused. "Why did you come back?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Because when someone matters to you, you don't run. Even when they're falling apart."
Jim lowered his gaze. "I'm broken, Cherry."
She squeezed his hand gently. "Then we'll pick up the pieces together."
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TO BE CONTINUED
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