Page 16

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALLY

The numbers on the page meld together as my focus drifts, my eyes fluttering in a desperate attempt to latch on to something tangible.

My textbook lies open on my lap, and scattered notes sprawl across the coffee table, yet nothing seems to register. I let out a heavy sigh and massage my temples before flicking my pen into the messy pile.

I’ve never been the studious type, but today, it feels like every bit of effort is fighting against me.

The air in the house is still. With all my friends out, I’m left alone in the lounge, accompanied only by the occasional creaks of the old floorboards and the distant murmurs of Martha and the security team somewhere in the house.

I stretch, reaching over my head, and cast a glance towards the kitchen. Maybe I just need a break—some movement, a bite to eat, a hit of caffeine.

Then, without warning, it happens.

A peculiar, sinking sensation overtakes me, and my vision narrows into a tunnel as the edges of my world darken.

My body stiffens, every muscle locked as if paralysed by an unseen force, and an overwhelming detachment severs my connection with everything around me.

My thoughts scatter, slipping away like fleeting shadows before I can catch hold of them.

The next thing I know—my body betrays me, and everything succumbs to darkness.

* * *

When consciousness slowly creeps back, I’m not sure how much time has passed. My entire body feels like it’s not my own, heavy and alien, as if I were a stranger in my own skin.

A dull ache gnaws at my muscles and my jaw protests from being clenched so fiercely. Even the simple act of speaking or swallowing feels like a monumental effort.

I squint at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of confusion swirling in my head. The overhead light is glaringly bright, and the world appears both painfully crisp yet disconcertingly out of focus.

“Ally?”

The voice is soft, tentative—a lifeline amidst the turmoil.

I turn slowly, my stomach twisting in protest at the movement. There, kneeling beside me, is Ashley. Her brows furrowed with worry as she studies me intently.

My mouth is parched, every word stuck somewhere deep in my throat. “What…?”

“You had a seizure.”

Her words slap me hard, sending a shockwave straight to my chest. “What?” I manage to say.

Ashley moves even closer, her hands resting lightly on her knees in a careful, deliberate manner—as though she fears that one wrong move might shatter me completely. “I got home early, Ally. I found you on the floor. You were… seizing.”

“No.” The denial bursts out, sharp and brittle. My heart pounds erratically, a fierce protest against this new reality. “I just—I must’ve passed out again.”

Her disapproval is clear as she shakes her head. “It’s not just fainting. I didn’t make that up, Ally. I saw what was happening.”

A cold dread curls deep in my stomach, my fingers digging into the fabric of my hoodie in a vain attempt to ground myself.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

“No,” I insist, forcing the word through clenched teeth. “It was nothing. I was just tired. Maybe I didn’t eat enough.”

Ashley’s eyes search mine, her concern palpable. “Ally,” she pleads softly.

I look away, a heavy, clammy feeling weighing down my chest. Nausea churns within me as my hands tremble uncontrollably. “I just need a minute.”

She doesn’t push further, yet she remains there—silent, present. The room fills with a thick, heavy quiet as memories of dizziness, moments when time seemed to unravel, and those brief spells of losing myself haunt my thoughts.

It has to be nothing.

After what seems like an eternity, Ashley breaks the silence, her voice gentle yet laced with urgency. “I really think you should see a doctor. This isn’t normal, Ally.”

I shake my head, gasping out, “I don’t—no. I’m fine.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “You had a seizure, and that’s not something to brush off.”

In an effort to stifle the rising panic, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the fear to fade. I can’t—won’t—believe that I’m on the brink of something so serious. Then, in a softer tone, Ashley ventures, “It could be epilepsy.”

My stomach flips violently. “No.”

“Ally—”

“No.” My protest is sharper this time, a desperate attempt to convince both her and me. “It’s not that. It’s nothing. I’m just worn out, okay? We’ve all been under so much stress—I just need to take better care of myself.”

Ashley says nothing further, but the unanswered questions in her eyes betray a worry I can’t ignore.

And deep down, I know I shouldn’t dismiss her concern.

Exhaling slowly, she finally says, “Promise me you’ll look into it.”

I hesitate, my jaw tight before a reluctant, “I’ll think about it,” escapes my lips.

She studies me before finally nodding. “Okay.”

A moment of relief washes over me, tempered by the knowledge that I’m still teetering on the edge. “And… please don’t tell anyone.”

Ashley’s frown deepens. “Ally?—”

“Please.” My voice trembles, raw and desperate. “Not yet.”

After a pause, she concedes with a soft sigh, “Fine. But just for now.”

I offer a small nod, swallowing hard against the rising lump in my throat. Watching me with lingering concern, Ashley stands and adds, “I’m going to get you some water.”

She leaves, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall, leaving me alone amidst a tumult of swirling thoughts.

Time seems to stop as I sit there, my head heavy, my pulse pounding relentlessly in my ears. My body feels unreliable, having betrayed me in the most unfathomable way, and a creeping fear begins to gnaw at the edges of my mind.

Epilepsy.

With quivering hands, I pull my phone from my pocket. My fingers are clumsy as I type the dreaded word into the search bar, praying for a mistake. The first article loads and my stomach plummets.

I read, each word blurring into the next, while my chest tightens with every passing second as I acquaint myself with the symptoms, the causes, the risks.

This can’t be happening, I keep telling myself, trying to convince the part of me that’s desperate to cling to normalcy.

Until now, I’ve never felt this, but I have the unsettling feeling that things are irrevocably different.