The Starting Sylvia Eze   © Copyright 2025 Sylvia Eze

Photo by Patrick Hawlik on Unsplash

The nightmares began again, vivid as lightning and just as sudden.

Riley woke gasping, sweat slick on her forehead, the sound of her own voice echoing in the dark. For a moment, she could still feel him — the weight of his hand on her wrist, the smell of his breath, the way her body twisted beneath an invisible force. She wanted to believe it was only a dream. But the bruises on her arms said otherwise.

By morning, she buried it all — the fear, the confusion — beneath a forced smile. She brushed her hair, fixed her uniform, and walked downstairs.

“Mom, I’m back,” she called, holding up her report card. “All A’s.”

Her mother smiled, tired but proud. “Good job, Riley. You deserve something special. Go on, take your sister out.”

Riley grinned and bounded up the stairs. “Mia! Let’s go to the mall!”

Mia looked up from her bed, unimpressed. “You just want to show off again.”

“Maybe,” Riley said, laughing. “Come on, get dressed.”

At the mall, everything looked normal — neon lights, music, chatter — but Riley couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She’d feel it between songs, in the reflection of the shop glass. Once, she thought she saw him — Conya — that familiar half-smile she used to mistake for kindness. But when she turned, it was just a stranger.

Still, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

That night, the nightmare returned. She screamed herself awake, clutching her chest. Her mother rushed in.

“Riley, what’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “It’s like something’s pressing down on me. I can’t move or breathe. And when I finally wake up, I still feel him.”

Her mother brushed her hair back. “It’s just stress, honey. Try to relax.”

But Riley knew it wasn’t.

The Breaking Point

The next morning, a message blinked on her phone.

Conya: “Still having bad dreams? Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks — not since she’d blocked him after their fight. She stared at the message, fingers trembling.

She typed:

Riley: “Why are you texting me?”

Conya: “Because you still need me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She didn’t reply. But his words clung to her like smoke.

By afternoon, she deleted the conversation — but she couldn’t delete the ache in her chest. Every corner of her mind whispered his name.

Mia noticed first.

“You’ve been weird lately,” she said. “And jumpy. Did something happen?”

Riley hesitated, then lied. “It’s just school stress.”

Mia raised a brow. “You always say that. Look, whatever it is — ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the therapy session.”

But later, in the quiet of her room, those words echoed. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.

The Past Unraveling

It hadn’t started as something dark.

Conya had been funny, confident, older. He’d make her laugh when she felt invisible. She’d defended him when everyone else said he was trouble. He’d told her she was “different.”

Then came the change — small at first.

He’d guilt her for spending time with others. He’d test her boundaries with jokes that didn’t feel like jokes. And when she tried to pull away, he’d turn cold.

“You think you’re better than me?” he’d text. “After everything I did for you?”

She’d always go back. Apologize. Try to fix it.

Because he had that power — to make her feel guilty for his mistakes.

But the night she said no — the night he wanted more than friendship — something inside him snapped. His eyes darkened, his voice turned sharp, and when she refused again, he whispered:

“You’ll regret this.”

That night, the nightmares began.

Days blurred into one another. Riley avoided sleep, her body running on caffeine and fear. At school, she caught herself glancing over her shoulder, scanning hallways for his face.

Her grades slipped. Her laughter faded.

Mia cornered her one evening. “You’re scaring me, Riley. You barely sleep, you flinch when your phone buzzes—what’s going on?”

Riley finally broke. “He’s in my dreams, Mia. Every night. I can’t breathe. Sometimes, I wake up with bruises—”

Mia’s face went pale. “Riley, that’s not normal.”

“I know!” she snapped, tears filling her eyes. “But I can’t make it stop.”

Mia hugged her. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

For the first time in weeks, Riley let herself cry.

That night, she dreamed again — only this time, she wasn’t the victim.

In the dream, she stood in the same dark room, the same weight pressing her down. But when she looked up, she saw her own reflection above her — not Conya, not a stranger — herself, watching coldly.

And then she heard it — her own voice whispering,

“You gave him your fear. You made him real.”

She woke up shaking. The room was still, but something had shifted inside her.

(Part Two – The Release & Renewal)

The morning after that dream, Riley couldn’t shake what she’d seen — her own face staring back at her with accusation and pity. She walked through the day like a ghost, her mind replaying the words:

“You gave him your fear. You made him real.”

That night, she didn’t sleep.

Instead, she went to her desk and pulled out her old notebooks — pages of scribbles, notes, memories. And there, buried between drawings and doodles, were printouts of her old messages with Conya.

Every word was poison.

Every apology was a bruise in ink.

She realized she had spent so much time defending him that she’d forgotten how to defend herself.

Mia knocked softly on her door. “You okay?”

Riley didn’t answer. She just whispered, “I think I’m ready to let go.”

The Confrontation

The next day, she blocked his number again.

Then she did something she hadn’t done in months — she deleted their chat history.

Her phone felt lighter in her hand. But her heart — heavier.

That night, she saw him one last time in her dream.

He stood in the darkness, smiling like he always had — confident, untouchable.

“You think deleting me changes anything?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. “You can’t erase what we were.”

Riley looked around. The ground beneath her was fog, shifting with each breath. “We were nothing,” she said quietly.

He laughed. “You can’t even say it without shaking.”

But she wasn’t shaking.

Not this time.

She took a deep breath and said, “You were never the voice in my head. You were the echo of everything I was too afraid to face. But I’m not afraid anymore.”

The figure blinked, startled. His smile faltered.

The fog began to thin, light seeping through.

“You can’t get rid of me,” he hissed.

“I don’t have to,” she said. “You were never real. You were only what I believed I deserved.”

He lunged — but the light consumed him before he could reach her.

And then — silence.

When Riley opened her eyes, she was back in her room, morning light spilling through the curtains. Her chest felt lighter, her mind clear. For the first time in months, there was no weight pressing her down.

The Release

At breakfast, her mother studied her carefully. “You look different,” she said.

“I feel different.”

Her mother smiled faintly, unsure what to say. “Want to talk about it?”

Riley hesitated. For weeks, she had hidden everything out of fear — fear of being judged, fear of not being believed. But she was tired of silence.

“It started with a friend,” she began. “Someone I thought I could trust. But he hurt me — not physically, not exactly — but here.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “And I let him. Because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I thought if I was kind enough, patient enough, loyal enough… he’d stop.”

Her mother reached across the table and took her hand. “You don’t owe anyone your peace, Riley. Not even the people you once loved.”

Riley’s eyes filled. “I know that now.”

Her mother nodded softly. “When I was younger, I held onto anger, too. It nearly destroyed me. I learned that letting go isn’t weakness — it’s survival.”

Riley listened quietly, the words sinking deep.

That afternoon, she printed out the last few remaining messages she had from Conya — not to keep, but to burn.

She watched the flames devour the paper, turning words into ash.

Each crackle of fire felt like something inside her releasing.

When it was done, she exhaled and whispered, “Goodbye.”

The Renewal

That night, she dreamed again — but this time, it was different.

She was standing in a wide, open field. No darkness, no shadows. Just wind and sunlight.

In the distance, she saw the younger version of herself — smiling, unafraid.

Riley walked toward her.

You’re not scared anymore,” the girl said.

“I was never supposed to be,” Riley replied.

The child reached out a hand. “Then wake up.”

Riley took it — and the world turned to light.

When she opened her eyes, the morning sun was spilling across her sheets. Mia was knocking on the door.

“Rise and shine, champion,” her sister teased.

Riley smiled. “Champion of what?”

“Of surviving me,” Mia said with a laugh.

Riley rolled her eyes, but there was something in her chest now — a warmth she hadn’t felt in months. Peace.

She got dressed and looked at herself in the mirror.

For so long, she had seen fear staring back — guilt, anger, shame. But now she saw something new.

Her own reflection smiled with her.

A month later, Riley stood on the school rooftop, watching the sunset. The sky glowed with shades of pink and gold, like something reborn.

She thought about everything she had lost — her trust, her sleep, her innocence — but also what she had gained: clarity, strength, voice.

Healing wasn’t a single moment, she realized. It was a series of small decisions — to speak, to forgive, to breathe again.

She pulled out her phone, opened a blank message, and typed:

I forgive you.

Then she deleted it.

Because forgiveness wasn’t for him. It was for her.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she whispered to herself — not as a plea this time, but as a promise:

“I’m not afraid anymore.”

The wind carried her words away, soft as a sigh, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself laugh.

Riley had finally learned that some nightmares don’t end when you wake up — they end when you start over.

And she was ready.