CHAPTER 5
Alisson ran.
She didn't know where she was headed. The garden, the lights, and the crowd all blurred around her as her boots clicked against the stone. All she knew was that she needed to escape the unending flashes of the cameras and the strobe lights that burned her eyes and shook her mind.
As she ran, memories flashed in her head, each one piercing her heart.
The cameras, phones, anything with the endless shutters of lights.
She saw herself lying on a bed, naked, pushing herself back at the headboard, desperately clutching a thin blanket. Trying to distance herself from the people who wanted to humiliate her further. Fingers tore at the cover, trying to expose her, while she fought to keep it against her body. Her hands shook, tears streamed down her cheeks, and her chest heaved as she tried to utter words but couldn't. Her throat hurt as if she were strangled.
She couldn't remember how she had ended up there. Everything was a haze, a dizzy blur of fear and betrayal. She didn't dare lift her eyes or look at anyone. One hand covered her face while the other clung to the blanket as if it could protect her from the horror. She didn't know what was done to her and what happened before that. It was like a mist of memories, and she couldn't grasp any of them.
She was shaking her head. Her body trembled, for she knew that everything was wrong. Awfully wrong. She tried to tell them to stop and stay away, but her tongue felt heavy, as if her own will was being controlled by someone. She could only clutch the blanket to hold on for her dignity and life, silently screaming in her mind, hoping someone—anyone—would save her. But no one came.
Then darkness.
When she woke, she was in a hospital bed. Sterile, white, and cold. A doctor's voice drifted over her, saying words she struggled to hear: drugged, police, interview, arrest. She could barely grasp anything. Her mind felt shattered. She only remembered bits: the afterparty, the successful runway show, and the friends she thought she could trust.
No one came for her.
No family. No friends.
Every betrayal marked her heart like a brand. People she had trusted left her exposed, defenseless, and alone. She hadn't just been humiliated—she had been cast aside, a victim of someone else's greed and cruelty.
Then the modeling agency—the only place she turned after her studies—ended her contract. No salary. No apology. They called it "compensation" for the damage her ruined reputation caused them.
Alisson stumbled upon the seaside. The wind slapped her face so that for a moment it brought her back to the present. She saw a row of deckchairs near the shore, most were vacant as some people started to gather their things and walk away from the beach. Luckily enough, she was wearing platform boots that wouldn't be too awkward to walk along the sand even with their 3-inch heels; they were thick enough.
Her pounding heart and the trembling in her body subsided gradually. The sweat that trickled at the side of her face left a cold trace as the breeze touched it. She propped a hand to her heart. Her breathing slowly steadied. People glanced at her as she seemed to be running from danger. She really was. From the sudden flashes of her hell in the past.
She looked over at the vast open sea and slowly walked towards a vacant deckchair. The rest of what happened after that incident emerged in her mind again, but this time, she allowed it.
Back from a few months ago…
Days passed in a fog. The hospital room felt both protective and suffocating. The white walls, antiseptic smell, and faint hum of machines formed a cage she was reluctant to leave yet equally hesitant to remain in.
A young male psychiatrist visited every day. He never pushed her to speak at first. He simply sat, calm and steady, sharing words meant to soothe her little by little. "Breathe," he would say softly. "You're safe here. Nothing can harm you now. Just let your mind settle."
For weeks, she didn't respond. She only listened. The sessions became a quiet ritual, a rhythm amidst the chaos in her mind.
Then one day, she managed to gather the scattered pieces of herself. Her voice was barely a whisper—hesitant but determined. "How… how was I saved? How did I end up here?"
The psychiatrist nodded and adjusted his notes. "Let's get the police to clarify, Miss Alisson. They were involved in the case—they can answer your questions."
Moments later, two officers entered the room. They were professional and impassive but careful not to overwhelm her. One began to explain. "Someone tipped us off that illegal substances were being used at that house party," he said. "We raided the location immediately. Most of them had escaped. Clearly, they had been informed too that we were coming. When we barged into your room, you were alone and had already passed out. You were under the influence of a strong substance, which is why we needed to interrogate you to determine involvement."
Alisson swallowed hard. "I… I'm not a user," she whispered. "I don't… I don't know how I came into contact with it."
She recalled fragments, a few hazy impressions. She had only drunk canned alcohol, avoiding the cups others had offered. She instinctively knew those drinks weren't safe. She was careful for her own good.
The officer nodded. "It's possible it came from something you ate."
She blinked, uncertain, remembering small bites of food from the party. "Maybe," she admitted, her voice flat. She shrugged weakly, feeling the weight of helplessness press down on her. "I don't know anything else."
Her head throbbed. She pressed her hands to her temples as humiliation threatened to turn into tears. The memory of the event—the images, the sensations—was mostly blank. Only the chaos, panic, and fear remained vivid.
"The drugs, they're strong," the psychiatrist murmured gently, standing at her side. "They can erase sequences and distort memory. That's why you can only remember fragments. It can even paralyze or mute you for some time."
She closed her eyes, trembling. The shame and confusion felt suffocating, yet beneath it all, a single thought burned: I survived.
That thought, small but persistent, anchored her amidst the storm of memories.
Laughter from a group of kids that ran away from the waves distracted her. Their noises were of innocence, and that somehow lightened her heavy heart. She silently wished that it could stay that way. But nothing stays the same in this world.
She looked back at the huge building, connected to the second one, hiding the garden where the wedding had taken place. From here, the world felt different: quieter, wider, untouchable. She turned around and faced the vast ocean and continued nearer to the sea.
Her boots grazed the cool sand as she slowed down, finally allowing herself to walk along the water's edge. She sank into one of the deckchairs. The rhythmic sound of the waves drowned out the chaos in her mind, the flashes, and the memories that had haunted her for so long. The salty breeze teased her hair, lifting it gently and brushing her face.
It was almost dark, though faint lights flickered from a distant beach party behind her. She ignored them, focusing instead on the vast horizon ahead, where the sky was a deep canvas dotted with stars. She crossed her long, straight legs and rested her palms on the sides of the chair. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the night. Countless dots twinkling down at her.
I want to shine like them. To be seen… recognized.
And she had. For a short time, she had the perfect face, the model figure, the height, and the determination. She had sacrificed her studies, given everything to that dream—and she had touched it, briefly holding it in her hands.
Then it had all gone dark.
The attention that had once lifted her had blinded her. The adoration had suffocated her. She had spent months in the hospital, wrapped in therapy, seeking refuge while her mind slowly rebuilt itself. When her savings ran out, reality returned with its harsh, relentless insistence: the world would not pause for her. It would not wait for her to rise again. She could only cope. She could only move forward.
Since then, she had grown stronger. She would never again allow the people who had stolen her light to blind her.
Corinne knew nothing of the suffering she had endured abroad and wanted it to stay that way. Her mother had only reached out a month ago. She had been raised by adoptive parents on the other side of the globe. And those months of isolation after she got out from the hospital had forged her into someone fiercer, yet still fragile beneath the surface.
She could only stand in front of cameras for a moment even without the overwhelming flashes, but she had pushed herself a little earlier with her new brother. She had taken the risk that it would only be for a few seconds. But what did she expect? Their visuals were perfect. So, photographers wouldn't pass up the chance of taking their pictures in one frame. She exhaled a huge breath. It was a mistake. But she didn't feel any ounce of regret.
Alisson drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. She shivered slightly in the strong wind. Her off-shoulder dress barely protected her from the chill, but she hardly noticed. The deckchairs were arranged in the dim light near the water, shadows stretching across the sand. She rested her forehead on her forearm, letting her hair tumble forward, the ends brushing the grains of sand.
I guess I could only be a shooting star. Just passing and gone in an instant. A bittersweet smile curved at the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes and tried to silence her mind, even just for a second.
The world was still for a moment. She let herself be still.
And then—
A voice broke through, calling her name, uncertain and tentative.
For the first time in a while, the stillness was interrupted.