The morning light poured through the half-drawn curtains, illuminating the clutter of Sidel's small kitchen. With a mug of freshly brewed coffee cradled in her hands, she settled into her usual spot at the worn kitchen table, her laptop perched nearby. She opened Facebook with a click, eager to dive into a chat with Martel, the only friend who seemed to grasp the reality that enveloped her life.
Martel's message pinged across the screen: "What is the new update for me?"
Taking a breath, Sidel typed back, hesitating momentarily. "Ehem... it's nothing and as usual. My mother is still in jail, and you see, it's the usual time for me that she has always been in."
Housebound in the silence that filled the walls, Sidel felt an old ache as she waited for Martel to respond. Her mother had been in and out of jail for years, her absences a constant presence in Sidel's narrative. Martel replied after a moment: "Hmm... I know as usual. Maybe she needs to be in a mental hospital?"
Sidel bristled at the suggestion. "I don't know, but I can't say that my mother is a total psycho. I mean, she's really good to me and to Uncle Walter, by the way." There was a flicker of loyalty in her heart, but it was quickly quenched by the pressing reality of her situation.
"I really want to do something tomorrow, but maybe you don't know that tomorrow you'll see Marvin again," Martel said, and Sidel felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
"Why is Marv coming with us?" she typed, unable to hide her wariness.
"He told me he wants to come, to our outing later on. He probably wants to be friendly this time," came Martel's reply.
Sidel swallowed hard. Marvin's friendliness felt like a heavy weight resting on her chest. "I'm sure he wants to be friendly, alright, but we're supposed to get out together—just the two of us."
"It's not that bad to invite him. Besides, it's your chance to shine and maybe get close with him." Martel's enthusiasm was palpable through the screen.
Sidel sighed, understanding Martel's excitement but feeling a familiar resistance. "I know, I know... and it's great that we're inviting him. But are you going to invite someone else?"
"Yes! I was going to invite Sarah, too. You know Marvin doesn't know you're bisexual, right?"
"You mean bisexual?" Sidel felt the weight of those words. Being an open book was hard when the storyline kept shifting.
"Yes, that's right. If you don't want to date either of them, just tell me, okay? It's just us four going out later. Don't forget that," Martel replied.
After their chat wrapped up, Sidel closed her laptop, feeling a tumult of emotions. A flicker of concern dashed through her—what if her mother's chaotic addiction spiraled again, just when she was trying to find her footing?
She padded into the living room, the echo of her footsteps filling the silence. On the fridge, a note caught her attention; she read it carefully:
"Sorry, but as soon as possible, I'll come back. You should make your breakfast on your own. If there's a problem, please let me know."
Love, Walter.
Walter, her uncle and the only semblance of stability in her life, was at work. Yet this note brought her comfort, a promise of safety while she navigated the unpredictable waters of her family's struggles.
The morning offered no promises, but it also held the possibility of new beginnings. Sidel glanced out the window, imagining her future, uncertain yet glimmering, like the sunlight bouncing off the pavement.
Judith was perched at the edge of her kitchen table, a bowl of cereal cradled in one hand while the other clicked through an infinite array of explicit online ads. "Smooth, cool, fitted," the words glimmered back at her, accompanied by images of men clad in varying degrees of heroic undergarment appeal. She was on an intense mission: picking out underwear for her father since he claimed his collection was "outdated" — a word Judith didn't even know men used to describe their own underwear.
Her best friend, Rafella, entered just in time to catch Judith's intrigued gaze focused on a particularly hulking male model flexing like he was auditioning for some superhero role. "What are you looking at, Judith?" Rafella asked, her eyebrows arching as she leaned over to catch a glimpse.
"Oh, just some men's underwear," Judith mumbled. "Dad said I should pick a nice color for him, but how am I supposed to know his size? And why is it the one thing he can't disclose? Why does he not have a 'Size: Large' sticky note stuck to his forehead?"
Rafella held back a chuckle. "Wow. So, you're really going to order him some? Do you realize how obvious it is? A girl scrolling online, buying a bunch of men's underpants in various sizes... surrounded by those manly models?" Her tone was laced with incredulity.
Judith rolled her eyes. "Please, Raff, I'm not that interested in the models. They're just doing their jobs, like you advertising your failed crushes on social media."
Rafella leaned back, folding her arms. "Okay, but come on. Your father is so transparent about wanting new underwear that it's practically tied with a bow. Let's see what you've found!"
Judith focused back on the screen, seeming absorbed by the task until she clicked on a photo of a pair of sleek black boxer briefs. The model displayed was glittering with chiseled abs, and for a moment, she felt a slight flutter in her stomach. "Wow, that's hot!" she whispered, practically leaning into the screen. Rafella's mouth fell open.
"Are you even in love?" she exclaimed, incredulity creeping into her voice.
Judith clicked back to the list, her cheeks suddenly flushed. "No! I mean... it's just underwear!"
"Yeah, sure! Tell that to the heart-eyed emoji popping out of your head," Rafella teased, nudging her with a conspiratorial elbow. Judith shook her head, trying to suppress her giggles. "Let's move on before I find myself in a merch bonanza for your father's underwear collection."
Just then, from the hallway, came a series of odd thuds and muffled screams. Janina, their other friend, usually the calmest of the trio, sounded as if she were performing in avant-garde theater. "Please! Stop! Help!" came her panicked pleas.
Judith and Rafella exchanged glances, a sudden burst of laughter stifled in the middle of their breakfast. "What is she doing?" Judith wondered aloud, standing up and heading for the door, but Rafella held her back.
"Let's just wait a second. This could get interesting."
The unexpected soundscape of Janina's dramatics combined with Judith's underwear dilemma felt like a scene straight out of a sitcom, perfectly orchestrated comedy.
"Okay, I can't take it anymore!" Judith burst out, clamping her hand over her mouth to hide her smirk. "What on earth is happening out there?"
Rafella shrugged with feigned innocence, unable to contain her snickers. "If only your father's underwear dilemma could help save Janina from whatever dramatic act she's concocting!"
As they leaned against the doorframe, they knew one thing for sure: whether it was underwear angst or impromptu screaming rehearsals, life would always have a way of throwing unexpected hilarity their way, especially on an ordinary Wednesday morning.
The night wrapped itself around Jasmin like an old quilt, heavy and suffocating. She lay on a makeshift bed of cardboard, each jagged edge digging into her back, reminding her of the realities she tried to ignore. The thin walls of the alley offered little solace from the chill outside, but it was the warmth of sleep she craved most—an escape from the haunting memories and the grueling present.
But sleep would not come, not tonight.
The first scream pierced through the quiet, jolting her from the comforting embrace of exhaustion. Jasmin pressed her palms against her ears, desperate to block out the sound. But the scream escalated, a familiar voice rising above the cacophony of night. It was Janina.
"Please stop! Stop!" The desperation in Janina's voice echoed like a siren in the dark, pulling at something buried deep within Jasmin's heart.
Heart pounding, Jasmin's thoughts raced. Janina—a name so intertwined with her own history, a ghost she thought she had left behind in their fading childhood. They had been inseparable once, two girls weaving dreams in a neighborhood that swallowed hope like a black hole. But as life twisted and turned, Janina had vanished into the shadows, a victim of a world that had ensnared her.
"Help me, Jasmin! Please!" Janina's voice came again, sharp and urgent, as if reaching through the fabric of night itself.
Fighting against the grasp of panic, Jasmin wrapped her arms around her knees. The cardboard beneath her was now a mere illusion of safety, and the cold air formed tendrils that snaked around her spine. Was it a memory? A nightmare? Or something more sinister—some forgotten warning that had come back to haunt her?
"Janina!" she cried out, her voice hoarse and trembling. It was futile; the shadows did not talk back. A sobchoked her throat as she remembered the times they had dreamed of escaping, of building a future far away from the chaos of their lives. And yet, here she was, trapped in an alley, while her friend screamed for help.
"Find me!" The voice was barely a whisper now, a fading echo that left Jasmin's heart racing. Could she ignore it? Was she strong enough to let go, to pretend the call for help didn't exist at all?
The choice felt heavier than the night itself. She could lie back down, cover her head with her thin jacket, and hope for silence. Or she could rise—step into the darkness and seek the source of Janina's cries. The alley was dangerous, filled with uncertainty, just as their childhood had been. But this felt different, more urgent, like a tether to a part of herself she could not abandon.
Jasmin took a deep breath, tasting the cool air that stung her lungs. The decision was made. Gingerly, she pushed herself off the cardboard bed, her limbs trembling with each movement. She stepped into the night, a hesitant silhouette against the glimmering distant lights of the city.
The screams guided her as if they embodied a force stronger than fear. They rippled in the darkness, calling out for the friendship they once shared, for a promise she had never fulfilled. With each step, she felt the weight of her past lift slightly, the silhouette of Janina beckoning in the depths of her mind.
"Just a little further," she whispered to herself, her heart singing with the fervor of hope, as she ventured deeper into the darkness, determined to find her friend, wherever the night would take her.
Jasmin jolted upright, her heart racing. The sun strained against the barred window, casting muted shadows in the dingy cell. She blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of her dream—a vivid hallucination in which Timo smiled down at her, reassuring her with a whispered "Sleep now, Jasmin..."
"Ahhhhh!" The scream had slipped out before she could stop it, ricocheting off the walls and drawing the attention of Janina, the prison's counselor.
"Jasmin, are you okay?" Janina's voice echoed with concern as she peered through the bars, her expression a mixture of worry and familiarity.
Jasmin took a deep breath, focusing on the present. She could almost taste the remnants of Timo's presence. "I... I thought he was here again," she mumbled, retreating into the far corner of her narrow cot.
"Just a dream. We talked about this," Janina reminded her gently. "You're going to be okay."
But Jasmin had only drifted back into restless slumber when morning broke, and with it came Walter, her estranged boyfriend. As he entered the visiting room, his face, shadowed with stress, stirred something within her that ached and throbbed.
"Hey, Jasmin," Walter said, sitting across from her and leaning forward, his hands clasped together. "I came here to see you... I read your blog about being back in prison."
"Why did you come here, Walter?" she asked, her voice flat and cold, a barbed response to a question she did not want to entertain.
He sighed. "I came because I'm concerned about you and your condition."
"I'm fine here," she replied defensively, waving a hand dismissively. "Janina is always visiting me. They're taking care of me."
"Please, Jasmin. You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his tone imploring. "You keep having these illusions or hallucinations..."
"Then do you think I'm crazy again?" she spat, the fire igniting behind her eyes.
"No, that's not what I meant..." His voice softened, but she could hear the hesitation, the unspoken fears. "I convinced the police to let you out of here, but...you need to be deported back to Germany."
"What?" Panic sliced through her words. "Why?"
"I showed the police your medical records. They agreed it would be better for you to stay in a mental hospital rather than here."
"And what makes you think I need that? This place isn't so bad!" Her voice rose, echoing off the walls. "Look at me—I have a great mattress. It's just cardboard, but..."
Walter leaned back in his chair, visibly frustrated yet resigned. "Jasmin, you didn't even attempt to get better...you always hear their voices calling your name, don't you?"
"That doesn't mean I'm crazy!" she countered fiercely. "I'm just misunderstood! I'm not special; I just..."
"Jasmin..." He interrupted gently. "You need help. You can't keep ignoring this just because you want to stay here."
She swallowed, her pain morphing into a weight on her chest. "I'm tired, Walter. Tired of people telling me what to feel. You don't understand!"
"Then help me understand," Walter pressed. "Look at this." He slid a folded newspaper toward her. "You need to read this."
As she began to read the headline, her heart sank. Timo's name was there, along with a photo of his smiling face—frozen in time, forever haunting her mind. The article detailed an incident, recounting how his vibrant life had ended too early. She gasped, the breath catching in her throat like a noose.
In that moment, the walls of her reality began to erode. Timo wasn't standing before her, nor sitting with her. The weight of loss pressed down more heavily than any prison bar ever could. And as she looked up from the page, tears streaming down her cheeks, she knew it was time to confront her ghosts, to seek the help she so desperately needed.
"Jasmin?" Walter's voice pierced through her haze.
"Walter..." she whispered, the depth of her vulnerability finally breaking through. The ghosts of her past would not rest until she learned to reconcile with them.
Janina Schneider found dead in her house 3 days ago.
How this could happen after all a big success to Janina happen, at Heinen's Realty group, and eventually many people didn't expect why would she do that on such a terrible thing by keeling herself by jump off the window, this is really sad and terrible happen for our famous businesswoman in Wuppertal Janina Schneider.
At first, it didn't register. She blinked, confused, thoughts tangled in the mess of her mind. But when Walter walked in, his eyes dark with sorrow, the truth clawed its way to the forefront of her consciousness. The way he spoke — heavy and slow, like stones were trapped in his throat — made the reality crash in like a wave, dragging her under.
"Janina is dead..." he repeated, as if saying it more than once could change the narrative.
And just like that, Jasmin crumpled. The sound that escaped her was not the quiet whimper of grief; it was a primal cry, a wail from a child who realized in that moment she was utterly bereft. Her hands flew to her face, her sobs echoing against the stark walls, filled with the jarring truth that the vibrant light of her world had been extinguished.
"How could this happen to her?" she cried, her voice raw and unrestrained. "And I know that she could be alive! I always saw her walking around, and I know she always wanted to be here! Why? Why isn't she?!"
Walter watched her, heartbreak in his gaze. He understood more than she might have realized. "But we have to accept that she's gone now..." he said gently, a soft lilt of reason in his tone.
In a sudden twist, Jasmin halted. The sound of her own grief echoed in her ears, and breathless silence filled the small room. A thought crept in — a flicker of defiance against the undeniable truth. "It cannot be," she insisted, her voice steadier now, tinged with a strange resolve. "I can feel that she's still alive..."
Walter looked past her, at the light filtering through the curtains. In that moment, both of their hearts knew Janina's absence, but a part of Jasmin stubbornly held on to the hope that her friend still lingered somewhere.
"Oh, I know," Walter conceded, "and we have to go back again to Wuppertal. This time, Alody is coming with us."
"Why is she going with us?" Jasmin asked, curiosity pushing through her grief.
"She wants to have a job in Europe, and I think I also have enough money to help her leave and join us. Maybe that is better—for all of us to at least find her a better job..." His voice softened with kindness and understanding, trying to illuminate the shadows that hung around them.
"Glad you're always ready to help, no matter what," she murmured through sniffles, swallowing the remnants of her sorrow.
"Of course I'm ready to help," Walter replied, a small comfort in the storm of their loss.
"But still, I am going to miss Janina!"
In the sprawling mansion that loomed over the city, tension crackled in the air like an impending storm. Sonja glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, its ticking steady and mocking against the backdrop of her disappointment. Fabienne, her bodyguard, had already tested her patience once by arriving late. Today was a repeat of that offense, and the clock slowly climbed towards a time when every minute felt like an eternity.
When Fabienne finally entered, her presence was accompanied by an air of nonchalance that ignited the simmering frustration within Sonja. Without thinking, Sonja hurled the glossy magazine from the coffee table, its pages flapping like angry wings as it landed at Fabienne's feet.
"Don't you know you came here late?!" Sonja's voice rang out, sharp and accusatory.
Fabienne met her gaze, unflinching. "I know I came late, and I'm sorry. I won't do it again next time."
"Do you even understand the importance of your role?!" Sonja's voice elevated, edged with anxiety. "The bodyguard must always be here! What if bandits or intruders came to steal? I needed you to take care of this place!"
Her words echoed off the marble walls, heavy with desperation. Fabienne, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "What kind of role is that now?"
"Excuse me? Are you really questioning me?" Sonja was incredulous, as if Fabienne's failure to grasp the gravity of her responsibilities was a personal affront. "I'm not just talking about personal safety. I'm talking about the safety of my family—my son!"
Fabienne stepped closer, an intensity in her gaze. "I'm not just a guard, Sonja. I'm a bodyguard. My role is to protect you and your family, and we've gone over this."
"Right, and maybe it's time I reconsider my options," Sonja retorted, frustration spilling over. "If I can't trust you even for a moment, how can I feel secure knowing my son is out there?"
Just as their argument reached a fever pitch, Dirk entered the room, his presence a calming balm against the rising tide of tension. He moved straight to Sonja, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "Why do you look so stressed? You know that it's not good for you."
Sonja sighed, a heavy exhale. "It's because I need a trusted bodyguard, Dirk. Fabienne came late today, and I can't bear the thought of our son going to school alone!"
"Sonja," Dirk said gently, "she was late just once. Maybe it won't happen again. If you're really worried, perhaps we can find someone else."
"Yes, we might need that," Sonja conceded, her mind racing as she spoke. "I'll need to be prepared—I'm meant to take over as CEO tomorrow!"
Dirk's face lit up with pride for her ambitions but swiftly turned contemplative. "And I'm still running for Mayor," he added, as if voicing the limitations of their intertwined ambitions. "I hope to earn the trust of the citizens."
"Well, you both have big plans," Fabienne interjected, an edge of sarcasm tainting her words. "But it seems like you've been flirting more than planning."
Sonja cast her an icy grin, unwavering. "If you have a clever tongue, perhaps you should put it to better use—like arriving on time. Don't be late next time."
Fabienne straightened, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "I assure you, I won't be late again."
"Very good," Sonja replied, her tone softening just a fraction, though her heart remained steeled against uncertainty. They were all bound by expectations—some deliberate, others bound by unspoken fears.
Fabienne strode into the living room, her usual air of confidence punctuated by her no-nonsense demeanor. The room was lively, filled with laughter and the comfortable ambience of friends gathered for a night of celebration. However, Fabienne's presence turned the energy slightly, as though the warmth of the room bumped up against the coolness of her professionalism.
Wilfred hadn't noticed her at first, caught up in the whirlwind of conversation. When he finally saw her, it was like a light had snapped on. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice animated, almost giddy. The surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by genuine joy.
"Just doing my job, as a bodyguard," Fabienne replied, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.
Wilfred chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I am sure that I am already protected because of you and at least you are here finally..." His gaze lingered on her, the joy blooming within him. He had been dreading the party but now, with her presence, a different kind of excitement pulsed in the air.
Fabienne sighed, a hint of exasperation crossing her features as she took a sip from her drink. "I don't even understand why so many people are flirting, including you. You know I'm not interested in that."
Wilfred's smile widened. He enjoyed the sparring, testing the waters of her elusive warmth. "I know you never will, but you will learn to get interested in somebody. Starting with me..."
She raised an eyebrow, her serious expression lacking the playfulness he hoped would emerge. Fabienne had walls built from years of independence and self-reliance, and he found them intriguing—impressive, even. "I know why you're smiling like that; it's because you like seeing me."
"I told you, you understand what other people feel..." she trailed off, her voice dipped with skepticism.
"Not really. I just... see smiles." She had successfully shifted the focus back to her own feelings, veiling her emotional ignorance beneath a facade of bluntness.
Wilfred's expression softened slightly as he leaned in closer, still hopeful. "It's not bad to learn it from baby steps. Maybe someone makes you smile?"
"Anyway, I don't need some damn treatment..." Fabienne's voice turned sharp, perhaps more out of annoyance than anger.
As she spoke, Wilfred could see it—the cracks in her armor, small and imperceptible to anyone else. He shifted the conversation, sensing it was time to broaden the topic. "What about the party?" he asked. "You have to admit, they're doing a good job at making everything feel... fun."
"Fun isn't the word I'd use," she scoffed, but her eyes flicked to the crowd as a group erupted into laughter. Perhaps she did see it, but her guarded nature kept her from admitting it.
Wilfred didn't relent. "You would have made a great guest—putting aside the fact you came here to keep me company." The hint of playful challenge was undeniable, and he watched for her reaction.
Fabienne turned, and for just a fleeting second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something curious, maybe even inviting. Beneath her stern exterior might lie something softer, yearning to break free. But she masked it quickly, a wall she had built from years of protecting herself.
"Look, it's just a job. I'm protective, it's what I do," she replied, but there was an understated swell in her voice that belied her words. Wilfred caught on to it, this notion that maybe they were both keeping each other at arm's length, both unwilling to dive into whatever depths lay below the surface.