I woke up to the beeping of hospital machinery. There was a dull ache in my back and chest. I breathed in deeply and was amazed at the amount of air that got sucked into my lungs. That single deep breath almost caused me to cough, but I managed to suppress it.

Dear Lord, I was still alive.

I looked to my right and saw my sleeping mother holding my very pale hand. I was normally quite pale already, but damn! And I assumed this was after getting blood transfusions.

I turned to look around the room. Right at that moment, my dad entered with a cup of coffee in his hand. His face was grey from exhaustion and he looked ten, maybe twenty years older than he was. The moment he saw me looking at him he dropped the paper cup, spilling coffee all over the floor and onto his jeans.

"Evalyn! You're awake!" He rushed towards me and buried his face into the sheets next to my shoulder. "We thought we had lost you." His voice sounded fragile and for a moment I feared he was going to cry.

My mother had awakened and she stared at me, her eyes swollen from the many tears they had shed. She brought her free hand to her mouth to hide a gasp as her other hand squeezed mine tightly. 

"How are you feeling?" my dad asked as he rose back up.

I contemplated this question. There wasn't much pain, but it was safe to assume I had painkillers to thank for that. Was I happy? Sad? Hell, angry? I couldn't really pinpoint a dominant feeling in the maelstrom that the question had evoked in my mind. Finally, I settled on an answer. 

"Alive," I said in a very hoarse voice, and I couldn't suppress the cough this time. After several spasms, I managed to stop, but shit, even with painkillers, that hurt!

~*~

My parents told me about what had happened, that the man had stabbed me in the shoulder and the back, puncturing my lung. The ambulance had arrived just in time, and I had been rushed to the ER to get surgery.

The police had combed out the entire neighbourhood and then the entire town, but they found no trace of my attempted murderer. In fear of him coming back to finish the deed, the police patrolled near our house every hour or so for the first few days. After that, they drove by the house every two to three hours and after a week of still having found no trace of the man they simply drove by once or twice a night.

My parents had placed new locks on everything, as the man had stolen my keys. They installed a burglar alarm and security cameras, and they almost barred the windows—luckily I managed to talk that idea out of their heads. I just couldn't help but fear being locked inside one day with no way out.

I tried to pretend I was fine the first few days that I was back at home, but I soon realised that I wasn't. Someone who's "fine" doesn't wake up every night screaming, bathing in sweat, nor do they spend every waking moment going into a panic by any and all loud or suspicious noises. I never realised the neighbours were so loud until every door closing or someone going up the stairs sent my heart racing. So naturally, I started seeing a therapist—I had to wait a few weeks, but considering how long some people need to wait, I was lucky to find someone to help me on such short notice. 

After the first session, we both agreed that my fear wouldn't disappear until the man had been caught. That wasn't helpful at all, considering the police had no leads. With any luck, this rando had left town—hell, maybe even the country—to try and sate his murderous desires elsewhere.

Still, after half a year it had lessened slightly. It helped a lot that I had my great friends Mary, Kai, and Liam looking after me. Liam—who lived right across the street from me—had taken on the duty of walking me to school and home every single day. 

I'd had a crush on him for years now but had never dared to admit it. The fact that he was giving me all this extra attention made it bittersweet. He would even keep me company after Mary had gone home; normally she would have used her bike for the short distance, but after the incident, her parents always came to pick her up.

Seven months had passed and Liam told me he loved me. That night was the first after the incident without nightmares, as was the night after that, and the night after that. Before I knew it a year had gone by and my anxiety attacks were becoming infrequent. Nightmares had been reduced to maybe one or two a week and no longer involved screaming, and I actually dared to walk alone outside—during the day at least.

A few months later was my eighteenth birthday and I celebrated it with just Liam, Mary and Kai. We watched a few movies and ate junk; it was a simple but good party. They left not long after midnight and I tidied up downstairs before retiring to my bedroom.

I was startled to find my light on when I opened the door, but when I saw a big fluffy teddy bear sitting on my pillow I relaxed. I walked over and picked it up. Liam had already given me a present earlier—a book—and I hadn't expected another gift. 

I cuddled the soft bear and nuzzled my face in its fur—it smelled of lavender. I noticed something hard was inside and I frowned. Looking the bear up and down, I saw nothing indicating that he perhaps played a tune. I tried to manoeuvre the hard thing to the side. A yelp escaped my throat when a sharp tip poked through the bear's neck.

I screamed when I realised the thing hidden inside the bear was a knife—a blood-caked knife.

~*~