Page 84 of Trapped Truth

I’m vaguely aware of the ceiling blurring overhead. Did I land on my back? Not a single nerve cell will respond to feed spatial information to my malfunctioning brainstem. Like this, I’m as helpless as a newborn baby.

Fingers spasming, the involuntary twitches escalate at fast speed. Blaine’s face hovering over mine is barely visible when the first convulsion hits, and my entire vision whites out. Through the fog swirling around my brain, I think I hear my name being called.

Then there’s nothing.

An inky, bottomless ocean of pure black.

Floating here is akin to tasting peace. Nothing but desolate nothingness. No pain. No emotion. Not a single voice or distraction to pull me from a deep, dark slumber where nobody can awaken me.

Unknown faces flash across the lifeless cinema screen that stretches all around me. Sweet, glistening blue eyes. A timid smile. Pink-stained cheeks. Do I know… Oh, Gracie. All youthful and beautiful in her innocence.

Another convulsion, and the scene changes. Pure black rainclouds part, unveiling a fresh face. This time, it’s older. Lined with the odd line and sun-kissed freckles. Willow. Her smile radiates such strength.

I want to free you both.

But I can’t do it from here.

White orbs break through the vapour, bringing more flashes. Face after face. Images of women I thought I’d forgotten. Victims from the cages that once surrounded mine. Drawn, ghostly and consumed by hopelessness. The same women I left behind, failing to break the chains of their bondage.

When the floaters converge to form a bright lightning bolt racing through the darkness, specks of vision return. The white, popcorn-style ceiling. Humming lights. Multiple worried faces moving in a confusing fuzz.

An agonizingly sharp sting radiates through me, bringing awareness from head to toe. Oh, hell, that hurts. Every cell howls as if I’ve been wired to a live car battery then left to fry alive. Maybe that agonised keening sound is coming from me.

I failed them all.

I’m still fucking failing them.

Wildfire scorches my veins in time to the sensation of being lifted. I must cry out because the movement halts. Why do my cheeks hurt? It’s like a vat of free-pouring acid is sliding over my skin.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Someone’s gruff whispers filter in. “Don’t cry, red. You’re safe.”

“Watch her head, Hy.”

“I’m being fuckin’ careful. Get the medic.”

“No,” I choke out. “I’m b-back.”

“Don’t talk, it’s alright.”

A sickening tang of blood riots over my tastebuds, and the ache in my tongue reveals I’ve bitten it. Somewhere underneath me, Hyland hurls a dark curse. Great iron bands of strength pull tight around my middle.

“Someone got a tissue? I think her tongue’s bleeding.”

“Common in epileptic fits,” another voice remarks.

“I don’t give a damn, Blaine! Clean it before I lose my mind.”

Reverent swipes cleanse the fluid from my mouth and lips. Hazily, I think I feel someone stroke my hair, dragging strands from my clammy forehead. Everything is still disjointed and muddied.

“Easy, baby. Come back when you’re ready. I’ve got you now.”

“H-H-Hy?” I croak.

“Yeah, red. It’s me.”

His callouses tickle my jawline, lips, nose. Lightly circling my face and forehead. Smoothing the goose pimples from my arms. Unclenching my knotted fingers. Everywhere he touches, the tension eases a fraction.

The hum of invisible wasps slowly quietens in my skull. I lick my suddenly dry lips, too parched to form another word. My throat is screaming out for some respite.