Page 78 of Graves

Damian stops three steps away and gives me a grin laced with superiority. “Easy there, killer. Wasn’t easy to pick the right moment.”

Killer?

And how long has he been standing there?

Before I lose it, I storm past him into the apartment and disappear into the studio.

Every fiber of my body is electrified. The pressure is unbearable and I desperately search for an outlet. I press a few buttons and start a sample I created over the last few days.

Heavy, distorted, metallic sounds that echo what’s happening inside my head. Something in my brain shorts out, and I scream my soul out in the soundproof room.

There’s no other way.

I’m no longer in control of myself.

I feel the vibrations in my throat, the dryness in my mouth, and the pressure behind my forehead, but my screams bring no relief.

Even as a child, I suffered from these emotional outbursts that only eased when I could express myself artistically—whether through music, writing, or painting. Art became my outlet.

After my cellmate knocked me out two or three times because he didn’t know how else to handle my episodes, the guards let me join the art class. That made my time there a lot easier.

I pace in circles again, tearing at my hair, wanting to crawl out of my skin, when the door opens and Koh pokes his head through the gap.

My roommate is moving his lips, but I can’t hear a word. His presence, however, freezes me in place. He feels like a timeout that lures me out of the whirlwind.

He steps in hesitantly and peers over the mixing board. The massive wall of sound is still blasting from the speakers. Koh gestures that it’s way too loud. I stand there paralyzed and watch warily as he searches among all the knobs and faders for a way to turn it off.

“Where?” he calls, gesturing helplessly because he has no idea about this kind of equipment.

I march over and kill the sound.

Like a dying waterfall, the noise collapses around us and silence floods the room. I suddenly feel cold and turn away from Koh.

“Fuck,” I whisper when I realize what just happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

I stand with my back to him, head hanging, and give a weak nod. But the nod turns into a shake, and I know deep down that this ceased to be about earlier a long time ago.

“Damian left and my brother is sleeping.”

My head drops even lower and my breath catches. I hold myself like I’m shivering in the rain and clench my teeth. With all my strength, I straighten up again, inhale a deep breath, and wrestle the chaos in my head back under control.

“Does this have something to do with Ben?” Koh asks.

I turn to him, surprised. My heart skips a beat as I look into Koh’s gentle face and not Ben’s. I’m definitely relieved, yet deep inside I feel a sting. A dull disappointment that it’s not Ben standing in front of me.

But it’s Koh who brings light back into my dark thoughts, taming the turbulence raging inside me like a furious storm. With every step he takes toward me, my racing pulse slows. I hold my breath as he reaches out and places his hand on my heaving chest. Right over my heart.

“Is this a panic attack?” he asks.

I have no idea.

All I know is that the warmth flowing into me through his hand wraps around me like a protective blanket from the inside and makes me feel like everything is okay. Nothing is as bad as my chaotic brain wants me to believe.

“It…” My voice fails, so I clear my throat and try again. “Everything’s okay.”

He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, yet he studies me with open curiosity. His eyes gleam, and for the first time, I can see the chocolate-brown specks scattered across his irises—even though the studio light is dim and muted. It’s as if a bright light is glowing inside Koh, growing more intense the longer he looks at me.