Page 17 of Penance

I climb into bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat of my tears—the burn of my emotions. I lie down, curling onto my side, my knees drawn to my chest, and my arms wrapped around them, hugging them to me as if they can keep me safe.

The darkness of my room wraps around me like a shroud, like the comfort of my mother’s embrace. My eyes grow heavy, even as anxiety pulses in my brain. My breath hitches, a small gasp in the stillness, fighting the tears that continue to fall.

Let go, Mercy,I tell myself.Just let go.

I sink deeper into my mattress, feeling the fabric embracing me. The darkness behind my lids swirls, a churning sea of black, where tentacled monsters reach out to grab me.

I float away from their embrace.

Am I falling asleep, or am I falling apart?

The line between the two blurs. My thoughts are shattered like a broken mirror. I see myself, broken into a thousand pieces, each one a different version of me.

I am none of them, yet all of them at the same time.

The devout daughter, the faithful believer, the pregnant sinner.

I am everything, and at the same time, I am nothing.

Morning light filters through my window.

I can feel life falling into me, even if sleep clings to the corners of my consciousness. With each bat of my eyelids, they break away, and I can feel myself becoming alert again.

I pop my eyes open, and they instantly fall shut again.

Too bright.

I blink, the room swimming into focus, then out again. My limbs feel heavy, as if anchored to the floor. I try to shake the cobwebs from my brain, to grasp onto something solid, something real. But the harder I try, the more elusive it becomes. The room tilts, my stomach lurching with it. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

Breathe, Mercy. Just breathe.

I inhale, the air sticking in my throat like a cotton ball. A wave of nausea crashes over me like an ocean wave.

I exhale, my lungs burning.

Again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Something isn’t right.

The realization sends a jolt through me, chasing away the last comforting touches of sleep. My eyes snap open, my heart pounding in my chest. I scan the room, my gaze landing on what is familiar—my dresser, my altar, my bible, the closet in the corner.

Everything is as it should be. Yet something nags at me, a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach.

But as I throw back the covers, the chill of the morning air hitting my skin, the unease only climbs to new heights. It clings to me, a second skin, a ghost riding on my shoulder. I can’t shake the feeling that something is very,verywrong. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cold beneath my feet. I stand, my body aching in places that make me pause.

My back hurts.

My wrists, too.

A dull throb between my legs stops me dead in my tracks.

I lift my nightgown, my eyes scanning down my thighs.

What is that?

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