Page 47 of The Last Hope

I sighed, beginning to remove the plastic bag covering my cast, wincing at the slight pain. Then, I picked up my comb, trying to detangle my hair, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

My breathing hitched.

My chest tightened.

The world tilted.

I knew this feeling—I had lived through it thousands of times before, curled up in the dark corners of my gilded cage.

A panic attack.

I reached out, pressing my palm against the cool marble wall, willing myself to calm down.

But nothing worked.

My heart pounded, my lungs constricted, and my vision blurred. Nausea clawed at my throat. I was going to vomit—no, I was going to die.

The hundreds of times I had thought those words resurfaced in my mind.

Breathing became impossible.

Water—I could feel water rushing into my nose, my mouth, my lungs.

I was going to die.

I was going to die.

“So, Cara mia, are you going to try escaping again?” Antonio's voice was the last thing I heard before he put my head under the water, in the bathtub filled to the brim.

I thrashed, clawing at his grip, kicking, but I couldn’t break free.

His weight pressed against my back, pinning me down.

My limbs weakened.

My vision darkened.

And just as my body began to give in, he yanked me back up by my hair.

I gasped, coughing violently, my lungs burning as I struggled to suck in air. Water dripped from my face, clogging my throat, making it impossible to breathe.

“Answer me when I ask you a question !” he roared, jerking my hair, making me cry out.

Choked sobs left me as my son’s voice rang out from behind the locked door, calling for me, trying to get in.

I wanted to tell him to run, to hide.

But no words came out.

Antonio laughed behind me.

Cold. Empty.

Like a man unhinged.

“No” I whisper in a weak voice.

“Liar,” he murmured against my ear.

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