Page 337 of Phobia
I’m in the water.
I’m slipping under.
I wake up with a gasp, gulping soapy liquid, choking, and coughing, struggling to stay above water. My limbs scrape at the polished surface, feeling heavy and numb.
I fight for my next breath and heave myself forward, realizing I really am sitting in a bathtub. I look around, blinking the water and tears away, trying to focus my sight on my surroundings.
My heavy breathing fills the space around me. A bathroom. So many mirrors.
I cup my face in my hands and furiously rub my eyes, trying to snap myself awake from this strange dream.
This is real.
The lukewarm water.
The multiple reflections of my face looking back at me.
The absolute silence I’m plunged into after my breathing calms.
Chapter 4
My precious little bird awakes, and my heart constricts as I watch him struggle in the water. I want to help him. I want to be right there when he is born anew, but he needs to emerge into consciousness on his own.
I want him to call on me.
This time, I won’t fail.
This boy will stay with me willingly.
This gorgeous angel will learn to love me on his own.
Oh, but I’m not far. No, not at all. I have my eyes on him. Always.
Chapter 5
I've been walking around this place for hours. I should be more concerned. I should be worried.
Truth is, I've been looking for tea more actively than I've looked for a phone.Who am I going to call anyway?
I see the indoor security cameras pretty much right away, even if they are very discretely built into the panels of the ceiling.
Hello? Is there somebody else here? Will anybody, help me?
I simply smile at the idea of even uttering such nonsense. Whoever has chosen to bring me here must be watching me, and if they aren’t in the house right now, they will be returning very soon. My belly tells me so. Some weird, sick sense of excitement builds into my insides, sticky with anticipation for the way my life will end.
I feel honored they even bothered to bring me here. To clean me with care.
My face heats with embarrassment, knowing that they had to bathe me and look at my malnourished body covered in bruises and scars. My mamma may have called me pretty as a child, but I know the life I’ve lived has left its mark on me. There’s nothing pretty about the way my cheeks are hollowed, my pelvic bones protrude, and my ribcage bulges forward, stretching the thin skin of my chest. Even my bony, trembling fingers are a sorry sight.
I look at my hands. The scars from the bondage on my wrists have begun fading. They won’t ever disappear, but the skin isn’t as broken and angry as I remember it was…yesterday?
How long have I been here?
During my first and second walks through the house, I realize there is no door leading to the outside world. Not one I was meant to find, at least. The walls are made of thick industrial glass and only the faintest of sounds penetrate the perfectly clean reflective surface.I’ve pressed my ear to it many times since I’ve begun my exploration. I hear the rustle of wind raking the thick woods, the cries of ravens, and the crackling sounds of dry branches bending, breaking off, and surrendering to natural decay.
Thick woods surround this home, although to me it seems more like a jar, and I the lonely firefly bumbling confused, slowly coming to terms that this is it. It’s my time to die.
The house appears to be shaped like a rectangle, each floor a perfect cube – two levels, every room a quarter of the floor it is positioned on. The core feels hollow, but as I lean in and press my ear to the wall, it feels warm and sounds of muted echoes reach my ear. I knock a few times. Although its encasing doesn’t feel flimsy, I can tell if I had more strength, I could perhaps kick it in. Why bother? Do I really want to know, what lies beyond?
