Page 101 of Awry
Am I breathing properly?
I can’t get air into my lungs …
I’m … I’ve forgotten how to breathe?
How can I forget how to …
I force myself to lie on my back, knees still bent, bare feet pressed to the wood and my hands settled on my lower ribs.Gasping like a fish as I try to anchor myself and regulate my breathing.I inhale and exhale, ribs rising and falling under my hands, as I stare without seeing up at the dark wood of the cupola ceiling.
I haven’t suffered a panic attack in years, not since my awry power started to assert itself in my early teens.Even then, my recall of having such attacks is more a familiarity of the sensations and not actual memory.
It feels as though my body isn’t large enough to contain all that flows through me, whether or not I’m living, breathing …
I’m … nothing …
Nothing but an empty vessel at the command of the universe … of those who came before me in this endless thread of …
I function, but … I have no ability to affect the course of my own life … I’m not a person … I … I …
Pure panic streaks through me.
I need to run.
But I can’t move.
I’m frozen in place.
I’m trapped here.
I’m being strangled by the fucking necklace, no matter how benignly it seems to rest along my collarbone.
I had more time.
Didn’t I?
I had more time.
I was supposed to have —
Tears stream from the corners of my eyes, across my cheeks, and into my ears, but I make no sound.
The sensation of tears pooling in my ears is off-putting.And that’s enough … that’s enough to free my limbs.I roll to my side, knees tucking up to my chest, forehead to the hardwood.
I manage a deep breath.
Then another.
I manage to get my eyes closed.
I manage a third breath.
And just for a moment, tightly curled on the quickly warming wood, I remember a warm hand running gently down my spine, and a soft murmur in my ear.Then arms banding around me and tucking me against … sun-warmed skin?
I spread my hand on the hardwood floor.But for a moment, I swear I can feel sand under my palm, and a strong, steady heartbeat under my ear.
A breeze stirs my hair …
The hands tighten their grip.
