CHAPTER 21
I’m sitting on the floor, back pressed against the door, when a knock rumbles the wood behind me. It jerks me out of my quiet meditation, and I skitter across the floor as if the door will tip over and crush me.
“Cait, it’s Evan.” His voice is muffled on the other side.
I tense, still coming out of a haze. Unprepared to answer him, I remain quiet. If I forget this, forget him, everything will return to normal. He’ll just be another neighbor to endure until I move out. He should be okay with that. This is what he wanted from the beginning. What I wanted from the beginning.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Cait, open the door. We need to talk.”
He jiggles the handle, and I scramble more. I’m not afraid of him, only what he represents. Will he let himself in? Will he use his landlord key?
He releases the locked handle and silence returns. I know he hasn’t budged because the pressure of him remains. There’s a thickness that surrounds me whenever he’s near. I didn’t realize it existed until this very moment when I wished it away.
“Listen,” Evan’s tone lowers. “I don’t want to talk through a door, but if you’re here, make some time for me. Okay?”
It takes a few moments, but he relents and leaves. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs until his apartment door opens and closes. It’s then that I release a breath, and the stress I held dissipates.
I rise, relying on the sofa’s back to lift me. A shadow veils the apartment, or perhaps it’s covering me. This place has never been this lonely, now that I’m positive I can release Evan and the hold he’s had over me. I do it because I must. This is how I survive. I did it with my parents, shutting them out, and I’ll do it again. And if I can’t come to terms with sharing with Aggie, I may do it with her as well. All accounts are crippling. The pain of this acknowledgment shoots through my limbs and eats at my desolate soul.
The wall I built to protect myself returns. It may have faltered for a brief time, but I fortify it again. I tell myself this vulnerability is okay. To keep watch and protect it takes energy. It’s exhausting. This time I only let my guard down for a short time. Next time this mistake will serve as a lesson to keep my personal life private and emerge for acceptable escapes—like work and running. They’ve kept me sane and will again.
Weakened, I head to my bedroom and lie on my bed. Nestled between the sheets and locked in my bedroom, I’m safe. It’s my cell and personal hell. My eyes close, and I allow myself to drift to shut off my mind.
***
Sharp angles of light give way to a grass. It’s bright green, new, and beautiful. The sun shines, warming my skin. I close my eyes and lift my chin to soak it in. Heat radiates behind my pink eyelids and burns my cheeks. Sunshine and pleasant temperatures are a rare gift in a Chicago, even for late April.
When I find an empty spot among the sea of lounging students, I shrug out of my backpack and open the zipper. Inside there’s a colorful serape blanket, schoolbooks, and a cell phone. I spread the items on the ground and kick off my sandals, using them to anchor the edges of the blanket in the cool breeze.
A group of girls giggle about a recent frat party. A football slices the air, crossing the park. One boy catches it but another tackles him with an omph. They tumble to the ground, and a group cheers for them. Another person plays a guitar in the distance. The song is a peaceful soundtrack, which matches the day.
I have to finish my thesis this week, but I’m having a hard time focusing. I lie on the blanket and roll on my back, staring at the sky. Inside I’m bubbling with happiness, but I can’t grasp the exact reason. But it’s there, a tangible thing growing inside of me. The buildings of Northwalton University frame the blue sky. Gentle white clouds plume and roll. This day is perfect, but not because of the weather, it’s something to do with my happiness.
My cell chirps with a message.
I reach for it but can’t find it. It chirps several times as my hand digs into my backpack and under my books. Where is it? Where is it? My need to find it grows furious. The sound is driving me mad. With every option searched, I stand and rip away the blanket, but all I find is a large, rectangle hole. It’s the same size as my blanket but resembles a grave.
At the sight of it my cell’s forgotten. The day turns cloudy. The people around me fade. My gut tumbles. I should step away, but I’m drawn closer to the hole. I peek in. It’s so dark I can’t see the bottom.
Someone pushes me, a forceful punch on my shoulder blade. I hurl forward, plunging into the darkness. I scream. The piercing sound drags on as I fall. Panicked, I reach for the walls crumbling with dirt, but I’m unable to grasp them. My legs kick frantically. My T-shirt lifts, exposing my chest, while hair tangles around my face. Looking down, I find light at the end of the tunnel below my feet.
The light swallows me whole and encases me. I squint. I can barely see. Am I still falling? I have no sense of speed. Blaring light becomes hard angles. Large shards of glass twist and spin around me. Mirrors reflected on mirrors reveal images that make no sense. They bend my reality in a confusing kaleidoscope of emotions that have colors.
A mirror halts before me. I see myself and stare. Blood covers my abdomen. I reach down to touch it. My hand rises, dripping and stained red. Confused and losing consciousness, I stumble back, arms and legs scrambling, but smash into a wall. Frightened and heart pounding, I pivot to a new mirror. I place my hands on the glass, leaving two bloody prints. In the reflection, an inky crimson spot plumes like watercolor across the gut of my white shirt. Then a new spots form. My leg. My arm. Blood continues to seep, converting my clothes in a gruesome tie-dye.
It’s everywhere, and I can’t stop it. My heart wretches into my throat, bobbing in a painful ache that’s splitting me from the inside out. A rumble wells inside, and I release another scream.
***
I wake from the nightmare. Screaming.
The sound lowers to heaving. My stomach lurches. I leap from bed and sprint across the room to the bathroom. With hands clenching the chilled seat, I vomit into the commode. Muscles still rigid, the contents of my stomach release until nothing but an achy hollowness remains. I slide to the floor, my body a wet noodle, back against the nearest wall, legs and arms slack, feeling like I could rip in half at my core. The tile cools my perspiration-covered skin, and I breathe heavily.
Still panicked from the images, my gaze darts from my bathroom and out the door to my bedroom. I reassure myself it was only a dream, and I’m safe. But my sense of safety is fleeting. When I replay the vivid images from my dream, there’s one thing I’m sure of: the parts that made sense were true. A few memories of that awful day have returned.