49. Brynn
B right light.
Bright.
Like an angel.
Floating, swimming in the air.
I try to raise my hand, to snatch at it. Maybe this is it, this is what death is. And that is my soul leaving my body, leaving me behind to rot away like bad fruit.
“I don’t want to die.”
I don’t know if I speak those words out loud or in my head, but they sound wrong. Twisted. Like I’m in a glass tank, and everything is echoing against the sides and distorting.
“I don’t want to die.” I scream louder.
Someone tuts. It’s an irritated sound. Me, I’m irritating them.
“Well?”
Well, well, well.
“She’s recovering well.”
A deep well. One filled with water, one sloshing and slurping and making a mess.
God I’m thirsty, so thirsty.
“Drink,” I gasp.
I think I could drink the ocean. I could swim in it too. Swim far away like a mermaid. Swim deep, where no one can catch me.
“Will you behave?”
I will. I chant. I will. I will. I will.
Cold smooth glass presses to my lips, I open my mouth like chasm and water pours in. It fills the darkness in me, it topples out, down my chin, onto my chest like a wave from a tsunami.
“For fucks sake.” He snaps. “Swallow it then.”
Swallow. That’s a bird. A pretty bird. I used to watch them from the window, used to wonder why they were free, and I was caged.
I guess now, it doesn’t matter, does it?
I blink again, trying to sit up but my body is too heavy.
I’m a dead weight. I’m dead.
A giggle escapes my lips, but it doesn’t make sense.
It’s not funny. Funny.
Conrad looks funny. His face is blurred, his beautiful, awful features look so distorted as he leans down to stare at me.
“Sleep, Doll, you need to sleep.”
Like a baby. A baby doll.
I want to wrap my arms around myself, I want to lie in a cradle and rock.
Rock.
Rock asleep.
Like a baby.