✧ 64 | Panic Attack ✧
The LED tube lights buzzed overhead, flickering across a ceiling swollen with mold. Somewhere in the room, a sink dripped rusty water over its basin.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Each drop echoed through the place like a ticking clock.
Earlier, right after he witnessed Beast leave the room and seal the door behind him, Ilya had fled into the bathroom and locked himself inside. It wasn't much of a hiding place, but it was the only refuge he had.
"Don't go anywhere." Beast had giggled like a child, a giggle that would haunt Ilya for as long as he lived. "I'm going to get the maid's uniform, then I'll be right back."
That had been a while ago. Every passing second tightened the knot in Ilya's stomach. Beast could be standing outside the door right now.
A gag-worthy stench filled the hospital bathroom.
Flies buzzed around a relatively fresh body lying in the shower.
From the short hair and broad jawbone, Ilya guessed it had once been a man.
It was the only way he could tell. Everything below the waist had been caved in, reduced to a mangled mess of skin and shattered bone.
The man had bled a lot and was left to die slowly, which Ilya knew for a fact from the thick maroon pool beneath the remainder of the body.
All the more reason to dwell on his impending doom; to imagine all the creative horrific ways Beast might decide to kill him.
Every corner of his mind seemed occupied by a different death, each one wearing Beast's grin.
Quick deaths never appeared in those thoughts.
Only slow ones. Painful ones. The kind Beast would enjoy.
But wait. Ilya had seen enough to know that death itself wasn't what he should fear. It was everything that would come before it.
Ilya clutched his head with both hands. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
The fear.
The torture.
The cruel games.
He moved around the tight space with tears in his eyes. His twisted ankle didn't hurt anymore, which meant he had been stuck in this cursed town for almost a week.
God, how he wished he were back home with his stepdad. He would take his beating every day if it meant escaping this nightmare.
Ilya walked back and forth in circles. Walking around the door, checking if it were locked every once in a while, even though he knew it wouldn't hold against Beast's strength.
Most of his actions followed the same pattern.
He would pace back and forth, check the locked door, press his eye to the keyhole, then return to pacing. Again and again. All the while, tears hung heavy in his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.
Something swelled inside him, a panic attack waiting to erupt.
He paced.
This time, the tears finally broke free, rolling down his cheeks and dripping from his quivering chin.
Clutching his head, he wandered the cramped bathroom as if his skull might split open at any moment. His thoughts were too much. His fears were too much. They crashed into one another inside his mind, twisting and multiplying until he could no longer tell one horror from the next.
A wave of heat washed over him. His brain felt like it was burning, trapped in an endless loop of terrifying possibilities. His thoughts had become too loud. They piled on top of one another until they were no longer thoughts at all, only fear. Raw, irrational fear.
He went back to the keyhole, then back to strolling. Yet this time, something deep inside him was about to come out.
Something's wrong.
The bathroom suddenly felt smaller.
The walls closer.
The air thicker.
Something's terribly wrong.
His breathing grew quicker.
His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. Every breath felt too short. His lungs begged for air they couldn't seem to draw.
Something was climbing up his throat.
A scream.
It clawed at his throat, demanding to be released. He fought it, pressing trembling hands against his head as though he could somehow keep himself together. He swallowed hard and kept pacing.
But it kept rising.
"No, no, no, no, no."
He was losing.
His body trembled. His vision blurred. Tears streamed freely down his face.
He grabbed at his hair. His head felt seconds away from exploding.
Severed fingers. A walking corpse with no face. A weird town. A blizzard that won't go away. A broken wrist. A twisted ankle. Nearly getting eaten by a zombie who can talk. A man half pig. Purple blood. Vampires. Werewolves. And Beast's sick games.
It was a miracle he hadn't lost his mind—until now.
He couldn't handle it anymore.
Ilya tightened his grip on his pounding head. His heartbeats were skyrocketing. Eyes shifted left and right, going crazy. His breathing hadn't calmed down one bit.
Losing air fast.
Hyperventilating.
"Something's wrong," he spoke to himself while pacing. "Everything's wrong!" His voice got louder. "I'm gonna die here! I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die." He cried. "I'm gonna get killed here! He's going to kill me!"
"LET ME OUT OF HERE."
Ilya banged on the door, finally releasing the scream he had been holding. His eyes were heavy with tears that blurred his vision.
"Help me!" He banged the door again and again. "Somebody help me!"
He screamed until his voice became hoarse. He banged until his hands were sore. Brittle breaths came out as he slid down the door, sobbing.
"I don't want to be here," Ilya cried. "Somebody... please... help me," he gasped between his sobs. "Somebody, please... I don't want to die."
He cried until there were no tears left to shed. When his sobs finally faded into shaky breaths, he curled into himself and lay there in silence.
Sleep tugged at his weary eyes.
For the first time in hours, he was too exhausted to be afraid.