37. Lina
Lina
R oaring, raging, horrifying pain consumes me. I wake to screaming in the darkness, the memory of the dream already fleeting, but the fear pulses through my body all the same.
Panting, I sit up in the fur-covered bed.
Just hours ago, I felt comfortable and content, and now, there is pressure on my chest that I cannot breathe through.
Like a sandstorm of grief that came out of nowhere. One moment, I was walking along the edge of the desert, on my way home, and the next, I was surrounded by nothing but the poisonous sands of the Morteres, sweeping over my body and sinking into every inch of me. I am lost in this poisonous grief.
Astella. Tears well in my eyes the moment her face comes to my mind.
In my dream, she was taken. The Drak got her, and her scream reached my soul.
She’s just a girl. So young and much stronger than I’ve ever been, but she shouldn’t have to be that strong. She shouldn’t be alone.
I left her alone.
No. I sacrificed myself so that she could live. But guilt still climbs its way up my throat, choking. “I miss you,” I tell her. “Please be okay.”
Does she too think of me and all of the worst things that could be happening to me? Torn apart and fed on. Starved. Burned alive. Or does she know? Does she know that, for now, I am well? That somehow, despite everything, life here is good?
I flinch at my own thoughts. Life here is good ?
Do I actually believe that? Is that real? Have I been hypnotized? Is that all it takes? Good food and furs to sleep in, and life can be good?
I have no freedom. No security. No answers. No life.
I am at the mercy of a monster with fangs, who takes innocent lives. And somehow, part of me thinks it is good.
I stare up at the ceiling, pushing all of the spinning, conflicting thoughts to the side. The sandstorm clears away, leaving a ragged body not ready to move.
Numbness spreads across my skin. Icy cold nothingness takes hold of my mind. I lie there like that, letting the nothingness become me.
Staring at the ceiling of my comfortable prison.
The dull pain of loss is a constant pressure, but everything else is wiped away. I don’t know how long I sit there like that until, eventually, the sorrow comes back to the surface and my chest convulses in silent sobs I didn’t consciously choose.
What am I grieving now? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. My body simply reacts, heaving out the sour emotions poisoning me.
I cry so hard my head throbs. My eyes burn. My muscles clench.
It finally subsides, leaving me aching and restless.
I stand and pace in the small room, knowing I will not be able to go back to sleep, not for a long time.
It feels like there are coils spinning tighter and tighter around my head and chest, until I think I may explode with it.
I spin around, looking for something to help me release this energy.
I could dig through the piles of trinkets, or read a book, but that’s not going to help the pressure in my body.
I finally stop spinning when I face the door. My eyes narrow at the lock. Slowly, as if it were a rabbit I intend to snare, I approach the barrier. I stop, take three breaths.
What happens if I’m caught out in the halls alone?
When the door clicks open with only a tiny tug, I don’t spend time pondering my fate. I just run.