Thirty-Six
Kat
Anesthesia – Type O Negative
My wet boots slap against the worn hardwood floor of my apartment as I pace, the sound shattering the uneasy stillness. I check the lock for the third time in three minutes. Of course, it hasn’t changed, but I keep expecting it to somehow make me feel better.
I run my hands through my hair, tangled and limp from sweat.
My pulse hammers and a lump begins to form in my throat, tears stinging behind my eyes.
My apartment has always been my safe zone, but that zone is becoming smaller and smaller every day, like the walls and ceiling are closing in, inch by painful inch.
The smell of damp and musk would usually settle inside me, it’s not a pleasant smell, but it’s home.
But tonight it just makes my stomach roll.
Everything feels wrong. The same furniture sits where it always has, the mustard yellow blanket that enveloped Harper and me last night still resting on the arm of the couch where Freddie likes to sleep.
I remember laughing, feeling normal. But now everything feels…
tainted. The door behind me feels like a flimsy piece of wood instead of a barricade to the outside world.
I can’t bring myself to look through the peephole again, because to look will make it real. But I know I have to—I need to see if they’re still out there.
Whoever it is didn’t want to catch me, that much is obvious.
I’m not a fast runner, I know that. They could have easily caught me…
but they didn’t. They just wanted me to know that they could, and they were here.
The thought curdles in my stomach like spoiled milk.
If it’s really him, then this place isn’t safe anymore.
And if my own home isn’t safe… where the fuck am I supposed to go?
I continue to pace, thinking of all the customers at The Ground that I served today. It could be anyone. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and someone followed me home. It happens all the time to people.
Stop being fucking delusional. You know who it is.
The possibility that he could find me one day has always been there, a permanent threat in the back of my head. But the reality still hits me, knocking the wind from my lungs and making my breath stutter. I am being delusional. There’s no one else it could be.
For months, I’ve let myself believe that distance meant safety.
That the miles and a new city and a new life meant that the past couldn’t reach me.
I built this fragile illusion and wrapped it around myself like armor.
But tonight it shattered, leaving me flayed open and exposed in the worst possible way.
I slowly walk over to the front door, flinching at every creak of the floorboards. I take a deep, steadying breath, my lungs burning from emotion and the weight of everything. My fingers hesitate before moving to lift the peephole cover.
There’s no one there.
The street looks empty, just a stretch of wet pavement and the dull glow of the streetlight bleeding across it.
The spot where the figure stood is nothing but a shadow now.
I run to the bay window, peeping behind the curtains.
But I see nothing. Just a normal street.
I should feel relieved, but I don’t. My heart pounds in my chest, and my shoulders burn from the tension.
My breath refuses to settle, instead filling my lungs to the point of burning, yet I feel as though I can’t catch a breath.
I try to draw a long breath, but my chest locks up like something inside me has sealed shut.
I try again—deeper this time—but it burns.
Focus, Kat. Breathe. Just—
My thoughts disperse, breaking apart before they can form properly.
My chest spasms at the hollow breath. My hands shake, yet they feel completely detached from my body.
I look at them as they move yet I can’t will them to stop.
I try to organize my thoughts, but they don’t cooperate.
They scatter like frightened birds in a storm.
A car passes by the front of the apartment. Too loud. Too close. I need—
No. Not that. Just breathe…
Fuck, my head hurts. My shoulders hurt. I hurt.
I try to think past the noise, but the sound of my heart gets in the way.
Just get through this.
Just get through this.
That’s all I have to do, just…
Get through.
I rest my back against the door, my last shield against the outside world, and let my head fall back against it with a soft thud. I don’t even feel it. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire. I need to make it stop. I need it to stop. I need to…
My head snaps to the side at the thought. I can’t. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. But it’ll make it stop… just for a second. Just enough to breathe.
The familiar whisper slithers through my mind, and I drop my head into my hands.
The silence is deafening, the warm wood of the door too hot against my back.
Too many memories are clawing their way to the surface.
Too many images I’ve spent years trying to bury.
A voice I never wanted to hear again echoes in the darkest corners of my mind. Everything is too much.
Then… nothing.
That’s when everything goes still inside me. The noise in my head cuts out, as if someone has pulled the plug. Where there was heat and panic, there is now cool and quiet.
Fears quickly drain away, leaving a hollow cavern behind.
The room in front of me is still there, exactly as it was before.
But something is different. I’m different.
My body feels distant. I’m still here but attached by a tether.
My arms feel light. The pressure in my shoulders barely registers.
When I lift my hand in front of my face, the movement feels delayed, like I’m watching someone else do it. Like it doesn’t belong to me.
When my legs move, lumbering my body forward, they’re slow, like walking through thick mud and quicksand. I’m not telling them to move. Or am I? I don’t know.
I exist, but I’m not really here. My body moves towards the bathroom, carefully opening the door.
I glimpse myself in the mirror, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
Her eyes are red and hollow, a stark contrast to her pale white skin.
She looks familiar, like someone I’ve not seen in a long time.
I rummage through the bottom drawer of the cabinet, and I find it. I’m vaguely aware of a voice in the far distance—my voice—telling me to stop. I ignore it.
I drag the razor across my arm. The familiar burning sting makes me release a breath I think I must have been holding for months.
The sensation slices through the numbness like white-hot fire.
My breath catches and releases in a long, shaky exhale.
The pressure in my chest loosens. I cut once more, and my shoulders drop, the pain disappearing, leaving a slight ache in its wake.
With each drop of blood that hits the tile floor, I feel myself return to center. The room sharpens again. Colors deepen. Sounds return, and my heartbeat steadies. I can finally fucking breathe. Everything settles into something manageable, and I close my eyes for a second, letting it wash over me.
I slide to the floor, letting my head fall back against the tub. I press a hand towel against my arm, the sting from the old, scratchy material making me wince. My thoughts slowly come back to me. Organized with a new sense of clarity.
This time is different. This time, everything will be okay. I will tell Elias everything, and he’ll help me. I have to trust that he cares about me. I won’t go back, and I don’t think he would let me go back. And I don’t want to leave him.
I would burn this entire city to its core before I ever let anyone hurt you.
He said that. To me. He said that to me. He won’t let me go back.
The memory of his voice wraps around my mind, filling me with warmth. Tears fall silently and drift down my chin and pool onto my chest. He fucking cares about me.
Resolve fills me, and I move to get up, swaying slightly. I pull the red towel away from my arm and go to drop it in the hamper.
Wait… wasn’t that towel white?
Holding it in both hands, I press my fingers into the fabric. It’s heavier and warmer than it should be. My grip tightens slightly, and something wet seeps between my fingers. I blink down at it, my mind suddenly slow, trying to catch up with the picture in front of me. Too much red.
Not a red towel. Fucking blood.
I look down at my arm and the small pool of blood that’s accumulating on the floor, and my world tilts.
Something’s not right. There’s too much blood.
I study my arm and see two deep cuts. Deeper than I usually cut.
Fuck.
Ice-cold fear slices through the calm I just found.
I grab another towel and wrap it around my arm.
It immediately spots with deep crimson. My fingers feel weak and clumsy, but it’s different than earlier.
Earlier, I was still in control, my body was on autopilot.
This time it feels like I’m a light that’s dimming. Like I’m…
No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. I don’t want to fucking die.
I pull the door open, ignoring the pain in my wrist as I make my way down the hall. My vision sways, and I almost lost my footing. Pulling my purse off the counter, I empty its contents. Spots start lining my vision as I lose focus.
Move quicker, Kat.
I finally find my phone and unlock it with Face ID. The blood coating my hand makes it slip from my grasp before I’m able to grip it properly. Before I can second-guess myself, I dial the number.
He answers on the first ring, but I’m fading fast. My limbs are both heavy and light at the same time. My vision narrows, and my legs quiver as I fall to my knees.
“Kat? Kat! Are you okay?” I’m vaguely aware of Elias’s voice.
I need to do this. I can’t die without it. I need to tell him.
I pull the phone closer to me, the effort draining the last ounce of energy I had before I crumple to the floor completely. “I’m sorry, Elias.” My breathing catches as I push out the words. “I love you.”
The declaration feels both heavy and light as it leaves my mouth. For a second, I think I hear him shouting my name through the phone. I try to hold onto his voice, but it slips through my fingers.
Just like the blood that drips from my veins.