Chapter 19
I know where I am! I’m sure I know where this is!
If I’m right, then there should be chinks of daylight showing. So, since it’s dark, I can be sure the sun isn’t up. That means it’s only been an hour or two that I was unconscious. I don’t know why, but that matters a great deal. I am proud.
Now to strategise!
When I start to move, though, it comes home hard that my spirit might be willing, my resolve fierce and brave, but my body is weaker than it’s ever been.
I stand, so slowly, so many different timid movements.
First I roll onto one hip, feeling the hard floor bruise me as I go.
Then I bend my legs under me, scraping one of my ankles.
Scrabbling for purchase with my fingernails, I haul myself up onto all fours and stop there, swaying, with my head hanging down and my mouth hanging open like a dog.
Like a tired-out donkey. I shuffle and creep my way forward until I feel a wall in front of me and then slap first one hand and then the other against the paint.
I am sweating, foul-smelling to myself, but it helps my clammy palms stick to the wall and gives me the courage to get one foot underneath me and push as hard as I can, dragging the other leg and pawing my way up until I can whip that second foot forward too.
I bang my toes against the skirting board and go over hard on my ankle but I don’t fall.
I lean against the wall with my arms wide, my cheek pressing in painfully as I slump, my mouth open, letting trails of drool fall. I feel the liquid on my bare shoulder.
It’s hard not to let go and crumple up again.
All I want to do is curl into a tiny ball and weep like a child.
Instead I make my way around the room, as careful and as slow as I’ve ever moved in my life.
There is tape everywhere, around the door, around the window, covering the light switch.
I can smell it and I can feel the edges of the strips under my fingernails.
I pick at it for a moment or two, but I can tell it’s something stronger than I’ve ever encountered before, thick and unyielding.
I move on to a section of flat wall and roll around until my back is against the paint. Then cautiously I let myself slide down until my knees are bent like hairpins, screaming and aching. I stretch my legs out in front of me and wait until my breathing settles.
Here I am then. And perhaps I should be glad. It’s warm and dry here. It’s better than the other place. The place I wish was a dream but fear, with banging heart and ragged breath, is a memory.