Page 28 of Death is Familiar

I don’t know how long I stood there, listening to the rush of the shower like static crackling across the deep recesses of my mind. It was clear that I overreacted. The voice in my head had been right. I should have gotten a grip, before punching the shower tile. But it was a little too late for that.

It also begged the question, if my reaction wasn’t me, at least not entirely, who was it?

I MADE A MISTAKE.

My heart sunk. Not the tight-fisted clenching from before. This was a sad lowering. A realization.

My passenger.

The presence of my passenger was responsible, in part, for the sudden swing. The amplification of emotions and anger that were already there. Mixing the signals that were in my blood and in my brain.

But there was another deeper sinking feeling that took hold. I grabbed onto the edges of the sink, head bowed to avoid looking at myself in the mirror.

I was angry with myself.

Lawrence’s words, his mistake, resulted in him choosing to continue down the wrong path. And I had a similar decision to make. To continue. To not continue.

But which one was the mistake?

Pins and needles filled my lungs, coated my tongue. I shook my head. No, whatever mistake Lawrence thought he made paled in comparison to not asking for help. His real mistake was in not coming to me. For going alone.

The tremble in my limbs returned.

“Fuck.”

I had to tell Jack. Even though the choice was mine, he was the only person I could tell. If anyone else found out we crossed the line⁠—

I smoothed my fingers over my hair.

Not yet. I would tell him. But after. After the gathering. After I visited the safety deposit box. I still had time.

But not much.

Well and thoroughly exhausted, I got ready for bed. Sleep couldn’t come soon enough. I made to cross the room to shut the lights, when I caught something out of the corner of my eye.

It was so small I almost missed it.

On the ground was a piece of paper, torn from a larger sheet, slipped under the door from the adjoining room. It was a note, though the writing was nearly illegible: You are not alone. I’m We’re here.

7

Despite my exhaustion, I slept fit-fully. My mind chose to be my enemy, turning my thoughts and worries into dreams. Dreams that felt real. So real that I woke in a panic and cold sweat more than once. It didn’t help that sometime after midnight I was hit by an overwhelming wave of nausea that clung to my insides like pine tar.

While I was grateful when a suitable hour to stay awake rolled around, I couldn’t shake the queasiness. Even with a 2am snack and a pre-breakfast candy.

Of course, what always worked at home didn’t work here. And I didn’t know what else to do. What medications I could or couldn’t take.

I should have looked that up on Botan’s phone too.

I brushed my teeth hoping the mint would help. When that didn’t work, I sat at the end of my bed, tucked my thumbs into my palms, and squeezed.

Facing the agents wasn’t an option. Not until I got a hold of myself.

So, I waited. And waited.

I tried to distract myself by listening in on the noise coming from their room. Muffled words. Conversation. One-sided as always. When Jack laughed, I felt the corner of my mouth pull upwards.

And slowly, slowly the nausea ebbed.