Shadowed

XVII. Perfect Torture

My throat feels raw and achy. I don't know how long I've been screaming for, but my voice is nearly gone.

I've been going over the events of the past few days in my mind, clinging to my memories of Abby, of Drew, of Angella, even of Maya before she fled. I try to let them tether me, to anchor me to lucidity.

It doesn't work. 

Half of me is trying desperately to keep hold of my sanity, and the other half wants to let it go. It's the kinder way, but I refuse to give up that easily.

I can handle being alone. I did it for years.

I repeat it in my head over and over, like a mantra. I can handle this. I did it for years. I can. I can. I can. I can...

I can't.

I can't handle this.

The walls are closing in on me. Tighter and tighter and tighter.

No.

I give my head a hard, firm shake, and quickly clap a hand to my neck. The injection site is still sore. But I welcome the pain. It reminds me that I'm actually here, that this isn't some dream that I'll awaken out of in a couple of minutes.

It would be easier to let myself believe that this is all a fantasy, that I can let myself fall off the edge of the void.

Thirty two years alone and it never felt this cruel. But maybe it was because back then, I didn't care if I lost myself. I would have welcomed it, even.

Now, my sanity is slipping away and I don't want it to go. It hurts like a scab peeling away from the skin, every second drawing more and more blood.

I suck in a heavy breath and concentrate on the air filling my lungs. In and out. In and out. As long as you're breathing, you are real and this is real.

You are real and this is real.

Maybe they are poisoning the air, with something that will take away my only real solace—my thoughts. I know nothing of the Hunters. Maybe they'd love to see me lose my mind and tear myself apart in here.

There's a sharp pain in my stomach. I haven't eaten anything since this morning, in Donovan's place. 

Something tells me that bringing me food isn't high on the list of my captors' priorities. I know they know I'm immortal. But do they know the nature of my curse? Do they know that I need to eat just as much as someone who can die?

I can hurt but never break, bleed but never die. Have they figured my curse out, picked me apart from afar?

I don't know and I don't care. The walls are closing in on me again.

Breathe. But every breath burns my ragged throat and feels like forcing hot ash into my lungs.

I'm screaming again and my throat screams back, crying out in pain, but it's not enough to stop me. I keep screaming even when the sounds escaping me turn jagged, even when I feel the hot tears streaming down my face.

I almost don't realize when I've stopped, because my own terrible cries and the ones from faraway echo in my ears.

-

I'm face down on the cell floor, listening to the blood pound through my veins and feeling my entire body shake from the effort of each inhale.

You are real and this is real. 

It feels like a dream.

You are real and this is real.

I'll wake up soon.