Tethered

Chapter Fifteen

1

Sarah's legs couldn't support her weight anymore. She was shaking. She sat down, and curled the bedsheet in her hand tightly, then squeezed her eyes shut. Adrenalines burst through her. She was terrified behind comprehension. Her mind kept jumping to different conclusions—yet producing more and more questions.

The apprehension of everything that has been going on in a month made her feel like she was stepping on invisible needles. She exhaled shakily, trying to contain herself. Who wrote the message?

"Sometimes, the good ones get hit the hardest, but you can always hit back. It's only a fair game." There was the voice again. The more comfortable she was becoming with the voice, the more constant it spoke to her.

"If we knew how things would end, where our journey will take us, would we still make the same decisions?"

Sarah gritted her teeth, tightening her grasp on the bedsheet and squeezing her eyes shut. She wanted the voice to shut up, or she was afraid she could lose her sanity again.

"Or", it continued. "Would we choose a different path or even escape our fate?"

A soft moan escaped Sarah's lips. She felt anger, and pain creeping through her. She wanted to punch something. It was funny how her moods changed instantly. It was scary, too. And she was afraid of herself. She tried to hold herself down, cutting her breath for a moment.

"Why do you keep fighting it?" The voice pressed on, and an immerse fear surged through her all too suddenly, causing her heart to rush blood roughly in her veins. Her heart rang in her ears, she felt hot and the world around her seemed to be stirring.

What's happening to me, she thought in panic.

"Most of our actions are motivated by desire or pain", the voice pushed on. "And you fail to free yourself from the eternal servitude of your feelings. All for what?"

"Stop, please", Sarah murmured, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She didn't want to open them nor did she want to let go of the sheet that was so curled up in her fist, exposing her green veins. She was trembling. She held her mouth with the other hand. No, I'll not cry, she told herself.

Warm tears ran down her cheeks contradicting her. Her heart was torn into a million pieces. She was hurting badly. She tapped her right foot lightly on the floor, clenching the sheet even tighter as if that could suppress the pain she was experiencing. The pain was from the inside—the pain of past wounds—the pain of things she'd done. The pain that constantly reminded her that she deserved nothing but death.

2

Who wrote the message? Who was it? And why? What was it trying to tell her? The depth of my mind? What does that mean?

"Maybe you should try to find out", the voice said. "It's only easy when you allow you Will to do its job. There might be more to that night."

Unclenching the bedsheets and snapping her eyes open, Sarah stood up, and left the room. She trotted down the stairs, and grabbed the car keys sitting on the mahogany table, and exited through the front door.

Her father's Mercedes was in the driveway, ready to depart but he was not inside yet. She opened the door and hopped in. She flickered the engine to live, and slammed the car into reverse, then tore out of there at full speed. Sarah's eyes held sadness, a profound sadness that reflected her very soul. Her entire persona was swamped in a fragility which one could normally not expect to see in a young woman like her. Her face glowed with anger, despondency and carrying with it an apprehension that revealed an inner turmoil.