PULSE [H.S]

073

Everything can change at any moment, suddenly and forever. — Paul Auster

Dissociation: disconnection and lack of continuity between oneself and their environment.

It's always been a hard concept for me to grasp. It makes the world feel unreal, like it's all a simulation where nothing is actually happening. Like I am not actually me, and this isn't actually my life; this world doesn't actually exist.

I tend to dissociate when the world around me is too daunting for me to bear. By removing myself from it, I put a sort of distance between me and the harsh reality that I'm faced with.

I remember when I found my mom's body on the ground when she overdosed. The moments after that didn't feel real. One moment I was there with her, and the next I was an observer from outside.

I didn't really see her being carried away on a stretcher or put into the ambulance. I didn't really hear the paramedics and policemen's questions. I didn't really experience it. I lived through it like it was already a memory before it even happened.

As Leo drags me through the hallways of the back side of the club, I'm not really present. It doesn't feel like he is gripping my arm or like I am walking at all. It feels like I'm floating above all of it, here but not really here.

The walk is a blur.

The hallway is dim, and the lights above us flicker slightly as we walk underneath them. There's guards behind me and in front of me. The sounds of their boots stomping on the ground fill my ears.

I don't know how far we walk or how long it's been since my friends were kicked out of here. I'm not even sure how many turns we've taken. I hear voices, but they sound muffled, like everyone is talking but I'm underwater.

We stop walking suddenly. The guards in front of me stop so abruptly that I almost walk into the back of the one right in front of me, but Leo's hand on my arm stilled me.

They open a door to the right, and I follow them through it. It opens up into a large room, with paintings of female bodies hung all over the walls.

The sight of Harry brings me back to earth.

He sits in a chair, his head hung low. My eyes stay on him as I'm led to the chair next to him and pushed down into it. His eyes meet mine slowly, and that's when I see the bruise forming on his cheekbone.

Harry's eyes are filled with guilt.

He looks so broken.

It terrifies me.

I pry my eyes away from him, seeing a large man sitting on the other side of a low table. He has dark hair that's slicked back on top of his head and close shaven facial hair. He wears a dark red button-down and black pants. There's an expensive-looking watch on his wrist.

He's a scary-looking man, but what sends a jolt of fear through me isn't him—it's the girl next to him. She has long platinum blonde hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes. She looks like she was pretty, but drugs took the life out of her. There's bags under her bloodshot eyes, and there's no sign of life in her. She looks like a zombie.

I'm going to be sick.

I glance back at Harry, who is looking at the ground in front of him now. His eyes look just as lifeless. I've never seen him look so hopeless before.

The guy's voice brings my attention back to him. He smiles at me with a grin that doesn't meet his eyes. He says, "You must be Kizalyn." I nod at him, unable to form words. He holds his hand out for me to shake, and I meet his hand with a trembling one of my own. His hand is cold when it grips mine. He says, "I'm Richard."