Daydreamer Meaning (Book 3 in the daydreamer trilogy)

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

    I stare at my reflection in the mirror, not really seeing anything, not looking at myself. I have been a little spaced since Regan and I returned from anika. I know I should be alert right now but my brain is still digesting the idea that Regan is going to be in a coma for the foreseeable future and there is nothing I can do to change that. Machala practically had to force me to shower and change before I head down to the basement and join the others who are involved in the spell. I didn't want to leave Regan, but Machala and Riley are pretty mean in there persuasion, telling my in not so nice words that I stink and needed to wash up, because if I didn't now I most definitely wouldn't once Regan was under the spell, and that wouldn't be fair on everyone who had to be within ten feet of me. Regan had laughed, a real belly laugh at the look of disgust on my face when I had sniffed myself, not because I did stink, but because I really should have, I can't remember the last bath or shower I had. Machala marched me to my room and Riley followed Regan in search of Noah and the others.      

The steam from the shower is clinging to the mirror making my form disfigured and morphed in my reflection, as a built up drop of water slips down the glass I watch it, almost in a trance, the clear line it leaves behind reminding of a snails slime line after its slow journey over a smooth surface. My eyes clamp shut after the orange orbs that have haunted me engulf my brain into a messy darkness. I feel my knees buckle but not the inevitable drop to the tiles in the bathroom, because my mind is being overtaken by the monster and its need to attack me, to remind me I am his to torture at he will, I feel the recognisable loneliness I always do when it takes me, my chest constricts and tightens as my lungs forget how to function, the orbs disappeared as quickly as they came, but the death darkness they leave behind lingers for as long as I allow it to.

I am the only one who can pull myself out of this but this time is the longest I have been lost to the agony, I can't pull myself out. I can hear my own sobs as if they are in another room and not coming from me here and now, the echo's of a fist slamming on a door, and a mummer of a frightened child buzz's in my ears but the darkness still envelopes me. I don't have the resolve to get out, maybe I don't want to, is this really better than dealing with what I should be dealing with right now. A blinding light flickers to my right and my body begins to tremble with shock after shock of the most extreme pain I have ever felt in one of these episodes. My skin it being torn from my bones, or at least that's what it feels like, my lungs burn for the missing oxygen and I feel a cool trickle of a tear roll down my cheek, I can feel my cheek, these episodes are all physiological, they are my own mind bending reality, it's sick that the searchers can make you do this to yourself but it's true, your mind numbs you from reality and sticks you in your own worst nightmare, so the fact that I am aware of a tear on my cheek, my cheek back in my bathroom, laying on the cool white tiles, my tear my cheek, cool white tiles. My mind calms, the pain resides, the darkness fades and the sound of my steady breathing and feeling of my chest rising and falling brings me back finally to reality.      

  My body is half exposed against the cold tiled floor, the fall loosened my towel leaving my chest bare for all to see, and my right buttock elevated towards the door, I'm grateful for the locks. The faint banging I heard and the child's voice was Machala she is still banging frantically, sounding more crazed every second, I attempt to lift myself off the floor and slip almost face planting again, my right cheek bone throbs from the pervious impact, another hit would definitely leave a bruise, and I really don't want to be explaining anything to anyone right now. I finally reach my unsteady feet and adjust my towel to cover my messy parts. just as another bout of attacks on the door commence I flick the lock and open the door to a bereaved Machala, her eyes wide and wild, and the palms of her hands red from slamming the door.