Ellucid (Ellucid #1) ★

Eight

One of the women rolls a cart closer to me while the other fastens the anesthesia mask over my face, tightening the straps along the back of my head. I dig my nails into the arms of the chair, trying to panic. Any soothing thoughts I had in the last few seconds are gone, replaced by thoughts of needles and blood and the gash wounds in the photos in the crime files at Nathan's...

My vision tilts and blurs. What had I just been thinking about? Needles? Needles were sharp and pointy and scary. I hated them...

My eyes flutter shut and open again. Now I can't form a single thought, not even an idea of why I'm here.

The next time my eyes shut, they don't reopen. The nurses' voices filter through my ears, growing distant, as if they are shouting through a tunnel and I blocked off the exit.

Silence. Darkness.

Then there's a prick of light at the back of my consciousness. It grows until it absorbs me and I'm inside the light, bouncing through some parallel universe where time and matter have no purpose. I feel light as air, and when I strain my ears I can't hear a thing. Do I even have ears anymore?

All of a sudden the light starts spinning, flashing in my eyes. I'm dizzy. I feel like I'm losing my balance even though I don't have a body and can't fall. Then the light stops and turns to black.

I can feel myself again: my limbs are heavy and there's a sharp pain in my chest. I think I'm lying on the ground. I crack open an eye and watch the ceiling fan spin in my apartment living room.

How did I get here? I sit up. Blood streams down my leg. There's no pain, but the crimson is still there, puddling on the laminate.

"Gabi?" Someone croaks my name; whoever it is sounds in pain. I climb to my feet, still without feeling in my leg, and twist in the direction of the voice.

Asher's sitting on the couch. He has a gash slashing across his face, starting at the top of his high cheekbone and ending above his bottom lip. He's shirtless, showcasing a bruised and bloodied torso. The skin is thin above his rib cage and translucent around his heart: it throbs, blood trickling through veins, pulsing. Larger smaller. Larger smaller. I'm mesmerized by the rhythm.

Then I tear my eyes away. He's sitting on the couch flipping through TV channels as if this is a normal day after school.

"What channel is the news on?" he asks.

I want to ask him where he got his gash, but I have no control over my voice. "We don't get that channel anymore."

He sets down the remote. Pictures flash on the TV screen: a crime show Mom and I used to love watching together. It looks like an old episode. The characters are yelling at each other—someone brandishes a knife. I see their lips moving and hear words coming out of their mouths, but it's like they're speaking a different language with English syllables. It's a code I can't decipher.

When I glance down at my leg, I see the wound has healed and there's now a crescent scar in its place. Asher's face still looks terrible, like he's inside some horror movie I'd never go see. Something in the back of my head tells me I should get away from him, but I can't listen. Away? No, I want to move closer. Closer closer until I'm right next to him, until I'm touching him, hand on his heartbeat, fingers pressed against the filmy skin.

Away.

With the TV still playing in the background, Asher reaches for his backpack and pulls out his homework. First he sets his biology textbook on the coffee table in front of him, the one with the meerkats on the cover.