Pandora's Box

3. Mystic Meltdown

My knuckles are white against the table, and I've slumped so far down my face is pressed against the wooden boards. I struggle to open my eyes before realizing they're already open, but the black void from the vision is still imprinted on them. I blink rapidly, trying to clear it away. It doesn't help. I should know better; the only way to transition is to be calm. So I struggle to take deep, cleansing breaths and focus on my other senses. Sound comes back first; the buzzing in my ears resolves into the thrum of Evan's guitar and the lilt of Indie's voice. I try to focus on Indie. I don't want him to see me like this - that idiot would probably leap off the stage to try and 'save' me - but hearing his voice and knowing he's nearby at least settles my racing heartbeat.

I loosen my grip on the table and try to lift my head. I feel a few splinters stuck against my cheek but can't bring myself to wipe them away just yet. Focusing on sitting up, tilting my head toward the sound coming from the stage, I hope that I resemble something close to normal. I still can't see, but there are shadows resembling people and picnic tables resolving in the darkness.

Breathe. I remind myself. In, out. In, out.

The band ends an upbeat jam and starts up something a little slower. Arty rolls against the symbol and I lean into the sound, waiting for Indie to start singing again.

He doesn't.

The symbol fades into the night, and suddenly everything is unnervingly quiet. The needles dance across my skin again, punching a samba into my heart. I still can't quite see - I can make out people and blobby shapes, black against black, a shadow racing toward me.

Crap.

I hear him, Sense him, before he whispers in my ear.

"Cass, Cassie? Cassadilla? Are you okay?"

I try to arrange my face into an encouraging smile. "I hate when you call me that."

"And I hate when you go all mystic meltdown on me. What can I do?"

I groan. "Well, for starters you can get back on stage so that everybody is staring at you again, and not at me."

The darkness still hangs over my vision, but I just know that everyone is looking at me. Why wouldn't they stare at the girl the lead singer of the band just raced off the stage for?

"Nah, they'll just keep staring at you after anyway. Come on, let's get you home."

Home. That sounds nice. I can feel a headache spreading tendrils of pain across my brain, and now that I've calmed down I can suddenly hear all of my muscles screaming at me in exhaustion.

Sometimes, the Sight can really suck. Though it's not normally this bad.

"Sounds great," I tell Indie. "Just as soon as I can see where I'm going."

It takes Indie a second to respond - I think he's trying to figure out why the hell I need my Sight, capital 'S', to walk home. I hear a sharp inhale as he realizes I'm temporarily blind.

"Hell Cass. What the actual -? We are so talking about this later. You stay here, I'll go settle up with the manager and get the band packed up."

I don't have the energy to chuckle at his command. Stay here, yeah, like I could go anywhere in this state. I manage another groan and then he's gone, taking his sunny aura of concern with him. I hear the whispers start up as I close my eyes and slump back onto the table. All I need is a quick nap and I'll be fine.

The whispers fade as I give in to sleep, tiny prickles of anxiety tugging at the back of my mind. I know there's something important I need to do, but I can't focus long enough to figure out what.