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H E R
Patrick died that night.
He got sick and died. Just like that.
And when he came back, he killed. I didn't know how many and I didn't know who.
A dense fog of uncertainty enveloped me, shrouding my senses in a disorienting haze that muddled even the most basic of thoughts. Like a weighty anchor dragging me into the murky depths of despair, I struggled against the relentless pull of heaviness that threatened to engulf me whole.
With each labored step, I felt as though I were wading through treacle, left adrift in a sea of confusion and fear.
Seeking refuge from the tumult raging within, I stumbled upon the water containers, bracing myself against their cool surface, one hand clutching the fabric covering my pulsing chest. Yet, even as I sought to steady my uneven breaths and clear the chaos from my mind, the images of the cell block remained. The blood. The terror. The screams. And Patrick, Patrick worst of all.
I dropped onto my haunches under all the weight and pressed my hands against my ears, as if to ward off some loud noise. Struggled to breathe. Eyes shut tight.
The waves were receding, leaving the shore rocky and sharp.
What if Mika died?
What about Lizzie?
Or Beth?
Carl?
Carl?
Carl. My stomach tightened and if I had anything in there, I would've vomited right then and there.
The last time we spoke, yesterday afternoon, I was mad at him. Over him taking some stupid photograph. Oh, God. I remembered the hurt in his eyes.
Carl was my friend. Maybe even a closer friend to me than Patrick. Was that anyway to treat him? Avoid him for the rest of the day? Made a point of having Lizzie sit next to me at dinner, leading him to sit with some counsel members? I had gone out of my way to be petty for absolutely no reason. And now, he could be dead. Dead and I wouldn't even know it.
Anxious energy crackled in the air, setting my nerves alight as I paced back and forth, a prisoner to my own restless thoughts. Should I return to the cell block and confront the aftermath of whatever calamity had befallen us, or should I continue to cower in the icy grip of fear, paralyzed by the unknown?
I was a coward, plain and simple, unwilling to confront the harsh realities that lurked beyond the safety of my own solitude.
My body had brought me here with a purpose, to seek refuge in the shadows, to shield myself from the impending storm that threatened to consume me whole. And so, I remained ensnared in the suffocating embrace of my own cowardice, unable to break free from its iron grip.
