The Suspect

Chapter 4

Do you know the saying 'Nothing really matters anymore'? I'm really starting to believe that. Or perhaps that 'Life Goes On and On' and while that should make any person happy; given the number of chances and opportunities one can have to achieve anything they desire, it's quite the opposite for me.

For me, life doesn't just go on; every moment that goes by keeps making my wound recur and is a constant reminder of my miserable state. It's a mirror that life holds in front of me, telling me that invariably, I am alive and not living in a horrible dream that'll be over once I open my eyes. 

My eyes are open and I am living my horrible dream—it's a reality that won't leave me; 86,400 seconds a day.

If someone asked me to describe my life using two words, I wouldn't even hesitate to say it is disappointing and oh so misleading. Every time I try to move on; move on from my past, I get pushed back by a force I can't explain. It's like taking two steps forward, but instead of taking one back, I get shoved four instead.

After looking at the picture, I knew I couldn't bring myself to stay in that room any longer. Without uttering a word, I had left the room in a scurry. I'm sure Kiara would have understood why.

I anxiously make my way to my escape: the women's bathroom on the fourth floor that no one uses. My hands won't stop trembling and my head won't stop spinning.

As soon as I reach the bathroom, I instantly lock the door and head to a stall, closing the door and sinking to the floor.

I can feel it coming. The panic. The agitation. The dismay.

The only noise heard is the constant chattering of my teeth. I reach into my pocket and grab my phone, quickly dialing the number that never fails to help.

I hear a click, "Hi, honey. What's up?" I hear the cheerful and sweet voice of my father.

The phone involuntarily shakes in my hand and I try to steady it, "H-hey Dad. I-I," I pause, gasping for air, "It's happening again."

I hear a few seconds of silence before he speaks, "What do you see around you?" he asks me softly.

I look around— the simple movement making me dizzier than before—but I try regardless.

"I...I'm in the bathroom on the fourth floor. The stalls are a dark grey," my gaze moves higher, "The ceiling is a pale yellow. Almost off white but not really. The stall I'm in is small—not too small that I would feel claustrophobic, however."

"That's good. Is there a small window nearby?"

"Yes, there is," I don't even hesitate since I've been here more times than I can remember.

"Now do me a favor and walk up to it," he instructs.

I use my strength to make myself get up, and head to the window. The window is decently sized, considering it is the only source of light for this bathroom.

"O-okay, I'm there," I answer.

"Open it and then tell me what you see outside."

I trap my phone in between my ear and shoulder and then use both my hands to gently slide open the window. A gust of slightly cool air hits my face, sending chills throughout my body. Taking a few seconds, I try and notice what I see around me.

"I-I can see the tall, sleek buildings. The trees are lean and conical, slanted towards the direction of the wind. Th—"

"What do you notice about the color of the leaves?" he cuts me off.

"They're a mixture of the warm hues of red, orange, and yellow. Few are completely one color and the rest are a mixture of either two or all of them."