12
1046 Words
My head spun and my throat closed. I was choking on the darkness, and on fear that the dim crystals in the hall might never illuminate again.
I could be trapped in this darkness forever.
A high-pitched whine squeezed from my throat as I pressed my spine to the floor and my palms to the underside of the bed, like anchoring myself here. Like reminding myself there were physical things surrounding me. But every time I opened my eyes, there was only void. Darkness.
I needed my calming pills. I needed Doctor Chilikoba, who always assured me I wasn’t dying when I felt like this.
“Breathe,” she would say. “Start with breathing.”
I gasped. Not a long breath, but enough that the muscles in my throat opened a fraction. Another inhale, this one more substantial. That could count as the first breath.
One. Two. Three. I breathed in, held the air in my lungs, and exhaled as long and slow as I could stand. Gradually, my racing heart eased.
As long as I didn’t open my eyes. As long as I didn’t move my hands from the underside of the bed.
And I listened to the whimper of someone in the throes of nightmares, to a whistling snore from a man down the hall, and to heavy silence. Like everyone was just waiting for something terrible to happen.
But what could be worse than this?
THE NEXT MORNING, Yarrow STOPPED IN FRONT OF my door, his eyes hooded and his mouth turned downward. A fresh cut ran the length of his cheek, not deep enough to need stitches or a bandage, but the brown skin around it had turned ruddy and ragged. It probably hurt. Good.
Anabel’s Law said one should never wish pain on someone else, but did that apply to one’s jailer? Surely Damyan and Darina wouldn’t begrudge me this one indulgence.
“Ready for your first day of work?” he asked.
I glanced at his empty hand, then beyond him to where the second guard was throwing a sack of food into Gerel’s cell. First last night, and now today. I’d been under the impression that agreeing to work meant I’d get more food. Not zero food.
My nemesis grinned. “Not in here, Fancy. You get breakfast in the mess hall. And if the others want more food, they’ll work for it, too.”
Except the others hadn’t been offered work. Why? Gerel’s warning ran through my head again: Yarrow wanted something.
“I brought these.” Yarrow motioned at a pair of shackles hanging from his belt. “You don’t have to wear them if you promise to come without a struggle.”
We both knew I wouldn’t fight.
He opened the door.
I stepped through, and while Yarrow closed the door, I glanced toward Aaru’s cell. Nothing was visible. Just the front corner, partially blocked by a guard hassling him about standing up and coming out from under the bed.
A twinge of guilt wrapped around me. He’d tried to apologize, and I’d forgotten about him once Yarrow offered work and Gerel started talking to me. It was rude to ignore people, Mother always said. And especially rude to ignore them after annoying them and accusing them of being hallucinations.
Then again, I’d tried to talk to him later, and he’d ignored me. Clearly he hated me.
Maybe I had made a mistake by accepting his water. Maybe I hadn’t. After all, I couldn’t trust Yarrow any more than I could trust the other prisoners. Ilydsey would tell me to find some way to win Aaru over. Not that I knew how to do that if I couldn’t smile at him (the hole was too small) and giggle at his jokes (he didn’t seem to know much about jokes). But Ilydsey would push me to find another way.
“Come on.” Yarrow yanked the twisted ends of my hair so hard my eyes watered. “The Pit won’t clean itself.” With a smug look, he let go of my hair, but my head stung just the same. Gerel caught my eye; she looked . . . worried.
A hollow feeling stirred in my stomach. I was exhausted and hungry. How was I supposed to clean? I had no experience, save the few minutes with the mop yesterday.
My face and throat heated, like I was standing too close to an oven. Except this heat came from inside me. The burning spread through me as my heart pounded, harder and harder. My vision tunneled and I staggered, suddenly dizzy. Another attack.
I couldn’t let the panic in this time. I had to stay calm.
But telling myself to stay calm made it worse.
But if I didn’t overcome this, I’d never be able to work, and I’d never survive until Mother and Father saved me, and then—
“Remember your breathing,” Doctor Chilikoba would say. “Always start with your breathing. If you still feel panicked after ten deep breaths, take a pill.” Seven gods, what I wouldn’t give for one of those pills now.
I had nothing, though. Just myself. So I started with breathing.
As I walked after Yarrow, opposite the way we’d come in the other day, I sucked in the first deep breath, held it for five stumbling heartbeats, and released it through my mouth, like I was exhaling all the bad, anxious feelings.
On the way, I counted cells (twenty-four) and noorestones (eight), and times Yarrow scratched at the cut on his face (three). Holding the numbers in my head helped; they didn’t leave much room for anything else.
I finished all ten breaths. My head felt clearer, but the danger lurked nonetheless. I had to be careful. Vigilant.
We walked up a set of stairs (thirty steps), and my nemesis watched me from the corner of his eyes. “You look gray, Fancy. Nervous?”
I shook my head. It was the truth. “Nervous” didn’t begin to cover it. Terrified? Panicked?
“Try not to think about your anxiety,” Doctor Chilikoba had suggested. “That will make the cycle worse. Instead, focus on other things.”
That only made me count more.
- Writer
