My skin jitters. “Come on, babe. You have to keep breathing.” My eyelids flicker, but the beige walls are too bright. Breathing hurts. He squeezes my arm, shaking me. “Wake up, honey.” I groan. It would be so good to sleep. I can’t think for fear of unconsciousness. My eyes roll back in my skull, eyelids flickering. “Lauren, look at me.”
“I can’t,” I pant. It’s too much too much too much. Your face it too beautiful. I want to reach out and touch it. I am frozen but for my personal earthquake. Violent spasms smash my teeth together. “Make it stop, please,” I keen. I fall into myself, so far into my own brain that the corridor around me fizzles. His hand on my bare knee grounds me—his skin too warm as if it’d been turned inside-out.
“I’m here, baby, I’m here. What do you need?”
“Talk to me. Keep talking to me.” The walls vibrate with echoes of bass as time escapes me. I grasp onto wisps with brittle fingers.
“What is our life going to be like?” I can see his smile through grey eyelashes. I can hear the desperation in his voice. I can’t answer. Moth flutters of terror and pain and nausea beat against my frantic brain. “Open your eyes.” I try, but his eyes are molten and burn me where they touch. I want my body back; I want control.
“Never again,” I don’t know if he hears me. Louder: “Don’t let me go” or I will fly into a hundred thousand pieces. Hold me here with your finger tips—no more or I’ll fall too far. Nor from hell one step more than from himself can fly. And I feel it with every shallow breath.
“How much longer?”
“Maybe an hour,” my pupils blink huge. An hour. One hour. I can conquer an hour.
