And I don’t stop screaming.
The sound wrenches from the depths of my soul—the depths of my despair. Birds that should be far away, dormant, flap their wings as they escape the shattering power of my wrath.
I scream. I scream. I scream. I scream. I scream until my voice is nothing more than a rasp, guttural and hoarse.
The feeling of out-of-control fury and agony spins and weaves in my body. In the back of my mind, a whisper of cognizance touches my consciousness.
Ground yourself.
I gag. Sobbing. My body is wrecked. And then. I breathe in. Hold. I breathe out. Hold. I breathe in. Hold. I breathe out. Hold.
My vision starts to clear, and I’m able to take in other visual stimuli outside of the asphalt and the contrast of the dimming sky.
But it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It might never be enough.
I lay down on the cold, damp ground, turning my head so part of my cheek rests on the concrete. I remain silent, trying to breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
Hunter.
His name is a whisper, a painful hiss in my brain.
No.
I breathe in. I hold. I breathe out.
Hunter, where are you?
I breathe in. I hold. I breathe out.
“Where are you?” I shriek as sobs wrack my body. My soul’s anguish adds to the physical pain I’m soaked in.
I bring my hands to my chest and belly, trying to breathe in and out as I learned in all the therapy sessions I’ve been in.
So many therapy sessions.
So many therapy sessions because of Adam. Adam. Adam.
Hunter.
I try to fill the space where my palms touch my abdomen with the movement of my breath.
But my hands shake too much for it to register.
Hunter. Are you coming for me?
I squeeze my sore eyelids shut, pressing them so tight that the insides of my lids feel like they’re contorted into an unnatural position.
Yes.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“One. One, two, one. One, two, three, two, one….”
I repeat the refrain over and over. Time doesn’t matter; it ceases to exist.
“Sunbeam.” The voice is clear, unmistakable. But I know he isn’t here.
“Sunbeam, you did it.”