Page 17 of Cruel Lies

Fuck, they knew where I lived.

They could be ready to break into my apartment even now.

Maybe they would come in from the fire escape.

I moved to lock the windows that faced the fire escape, then doubled back and locked the rest of them, too. I liked to sleep with one or two open, to let in some fresh air, but I couldn’t take that risk now.

I’d rather sweat to death than let them have an easy in.

The shakes set in as I set down my towel, and though I fought against them, there was no point. I could no more avoid the oncoming panic attack than I could stop breathing on my own. My body wasn’t about to let me off that easy. So I sat down in the corner, one strap of my tank top slipping off my shoulder, hair still dripping down my back, as the tears started. Then came the heart racing, making me feel like I’d run a marathon. And soon, the shortness of breath, the palpitations.

I clocked each symptom of my panic attack as they reared their ugly head, trying to will them away as I ticked them off like a checklist, knowing each time what would come next. When the sweats started, I sobbed in agony and fell over on the floor, laying there in a puddle of tears and soaked hair and sadness, wishing my body and my mind would just give me a fucking break already. Just one moment of this day needed to be easy for me.

But it never was.

I must’ve fallenasleep in that position, frozen in place, paralyzed by fear, because wherever this was, it couldn’t be real.

I stood in an old playground, too big for the kids in the center of it. Their faces were hidden from me, and as I reached out my hand to tap them on the shoulders, I realized with a start I was thinner than normal.

A quick glance at my body told me all I needed to know.

This has to be a fucking dream.

Teenage me stood in the center of the old, rundown playground with three boys whose backs were turned to me, laughing quietly amongst themselves. They sounded familiar but not; their voices blurred at the edges, like someone talking through a phone with bad static or yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

I knew those voices, but from where?

The boys started to move, and I gasped, realizing I’d be left behind if I didn’t move. But my feet wouldn’t go, wouldn’t carry me after them. They simply refused to go.

I sobbed again, a mournful sound filled with regret and longing, agony and loneliness. My body jerked forward and I fell to my knees, the painful landing sending a jolt up my legs and into my spine.

The boys had stopped in the distance, their laughter quiet now, their bodies turned to me. But their faces?—

Their faces were blurry, worse than an old nineties motion photograph. I wanted to close my eyes and open them again; maybe I was the one who couldn’t see clearly. But I knew that wouldn’t change a thing. They’d still be slightly out of focus. This was my mind playing tricks on me, like a cruel jest. I hadn’t been able to place the men from earlier, and now it would taunt me with the just-out-of-reach knowledge of their identities.

My brain was a fucking prick sometimes. There was no call for it to rebel on me like this, taunting me even in sleep. But here we were, and I was no closer to answers than I had been when I was awake.

One of the boys looked at me, the effect jarring thanks to the unfocused look on their face. I winced, physically recoiling from the ghost of my past. My feet still wouldn’t work, refusing to let me move, and I knelt there on the ground as he closed the space between us, reaching for me as a scream ripped itself from my throat when a knife appeared, and the face came into focus, the running grease paint of a skull running down his face?—

I jerked awake, sweat pouring off my brow. I was drenched to the bone and panting like I’d run a mile and a half in the middle of the summer. I couldn’t catch my breath; my heart was racing still, and I felt faint, though I’d only just woken up from a round of sleep.

Great, the panic attack was still in full swing.

What was it that therapist had said? Rules of threes. Find three things you can see, three things you can hear, three things you can feel. Or something like that.

I had to ground myself.

Let’s try this shit.I closed my eyes and willed my ears to work. They refused, the only sound the pounding of the blood in my veins.Okay, fine; touch first, then.I twitched my fingers in the carpet, relishing the feel of soft shag beneath my skin.

Okay, the carpet. I can feel the carpet. What’s next?I pinched myself on the leg, yelping when the skin recoiled and the pain set in.Okay, pain. I can feel pain. That’s good, at least.I turned my head to the side and felt the cool air from an open window on my face.Three, fresh air. I can feel fresh air on my skin?—

Open window.

But I’d closed and locked them all when I’d come in my room to prep my go-bag.

The panic shot up from a five to a fifty in the span of a heartbeat as I curled in on myself and scanned the room with my eyes, praying I didn’t see some unidentifiable shadow in the corner or something. I tipped my head a little and spotted the window on my bedroom wall—it was closed. That left only a few windows, and I’d have to leave the safety of my room to identify the open one and seal it again.

And really, what good would it do me? Clearly, the damn locks wouldn’t keep out the men determined to kill me.

---