Page 39 of Ethereally Tainted

“It’s okay,” is the only thing I can come up with to say, not nearly enough, but it seems to be for her.

“Can I hug you? Mom taught me to always ask before embracing someone, just in case they got uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” I swallow a lump in my throat as she lays her arms over my shoulders. “Your mom seems like a good person.”

“She was.” Rebecca gives me a sad smile. “I see that you are sad, and it’s okay. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, it will all be fine in the end. Life is tough, and life goes on, but the pain is always there, but that’s okay because the scars we carry are proof that we survived the tough times. The scars of the tough times are proof of the battles we have won, and confirmation that we can survive anything. I believe in you.”

And as if on cue, her words have me crying again, and I let her embrace me because that is the only thing that can keep me upright at the moment.

For some unknown reason, the meeting with Rebecca made me, for just a second, accept all the awful things that have been done to me and those I have caused. In spite of all that, it can never change the fact that I am the monster my mother created and that I have found peace in the world’s chaotic, evil atmosphere because that is all I have ever known.

Chapter 15

Naya

Every day blends intoanother; one day, two, and then three. It’s an eternal cycle. Wake up, eat, sleep, repeat. That is my current reality, and I hope it won’t stay like this for the remainder of my life. I won’t be able to handle it. The days pass in a rush, and I struggle to stay on top of them. I spend every day in my room cocooned in darkness, illuminated only by the sun as it rises. A thick, impenetrable silence has overshadowed me for the last week as I’ve kept solitude.

Ray was the only one who knew the shift in my emotions, and he was the only one to offer me company. I am impressed with how he is so attentive to all the patients around him, and how he shows them the same respect they show him. Every day, Ray visits my room to ensure I’m doing well and brings me food to keep me nourished. He reported me as unwell to Alicia Lewis and Emilio Ricci, which meant I didn’t have to attend their scheduled appointments this week.

I haven’t been able to leave the room since I encountered Rebecca last week, and it’s probably because of our intense conversation, which has left me feeling completely disoriented and lost in my thoughts during the past few days. Her words tore open an old wound in my chest, but it was also a wound that needed to be ripped open, dripping with blood and stinging with pain, for it to heal once more, creating a new scar not as full of pain. Acceptance, yes, that is what this is.

On the eighth day of self-imposed isolation, I hesitantly open my door as the stale air of my room slowly settles around me. I need to take a shower, and then I have to look for Rebecca.

As I leave the bed, I’m met with aching throughout my body–a consequence of being in bed most of the past few days. All I did was stare out the window. Although the view from this window is simply of a few trees and grass, compared to the seventeen months I spent in Grimhill Manor, it’s a much more inviting sight, and that’s why my eyes are so captivated by it.

Stepping over to the closet, I retrieve a new pair of clothes and a towel hanging there in preparation to head to the shower.

I take a few moments to be still and listen to the air conditioner’s gentle hum while inhaling deeply before I finally take the plunge and step out. Ray stands at the far end of the corridor, his piercing gaze fixed upon me, his back upright and unyielding. I walk toward him, and his lips smile professionally as he nods his greeting. His hair is short and dark, styled close to his head, and one can see the shape of the earpiece he wears to stay connected with other guards.

“Are you feeling alright?” He takes me in, and his first words are gentle and filled with worry.

I tilt my head in answer, and his lips curl up into a satisfied grin. “I’m going to shower.”

“Go ahead.”

I hurry to the showers in wing three and am welcomed by the clean, refreshing scent of the recently washed tiles. The bathroom is clinical and cold; the showers are surrounded by booths with draperies providing a modicum of privacy. Being in a public place like this, surrounded by strangers who can pull away the drapes and see me naked, is deeply unsettling. Luckily, no one is here at this time, and I choose the booth furthest from the door. I undress before stepping into the shower, letting the cool water cascade over my body in a soothing gesture. The lukewarm water is barely bearable as I shampoo my hair and hear the droplets dripping from the showerhead. At Grimhill Manor, showering was a privilege if we behaved well, but even then, hundreds of children shared one shower.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that the only thing that pulls me out of my reverie is the dimming lights until they’re extinguished.

The surrounding darkness is so oppressive, it’s like a heavy fog that I can almost reach out and touch. Fear courses through my veins as I turn off the shower, terrified that someone else is in here deliberately trying to spook me. I stand still, waiting in the quiet, feeling my heart thumping in my chest. As I strain my ears, I struggle to contain my breathing, fearful that I may miss out on any sound outside, yet all I hear is tranquil silence. The panic is so intense, as my heart is pounding, my blood pressure is low, and my breathing is shallow.

My name is Naya, I’m twenty years old, and I am not crazy.

The overwhelming feeling is creeping into my thoughts, leaving me feeling like I’m losing my grip on my sanity. Maybe they are here, Frederick Grimhill–the master of torture. Or maybe the court is here, ready to collect me like a prize. Or maybe I’m backthere.

I am immediately taken back to a time when I’m thrust into darkness without any hope of escape, and my mouth opens with a primal need to yell until my voice is gone. I can almost hear the haunting notes of the piano drifting through my mind, reminding me of a time I wish I could forget. A time I desperately want to forget because if it hadn’t happened, perhaps I could have lived an ordinary life.

It’s still dark inside the bathroom, and I hear running water from the faucet. I shiver as the cold water trickles down my hair and naked body, pooling on the floor.

Drip, drip, dripping.

And that familiar feeling of being trapped comes back, a sense I know all too well but one I’ll never learn to accept. I’m not in the shower anymore. No, I’m stuck in the pitch-black darkness of a closet, and I feel the warm blood around me and the metallic smell so strong it feels like it’s imprinted onto my nose.

The air is still and silent; I don’t even realize that I’ve been holding my breath until my lungs scream for oxygen, and I gasp for it, desperately trying to draw in that life-giving oxygen.

A palpable darkness surrounds me, crushing me in its murky depths.

And suddenly, there are voices outside, calling to me and haunting me.

---