Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R E I G H T E E N ~

Clatter. Clang. Bang. Boom.

More such noises follow. I press my hands to my ears and block them out. Each syllable of these noises threatens to freeze my heart. They're still there. They won't go even if I press my hands to my ears harder. I sigh and look at the ceiling, trying to push the tears back again. It's my new trick- if I feel tears pooling in my eyes, I look upwards and the tears spread over the surface of my eyes and they suddenly back down. I start fanning my eyes to quicken the process.

Blackness sets over me as I shut my eyes. Not just shut- I shut them with all my eyes, almost clenching them. A myriad of colors and shapes take over as usual. In the dark room, even the ticking had a relaxed feeling, as if it was a heart-beat at rest. The air flowed over me as if it were the coolest of waters. The darkness in that way was a sanctuary, a place to recharge and forget the things the world said had to be done. So, in the darkness that stole even my own form, I was content to let the darkness pass and awake when light streamed in with its bold confidence. There was something in the darkness that was like a promise, like the world before dawn. It was a room as a canvas rather than a finished work of art.

Black spots swirl in my vision. I feel lightheaded. My lips feel chapped. I feel thirsty. My body aches. The lightheadedness soon turns into a kind of electrifying pain that I am not able to handle. I start gasping. I want to open my eyes, but it feels like someone has glued my lashes to my cheek. I struggle. I fight against the oblivion that threatens to take over.

"Can you hear me?"

I can. I want to say I can. But then again, I don't want to. I squint my eyes, clenching them closed. I don't want to wake up to such disturbance and chaos. I hate it. My parents are fighting. Again.

"Isa?"

I want to relieve others, but then, my heart wants to feel selfish and shut up. A few more moments of silence. I want to be swallowed up by the darkness. I want to become whole with the darkness. I want to forget. I want to emancipate myself of the knowledge that I exist.

Who am I? Who is this 'I' that we're talking about?

"Stop trying to wake her up. She'll wake when she feels better," I hear more hushed voices, "It was mild. It's okay."

"She's been out cold for hours now, Nico," he rasps, almost basking between hopelessness, worry and angst, "And we still miss pieces of what has happened. WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN OUR SECURITY DEPARTMENT DOING?!"

His raspy voice had a deep timbre, the kind that anchors your soul a single moment in time.

I try to flick my eyes open. They won't.

The bantering has stopped. The air once again embraces my skin like a long lost lover. I feel drunk. My head dances between a peculiar feeling that can't be called lightheadedness or heaviness. The darkness belts out a sweet melody, captivating my senses, leaving me wanting more.

I cough. The thirst is too much to bear.

"Isa?" I hear the annoying, concerned voice again.

"Shut-" I cough again, "Shut the fuck up, will you?"

I sit up and rub my eyes. I feel my hands being pried away from my eyes. A soft, wet cloth is dabbed at them. "You shouldn't rub your eyes."

"Shut up," I murmur. I open my eyes. Everything is slightly blurry. My face distorts into one of annoyance, until I can finally see everything.

No, not see.

I'm clueless.

"It's my house," I hear Wolfe murmur. He sits by the side of me on the bed. Nicolas sits on a stool by the side of the bed. I pick up the glass on the bedside cabinet and drink from it, hastily, in desperation. I flinch at the sudden onslaught of bitterness on the top of a parched throat. I cough even more and place it back on the cabinet with a loud thud. Apparently, the liquid bounces out of the glass and falls on the table, some on my hand too.