Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

43 | Reach

I wake up. For a moment, I'm disappointed I do.

I open my eyes sluggishly, white lights hovering above me. Where am I?

I am in a hospital. I am alive.

My vision rises from the dark like a corpse rising from a grave. Clarity works away to revive it. White lights, cream walls, a white bed, white sheets covering my entire body apart from my right arm which I'm not sure I can feel. I almost don't recognize it, it's almost as pale as the sheets. My lips are parted, drier than they've ever been, warmth wrapping around them as I exhale. My forehead is wrapped and once I grasp my senses, I can tell that my fingers are too. There's other things wrapped, but my touch is warped and everything I feel is clashing. I'm weak.

My throat is empty, the air dries it out. My body feels shredded, my chest is rising in a slow rhythm. My vision finally clears up and I see a nurse with a bandage wrap in her hands, a close-eyed smile on the part of her face I can see. I hear the voice for the first time since it echoed in my nightmares.

"Hana." She says.

Mother is to my left. Crystal clear, sitting down. Stern-faced and sturdy.

"What happened?" She starts.

She expects me to speak, but I don't know if I have a voice anymore. It's lost in ruin. The panic of her presence overcomes all my sensations of relief and comfort, it pulls them out with the tide. Her features are carved into my skull and I see it again. She's here, she's tangible, and she's already pressing me with questions I can't even ask myself.

I'm trapped again and this malfunctioning body no longer aids me. This hospital is a prison and I feel trapped all over again. If she is under the same roof as me, I feel a claw somewhere inside my body. Her voice rings again.

Disappointment.

The moon. The white of the moon shines. I see it outside the panel of the window. It's night time again. I'm back to that night again.

How long have I been here? My stomach sinks.

"Hana." My mother calls again. I wish I had the fuel to say anything, to fend for myself.

My chest rises a tad bit faster and all of a sudden, I spin down the spiral. I'm spiraling again.

My senses heighten. Scents are stronger, lights are brighter, things feel rougher. I walk on a globe of glass, and now I've stepped on a shard I can't pull out. It's excruciatingly sharp that I feel the pain in my chest and my limbs. Bleak darkness creeps into the rims of my vision. It's a curtain ready to close this scene.

I'm hyperventilating and looking up. Looking away from them. Running. My nostrils flare and suddenly my chest is ripped open. It's taking up room and swelling, swelling larger and larger. I lose count of my pulse and the rhythm in everything. I resurface and I'm pulled out to sea again. I let go. I escape.

My breath is out of control, I won't partake in taming it anymore.

I want to be free of these responsibilities for a while. I seek asylum in the perfect white of the ceiling, avoiding the horror in the faces around me.

Corners, streaks, and surfaces interlacing together to form the four walls that trap me again. I can't find one corner to hide in.

I look to the nurse at my right, my eyes peeling open wider. Understand me. I hear the nurse urgently plug tubes and flip switches. I almost push out a scream. The loss of energy makes my eyelids droop.

Save me.

My head moves back into my pillow, teeth vibrating against my skull. The frame detaches from my face and my organs drown. Cold plastic is strapped onto my face and my eyes flutter shut.

The last I feel is a rush of air into my mouth and nose. A colder rush with a more artificial taste. My chest steadies and I step out.

I'm back to the silence of the dark. I've sunken into my pool of peace, where no echoes or terrors can reach me. I missed it. I thought that this is the haven I've been waiting for, where nothing from my reality can touch me, where my thoughts leave me alone to mend my own wounds. Where I do nothing, say nothing, eat nothing. Where I don't have to be anything but a regenerating soul.

But the one echo from the world says otherwise, a faint voice that sounds familiar to my brain. It's me, before she can let go. She calls to me, checking if I'm still there. If I'm still alive. She speaks in my ear before the voice folds itself out of existence. Two words that throw me down to rock bottom, an epiphany. A realization so cold I clutch at my body for warmth.

Save yourself.

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Author: 🌪