Mrs Jones (GxG)

15. {Like a dying fish}

Julia's POV

Emilie took my Pandora bracelet and disappeared. That was six hours ago. For six hours I've been stuck in this containment box. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and vibrancy of my home. It was a cube of reinforced glass, about six feet on each side, situated in the corner of Emilie's dimly lit, well-designed basement. The walls, transparent yet unyielding, gave the illusion of openness while simultaneously serving as an impenetrable barrier. The box was devoid of decoration. Its only furnishings were a cot with a thin mattress and a blanket that provided minimal comfort. A single overhead light cast a clinical glow, its harshness a constant reminder of the box's true purpose. Containment and control.

For me, being confined within the glass walls was a disorienting experience. The transparency made me feel exposed, as if my struggles were on display, yet the enclosure itself made me feel isolated, cut off from the world I knew and loved. The cool touch of the glass against my back as I pressed against it was harsh and cold. I felt like a specimen under observation, my every move scrutinised, my every emotion amplified by the box's echoing acoustics.

The air inside was still, almost suffocating in its silence. I could hear the muffled sounds of the outside world, but they seemed distant, as if filtered through water. The containment box was a place where time seemed to stretch and bend, where minutes felt like hours. Now I knew why Amelia said I would lose my shit in here, because this was far more terrifying than suddenly falling into the earth's crust. Especially knowing what the box represented. My loss of control. It was a constant reminder of the moment I failed to protect my son.

The guilt that gnawed at me was suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides just as the glass walls did. My tears have dried on my face on repeat. Drea and Alex were in there with me. She refused to leave me alone after what happened and she refused for him to leave her sight.

We were curled up on the small cot in the corner. It was barely off the ground, but it was comfortable. Grace had taken a couple of blankets down for us in case it got a bit chilly and in case Alex needed to nap.

I felt like an awful mother. My heart ached every time I looked at him. With each glance, I could see him falling through my hands again. I could see him about to hit the ground and could do nothing to stop it. I watched and I was useless. It started off like every other morning. Drea got up and made me breakfast before she got ready for work. Alex and I sat in my bed while he fed and then we played a bit before his nap at ten. I felt no different. Nothing felt out of place. Then, as I was about to take him to his crib, a wave of lightness washed over me and a distant feeling, as if I was losing touch with my body. It didn't feel like it typically does when I pass out from low blood pressure but I also knew that it felt different each time.

So I thought I was about to pass out. But instead of passing out, as I stretched to lower him into the crib for his own safety, he went splat on the ground!

I winced at the memory. He hit his face so hard against the hardwood and I know that must've hurt because it hurt to just look at it. Now, he doesn't trust me, paranoid that I'm going to let him fall again and how do I assure him otherwise?

Tears brewed in my eyes again.

"Julia, stop," Drea said softly from next to me. She used our joint hands to pull me into a side hug. I embraced the softness of her body, relieved that I could feel her again. I thought I would go mad when I went straight through her --when she went straight through me. I fought to suppress the unpleasant memories. Instead, I tried to focus on the softness of her body, the warmth. She played softly with my hair and a second later, I felt her lips against my forehead. "Stop blaming yourself. Okay? None of this is your fault."