Blade

17- Plague of Fear

The scream that heralded my waking must have reverberated throughout the house.

Nausea was the next thing that assaulted me, inducing such a dizziness that I stumbled all the way to the bathroom, gripping frantically at anything that offered a sense of support.

The world was spinning like a top, blurring everything into a mess of smeared colors and shapes. My fear had kept me from turning off the lights before going to bed. Now I regretted it. The illumination only worsened my disorientation.

I made it to the bathroom just in time before emptying all the contents of my stomach into the WC. My hands trembled as I gripped the round edge of the basin like my life depended on it.

My hair hung over my face, obscuring my vision and getting caught in the torrent of vomit. How that much food had stored in my stomach was a mystery. Dad had only managed to get two spoons of mac and cheese into my mouth yesterday.

It took a ton of effort to keep from sobbing. But I knew I mustn't cry, or I would end up choking…That would not at all be a pretty picture.

Every breath worsened my nausea, but I had to keep breathing if I was to stay alive.

I slid to the ground, struggling to find balance in my overturned world.

My entire body was still trembling, and the nausea did not lessen.

I stared down at my hands. At least they looked solid…

Terror made my eyes widen and my heartbeat picked up pace. I completely forgot how to breathe in a matter of seconds.

There were scars across the knuckles of my right hand and one long one across my palm.

“No no no…” I whispered frantically, my chest constricting. Laughter rang in my ears, loud and taunting. Andrew's laughter. This time, the tears were unstoppable. “No. Get it off!" I yelled in panic.

Yes. I know. It made absolutely no sense. It wasn't like scars could be pulled off like paper tape. But my mind was in such a mess that reasoning was unreachable.

I stumbled to my feet, Andrew's voice following me as I dragged myself to the hand basin.

“No…” I sobbed, grabbing my soap bar and scrubbing aggressively against the whitish slashes in my skin. That also didn't make sense, but I didn't realize that. "Get off. Please, no…"

I was in a state of utter panic, screaming and sobbing at the same time. My usually pale skin reddened drastically as I scrubbed even more aggressively.

“Rachel!"

Suddenly, dad was next to me. I hadn't heard the door unlock. I paid him no mind, scouring my palm even harder.

Dad grabbed my hands, gently trying to pry them apart.

“What are you doing?" He asked in a controlled voice. I sobbed harder, not stopping. “Rachel, you're hurting yourself."

“Get it off dad… " I pleaded, my left arm growing weak.

“Get what off, baby?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

“The scars!" I screamed, hysterical tears accompanying the words.

“Rachel." He tried to soothe me, holding me securely while slowly pulling my hands apart.

“No!" I tried to slip out of his grasp, but he held me firmly.

“Rachel, baby. I need you to calm down…”

"I can't…"

“Rachel. Look," he told me, placing my right hand beneath the running water of the tap, rinsing the lather away. “Rachel…”