Within These Walls

Life After Dark: 5 (WTW Sequel)

(Updated every Sunday)

Hours after I fall asleep, I bolt awake in my makeshift bed, fighting for my life. Strong hands hold my arms and stop my struggles, but the speaker's voice is gentle when he says, "Relax, Rose. Relax and breathe."

That explains the burning in my chest. I try to suck in a deep breath. "I--I can't. I can't breathe!"

"Yes, you can. Open your eyes and look at me."

My heart is pounding harder than I can ever remember it doing. It's unnatural and scary, like it'll explode any minute. Fighting to take in miniscule amounts of air, I blink until I get a clear image of Marcus kneeling beside me on my sleeping bag.

"You're having a panic attack," he says, letting go of my arms once I stop struggling. "That's all. There's nothing wrong with you."

It doesn't feel like a panic attack. It feels like someone has a vice grip on my airway, and I'm rapidly suffocating to death.

Marcus lays a warm hand on my stomach and continues in a gentle tone, "I want you to start taking deeper breaths. Feel them here, not your chest. Nice and slow. Focus on that and forget about everything else. Don't worry about the heart attack you think you're feeling, because that's not real either."

He walks me through it, timing my inhales and exhales and asking me to relax different muscle groups as I slowly climb down from the panic attack. My muscles are quivering with fatigue by the end of it. I collapse back on my sleeping bag, relishing each sweet drag of the chilling early spring air, disappointed when Marcus removes his hand and straightens up.

That's when I notice the noise in the background, the murmurs as my companions grumble about the loss of precious sleep and the inconvenience of having to put up with my constant antics. Clearly this panic attack isn't the first or even the second I've experienced.

"Willow," Marcus says, turning to her as she sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. Her curly blond hair sticks out in all directions. "I thought the hypnosis was supposed to stop these nightmares."

That's when it comes back to me. The reason I woke up so violently. I was buried alive in my nightmare, surrounded by thick, shifting dirt, not able to move an inch, not able to see in the encompassing dark, not able to breathe. And not able to scream. Shuddering, I curl up on my side and try not to remember the awful details.

"I thought so, too," she says tiredly. "I thought her nightmares and subsequent panic attacks were a product of stress. But maybe they aren't."

Marcus flings out his arms in apparent annoyance. "What else would they be?"

It's Willow's turn to be angry. "How would I know? I'm not an expert."

"No, but you promised she'd get better." He looks at me, the now familiar disgust and resentment simmering in his eyes, before turning back to Willow. "This isn't better. She's still a liability. I won't be around to talk her down from the ledge every time. Find a way to fix her."

He stomps off, leaving behind a clearly exasperated Willow. I feel like I've been sucker punched. For a few minutes, I completely forgot how much he hates me. The mood between us felt like it was before. Especially with his use of the nickname he gave me back at the facility. Rose. I took it as an insult when we first met, but overtime it became a term of endearment, a glimpse into the way he viewed my visible outward appearance and my hidden flaws and embraced me for both of them.

And once again, things are different between us. The affection has evaporated like water on a melting sidewalk: gone without a trace, like it never existed.