Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Twenty

Twenty

Immediately, I rushed over and shook her. She lolled back and forward like a doll, groaning.

“How could you?” I shrieked at Father, blazing with fear. He pressed the emergency stopper again, afterwards placing his head in his hands.

“Isabella, I’m sorry,” he murmured. Mother’s eyelids slowly lifted to reveal bloodshot, stony eyes full of hatred.

“This is how you repay me.” She didn’t seem to be asking a question. What was she talking about? Father’s brows furrowed and his back became rigid. Mother closed her eyes. I shook her again but they remained closed. No, no, no.

My throat became invisibly strangled by panic, jaw dropping down, the rest of my facial features creasing up until my vision blurred and head pounded. I made a fist, ready to smash and smash the emergency bell until we were rescued.

Instead, I felt my corset tightening; my ribs and lungs were being sucked in, the walls around me getting narrower, squeezing me between them, trapping me forever. I got to the point where I couldn’t breathe and something was aching in my throat, everything spinning. I barely heard Father say ‘not you as well’ before passing out into a world of blackness, the piano toppling into me and the strangled chords that I had jabbed ringing in my ears as I swirled round and round and round…

For the second time that year, I woke up in hospital. The walls this time were pale blue, whilst the sheets were softer and natural light streamed through the arched window at the end of the long, narrow, high-ceilinged room. I gulped, as the Zeppelins swam into my view. The de ja vu was bringing the memories back.

“You’re awake.” I turned my head. Mary was sitting on the curving metal frame that bordered the bottom of the bed. The worry lines on her face relaxed as I gave her a weak smile.

“Is Mother?” I asked instantly. It must have taken her a moment to realise I’d meant was Mother awake but because she didn’t reply, I pressed on at her. She jumped off the bed, body trembling.

“Mary!” My voice’s pitch was ascending and I leaned forward to scan the occupants of the other beds. Mother wasn’t one of them. I winced, as the bruises on my back stretched. John’s fists flying. The Zeppelins flying. Flying, flying, flying…

“Is she on another ward?” I croaked, eyes still swimming. Mary shook her head, closing her eyes as tears fell from them.

Oh no, Oh no, Oh no. My heart pumped faster and dread filled my body, a painful ache. I seized the courage to ask if she was dead, throat dry, fighting my tears.

“No, no!” Mary wailed, shaking her head vehemently. I sighed inwardly as the stones weighing my heart down were replenished with anger flaring at the tips of my fingers. This was exactly why I disliked Mary. How could she make me believe that?

I threw myself off the bed, striding around it, ready to slap the life out of my sister. Gasps from patients nearby filled my ears as I poised my hand, burning with fury.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I thought I heard Emma say. The cut on my cheek seemed go burn in remembrance of her slap.

I spun around on the gleaming, dark wooden floor, vision blurry from flashbacks. Emma Aleksandrov was standing right in front of me.