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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐢𝐭
𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜
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H E R
Patrick died that night.
He got sick and died. Just like that.
And when he came back, he killed. I didn't know how many and I didn't know who.
A dense fog of uncertainty enveloped me, shrouding my senses in a disorienting haze that muddled even the most basic of thoughts. Like a weighty anchor dragging me into the murky depths of despair, I struggled against the relentless pull of heaviness that threatened to engulf me whole.
With each labored step, I felt as though I were wading through treacle, left adrift in a sea of confusion and fear.
Seeking refuge from the tumult raging within, I stumbled upon the water containers, their cool surface offering a brief respite from the chaos that raged within. Yet, even as I sought to steady my trembling breaths and clear the fog from my mind, I found myself confronted by the harsh reality that clarity remained elusive, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
I dropped onto my haunches under all the weight and pressed my hands against my ears, as if to ward off some loud noise. Struggled to breathe. Eyes shut tight.
The waves were receding, leaving the shore rocky and sharp.
What if Mika died?
What about Lizzie?
Or Beth?
Carl?
Carl?
Carl. My stomach tightened and if I had anything in there, I would've vomited right then and there.
The last time we spoke, yesterday afternoon, I was mad at him. Over him taking some stupid photograph. Oh, God. I remembered the hurt in his eyes.
Carl was my friend. Maybe even a closer friend to me than Patrick. Was that anyway to treat him? Avoid him for the rest of the day? Made a point of having Lizzie sit next to me at dinner, leading him to sit with some counsel members? I had gone out of my way to be petty for absolutely no reason. And now, he could be dead. Dead and I wouldn't even know it.
