Page 17 of The Promise

Roman?

Karine wanted to call out his name—call for him—but her voice didn’t want to work. She couldn’t speak, only keening cries falling from her trembling lips even as she tried to suck in gulpfuls of air to calm the raging currents of her emotions. The only thing she could do was breathe. Though it didn’t help to make her feel like it was enough, she was still able to do it.

So, she did.

Rapidly filling her lungs with air as much as she could, it at least kept the black smog from filling her vision entirely. If only it did something for ... everything else.

The crawling on her skin.

The noise in the room.

Any of it.

All of it.

But it didn’t.

She weaved her fingers through her hair before dragging them down her face.

Karine was sure she’d been standing up, but now it was as though she couldn’t stop from sinking. Her knees bent without permission. It was more than just gravity pulling her down.

Then, there were the voices.

Clearer than ever.

Scared, and vicious.

She didn’t know where they came from except that they were inside ... inside her. They were a fading echo. A younger voice, a girl’s—she was sweet, her words kind, but she sounded desperate all the same.

It’s okay, Karine. We’re okay here. It’s okay.

She could almost imagine the small hands of the girl stroking her arms and back every time she tried to comfort her.

Overlapping that voice was someone else’s. An older voice—still female—that she couldn’t place, and didn’t feel like she knew quite as well. She was snappy. Angry. Get a hold of yourself, Karine. A commanding voice.

One she should listen to.

Except Karine couldn’t do anything.

The voices filled her head, their words too sharp in her ears, and she couldn’t think straight while they battled for attention. Even covering her ears and asking for them to stop didn’t help.

Why was this happening?

On the floor, fists shaking against her head, rocking side to side to soothe how overwhelmed she was, Karine found at least there, it didn’t feel like she was falling. Nothing else helped. The voices just kept getting louder, bouncing off the walls and filling the room.

Who are you ... who are you ... who are you?

Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

Worse, was that they spoke like she did know them—or that she should. They apparently knew her.

She no longer recognized the elements of the bedroom. Where did all the furniture go? Even the walls disappeared when she tried to look up.

Sometimes, in intervals, searing pain ravaged her feet. Once, when she looked down, the bloody mess smeared across her ankles and legs finally brought the floor into focus. She couldn’t quite comprehend the pain, or why she was feeling it, though. The reason for the blood barely even registered.

None of it settled in her brain long enough to understand—as fast as the thought landed, it would soar away. Her ears, filled with those voices, rang again until she was begging for it to stop.

“No. No. Please ... stop.”