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That’s impossible.
Impossible.
I feel so tired, so weak, so confused.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it refuses. The fog remains, mucking up my thought processes, interrupting everything.
From outside the door, I hear voices.
“Will she be ok?” my mother’s voice is anxious.
“Her hold on reality is tenuous.”
It’s a murmur that cuts through my panic.
I pause, halting all movement, not even breathing. The whisper comes from the other side of the door.
“No, I don’t want to do that. Not yet.” The voice is hissing and firm, and it can’t be real. There’s no way. I’m frozen as it envelopes me, as reality slithers further away.
“We have to. She wouldn’t want this.”
Confused, I stare at the wooden planes of the door, at the grain.
Is this really happening?
Or is my mind playing tricks on me?
I gulp and draw in a shaky breath.
“Anything could send her back over the edge,” the familiar voice cautions.
“That’s why we have to handle her carefully.”
Handle me?
The door opens and I look up to find three shadows looming over me.
My father.
My mother.
And someone I can’t see, a faceless, nameless figure lurking in the shadows. I peer closely, trying to see if it’s him, even while knowing in my heart that it can’t be Finn.
It’s impossible.
I scoot backward until my spine is against my brother’s bed. I’m a skittish fawn, and they’re my hunters. I’m prey because I’m in danger, and I don’t know why.
But they do.
“Calla,” my dad says, kindly and soothingly. “You’re ok. You’re ok. But I need you to trust me right now.”
His face is grave and pale. The air in this room is charged now, dangerous, and I find that I can scarcely breathe.
I brace myself.
Because deep in the pit of my stomach I feel like I can’t trust anyone.
When I open my eyes, the room is empty.
