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Relief floods my veins. At the same time, the pain reaches new heights. Crouched on the floor, I cradle my head in my arms.
Then a foot hits me in the side.
Gasping for air, I let my guard down, just asshehad anticipated.
Again, she tugs me by the hair, this time lifting me up until I’m on my knees.Herbreath hits my face. Hot. Moist. Hateful.
“Ma!” I hear myself wail. “Please, Ma…”
But my pleading only incitesherhatred. It can’t be any other way, because now her cool, slender hands close around my neck.
With a force that hardly seems possible, they squeeze. Robbing me of my breath.
“Ma!” I wail with the last bit of air I have.
But the vice-like grip of her fingers tightens, instead of slackening by a trifle as usual.
Everything goes black. My lungs want to implode and my ears echo with the thudding of my desperately pumping heart.
This timeshe’s going to kill me finally.
The realization lies down on my wounds like a cooling balm:
Then it’s over. At last.
The deep blackness inside me still darkens, and I give myself one last jolt.
I let go of what was still holding me back.
I cut myself off everything, and set myself free.
And finally, I let myself fall—
“Ouch.” Painfully and effectively at the same time, the impact on the floor ends the nightmare I’ve been spun into. Lying backward on the vinyl, I run my hand over the aching back of my head. With tightly closed eyelids, I try to sort out the wildly swirling jigsaw puzzle pieces in my head.
But they only lead me further astray.
Searching for orientation, I open my eyes, and a fraction of a second later, I’m staring into the brightly flaring ceiling light. “Fuck!”What’s that?
“Philipp?” A female voice. Nothers.That reassures me. “Oh my God, Phillip!” she squeaks in anguish. “What happened?”
Can this really be the one I’m hoping for?I try to make out the washed-out shadow to my left, but the fucking bright light still blinds me. “Celine?” I somehow choke out. “Is that you?”
“Oh my god. Oh my God.” She doesn’t seem to have heard me. A warm breath hits me. Delicate fingers stroke my body. “Are you hurt anywhere, Philipp?”
Squinting one eye shut, I can make out her face.It really is Celine. Which, however, poses the question,“What are you doing here?” Despite the stabbing pain in the back of my head, I let my one-eyed gaze wander. “In my bedroom?”
A short time later, my question is answered: Celine woke up from hearing someone—me—screaming for his mother. Then, when she perceived ahorrible boom, there was no stopping her. She had to convince herself that I was all right.
Which unfortunately does not seem to have succeeded so properly, if I look at her…
In the meantime, we sat down on the edge of my bed.
Celine has fetched a damp towel, which I press on the swelling bump on the back of my head according to her instructions.
Her closeness feels soothing, chasing away the last shreds of the nightmare. For a few moments, I even consider opening myself to her completely. To go all in, to stake everything on one card of her understanding.
She looks over at me. No trace of pity in her gaze. Instead, there is sympathy. Empathy.
