Gasping, I surge above the water. I dash the water out of my eyes and stare at the bathroom tile, honing in on a spot where the grout didn’t quite fill between the ceramic. As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, I don’tknowSeth, not really. Hell, I don’t know anything. I don’t know myself, and I certainly didn’t know Tom. With a groan, I lean back onto the edge of the tub and rest my head, scooching down so that my mouth is barely above the water. Each breath fans the surface, creating ripples upon ripples. My pulse is speeding now, so I try to focus on what I can.
First off, Tom. My fuckface of a neighboractuallykidnapped me. Should I have had Seth kill him earlier? For some reason, there’s no doubt in my mind that he would have, if I had asked him to and that terrifies me. How much free will does Seth even have? Does he have any choice but to care for me? Hell, is his very existence contingent uponme?
No. Shit.
I’m supposed to be thinking about Tom, because Seth is too big to tackle first.
When I think about him, it’s inevitably intertwined with Seth, because do I wish Tom was dead? Yeah, sort of. A part of me shrinks away at the admission because I shouldn’t want that. I’m not God, I don’t decide who lives or dies, but in this one specific instance… I did. And I did—I do—wish he was dead. But… I don’t want Seth to do that. I’ve already made him do so many things—countless things—I couldn’t let that be another.
The knowledge settles on me and calms me a modicum. This one time, at least, I didn’t force him to do something.
Tears leak out of my eyes, spilling on my cheeks and eventually dropping into the water. All of it, everything that has happened, is so big, somassivethat it feels impossible to comprehend. Logically, I can think through the things that have happened to me, but it feels like I am looking through a window into someone else's life.
I can state that my nightmare monster was real.
That I was kidnapped by my neighbor.
And I can cry about it.
But I don't know what to do about any of it.
Because sitting here, alone in my bathtub, the enormity of it feels like it's going to swallow me whole. Even though I know I'm safe, my mind doesn'tfeelsafe right now. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle a sob, because I don't know if Seth is in the next room, or if he's gone back to the dreamworld never to be seen again.
The foundations of my life are not shaking, not crumbling—they've simply disappeared. When nightmare beings are real and can come into your house and bake you cookies at night, how is there any hope for a solid grasp on reality?
I know that I need to see someone, I know that I need to talk to someone, not only about my fears and everything that happened to me before but also probably about everythingthatishappening to me. Seth came to help me when I needed him, but at the moment I'm having trouble even comprehending his existence. I need to speak to someone about—no, I can't.
Like I am a crash test dummy in a safety simulation, it slams into me.
It's too late.
I can't talk to a therapist.
Because I can't tell them any of this.
My mouth falls open, and I search the room frantically with my eyes as if somehow the softly rounded corners of the subway tiles will grant me a way out of this.
I shake my head, because I don't want it to be true. I've avoided talking to a therapist for too long, and now? Now, I can't tell anyone any of this.
There are probably rules, I imagine, about not telling humans things like this. But more specifically for me, talking about any of this to a therapist feels like a great way to have a grippy-sock vacation. All of it would sound like one massive delusion.
Even if I don't want to be alone anymore, I am.
I sit with it, the knowledge that my isolation is no longer self-inflicted. Now, it's mandatory. Before, it felt temporary, and I could control some of it. But now, I could work up the courage to leave my house, and I'll still be alone forever. Because I'll never be able to share what I know with anyone.
My tears stop. The water grows cold. And slowly, the numbness settles in.
I so desperately wanted to rejoin the world, and now I don't know that I will ever be able to.
I stare at the wall, not really seeing anything, not really hearing anything, and so Seth startles me when he pokes his head in. At first, he smiles, but it falls off of his face when he looks at me. “Princess?”
I open my mouth and close it repeatedly,like a fish, but I don't even know where to begin or how to explain what's going on with me. I look up toward the ceiling, throwing my head back, wishing that I still believed that there was a god who could grant me strength. The tears start again, and because I have my face to the ceiling, one of the tears drips down my cheek and drops into my ear.
“AAAUGGGGH!” I growl and claw at it, because suddenly it is the most uncomfortable thing I have ever felt in my entire life.
That one stupid tear is every bad thing that has happened that I can't deal with.
So fast that it shouldn't be possible, Seth is beside the tub and scooping me out of the water. He stands me on the rug, and I belatedly realize that I'm making it sopping wet. He grabs a towel and wraps me up in it, scooping me up to cradle in his arms.
