He offered me water before, but that was ages ago, back when the crash of adrenaline kept me wide awake and sharp, able to watch his every move. Now, I almost wish I’d taken it. My mouth is cracked and dry, my tongue like sandpaper shoved between my teeth. Swallowing feels like dragging a razor down my throat. I try not to show it. I won’t give him even a flicker of satisfaction.
But really,really, he knows what he’s doing.
Next, he lights an incense candle in the center of the room. It’s far enough from his electronics, far enough from me not to choke on it. Just enough for the scent to linger, gentle, almost pleasant, even beneath the mold and mildew in the air.
And it’s the worst kind of pleasant.
Lavender, like my mother’s garden. A touch of sage. Something soft and calming.
The kind they use in massage parlors to lull people into sleep.
And fuck, it’s working.
Even as I fight it, trying to track his footsteps, focus on every beep from his machines, my eyelids keep dropping. My muscles go slack in the heat, drained of the last scraps of strength I’ve been hoarding. I grit my jaw, try to move my arms, try to remember pain. But even that starts to blur beneath everything he’s set in motion.
Soft smells. Warm room. Familiar things. And a steady rhythm to his madness.
I breathe through my nose slowly. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Focus on something, anything.
A single sound. A single thought.
Sabine.
Sabine.
Sabine.
I can’t go under. I won’t.
He settles into his chair, spinning the pill bottle in his hand, watching me from beneath heavy lids. His eyes are closing for entirely different reasons than mine, and it unsettles me.
I’ve been to war so sleep doesn’t come easy to me. But this man operates on a different level. To think he hasn’t even napped since I came here terrifies me. I keep thinking he will break eventually, but it’s never coming.
“You really do make this more pleasant,” he says after what feels like another eternity. “I appreciate how hard you fight the sleep. I mean it. You keep trying to stay present, no matter what.”
“You do too,” I reply slowly, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I try to moisten it. It doesn’t help much.
“I do,” he says with a nod. “But I thought I might give you one last bit of rest before the end. A little oblivion before there's no turning back. It's meant as a gift, not a challenge.”
Whatever ritual he’s playing out in that rotting mind of his, it’s dragging both of us in.
He’s just as exhausted as I am. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept, hasn’t even left the room once, not to piss, not for anything, since I got here.
“Thanks, but I’d rather not,” I say.
“Well, that’s your choice.”
He leans back in the chair, eyes half-lidded, still spinning the pill bottle between his fingers like it’s a coin waiting to land. My mind fills in the rest.
Tails—Sabine dies.
Heads—Sabine still dies. Just slower.
“How about I tell you why I do this?” he asks. “Since you plan to stay awake anyway.”
I don’t have the strength to answer. I just accept that he’s going to talk and keep my eyes on him.
