Desperation hit us hard, both of us delirious—a lack of sleep and a continually mounting pressure the cause.
Brando tricked me, at first. He pretended to be asleep, and after I thought he was, I drifted. Not long enough that I left him alone for too long, but still, sleep came to me in warm waves.
Fifteen minutes later, I busted him. I refused to sleep after that.
We were turned inside out. We would discuss the time I had spent under and things he had on his mind, just long enough that it would grate against our exposed wounds. Other times we’d argue over trivial things. The remainder of the time, silence engulfed us.
We hadn’t staunched the gaping wound that continued to bleed, and therefore, the distance lingered. Not as far, but still too far for us.
The building pressure only served to thicken my anxiety. I’d had six attacks since we arrived—including my first—and needed the pills for two. After that, I found that I could separate from myself, almost look at the situation objectively. The power to corner the feeling and then hypnotize it into peace with the sound of music was mine.
I hummed then, staring above at a stingray skimming the outside of the room. He seemed to smile, body waving, and I wondered, through mixed renditions of “Ever the Same” and “Kiss the Girl,” why I assumed all stingrays were male. I took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. The panic rose. I wasn’t sure if music was going to help tonight. I could’ve been drowning in the vast sea above with how weightless I felt, but with all the major weights attached inside. No ebb and flow. Stagnant in helplessness.
We were a touch away, yet the swirling current kept us apart.
It has been said that drowning is the most peaceful death. I wondered if that was true. In reaction to the thought, my heart beat faster, rising all the way to my throat, blocking my airway. I tried to hum and ponder my way through this attack, ignoring my body screechingWE ARE ABOUT TO DIE!
“Jesus,” Brando said, running a hand across my forehead. “You’re wringing wet!”
“I—” My voice came out shaky, breathless. “I’m—”
“You’re not sleeping enough.” His tone was bitter, almost resentful, as if I had caused him more grief by doing the exact thing he did.
“Look who’s talking!” I snapped, not really meaning to.
“Do you want one of the pills?”
“No,” I said, hotter than before.
“It’s different for me, Scarlett. I didn’t almost die. You’ve gone from sleeping your life away to not sleeping at all.”
“No?” I laughed, the sound resentful, matching his tone. “Could’ve fooled me,Fausti.”
He muttered something about Tito giving me the letter and how I was never supposed to see it. That wasn’t what I referred to though—I was referring to the moment we were in.
He rose and then disappeared into the bathroom for a moment. He brought back a damp cloth and made me sit up. He forced me forward, took a seat behind my back, pulling me to his chest, but not before he placed the cool fabric along my neck.
We both became quiet. I switched to “Part of Your World.”
“What thingamabob?” Brando said, stroking my head.
“Could be anything.” I shrugged. “It’s part of the song.” Sadness that had been threatening my treaty line inched up then. I knew it was only a matter of time—for him and for me.
The cool cloth seemed to bring my temperature down. The rhythmic stroking was hypnotic, and so was Brando’s smell—like home.
Brando put a hand to my chest, feeling the beat of my heart, and made a noise deep in his throat that made me tense. “You need those—”
“I’m going to breathe through it,” I said, my voice belying the internal hysteria. I’d had my fill of pills, and besides, they made me sleepy if we just sat around.
A while after, my world looked exactly the same. I hadn’t died. Even the stingray hung around, his smile reassuring. Finally, my insides quieted, but the attack left me drained. I was so tired that all I wanted to do was cry or shout, or perhaps tear out of my skin to find an escape. The last thing I remembered before giving in was saying, “I got twenty. But who cares?”
I woke in such panic, in such desperation, that my hand shot out, reaching for safety. My eyes naturally looked up. The water had turned dark, and a silver shark glided through it. In search of—
“Oh God,” I cried.WasI awake or still asleep? I wanted to wake up, more than anything, I wanted to wake up.Just wake up, dammit!
“Look at me, baby. Look at me. It can’t hurt you. It’s out there. We’re in here.”
“Brando?” I sobbed.
