I’m home. I’m safe. And I’m finally alone.
And all the tears I’ve been steadfastly holding back start to well up inside me.
I can’t cry. I blink back tears and try to breathe but it feels like my lungs aren’t working. A wriggle of panic twists inside me.I have to breathe.My hands start to tremble and my eyes sting. A sharp, painful sob escapes me.
Oh, God.
People died. People are hurt. And it’s all because of me.
I can’t bear it. The weight of it presses down on me, constricting my chest, blurring my vision. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to soothe the pain slicing through me. I fight back the tears, swallowing thickly, breathing shallowly.
I can’t cry. I can’t give in to it. I have to stay strong.
Thank God this meltdown didn’t happen when the others were here. If I’m going to fall apart, it’s better to do it now. Except… this is scary. My heart is beating so fast, I feel it in my chest, an erratic rhythm. Maybe I’m having a heart attack? My fear escalates.
Now my head is buzzing and there’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears. When I look around, the room spins. I can’t catch my breath.
If not a heart attack, then I’m going insane.
Maybe I do need someone. I need help. Should I call an ambulance? God, no! I’ll just die here in my apartment, alone. As if that won’t cause pandemonium. But at least I won’t be around to deal with it.
I stretch out on the couch. Maybe lying down will help. I’ll stay very still.
I’m hot and sweaty, shaky and nauseous. I can’t handle this. What is happening?
And then, through the roaring in my ears, I hear knocking. I swallow, my mouth and throat Mojave Desert dry. Now my brain is making knocking sounds! I’m having a stroke. Or a seizure?
The knocking sounds again. Oh, I know. It’s the ambulance I didn’t call. They’re here to help me.
I roll off the couch and stagger to the door. I’m so out of it I don’t even peer through the door viewer, I just open the door and slump against the doorframe. “Help.”
A man steps forward and I fall into his arms. His strong hands feel reassuring. My vision is so dark I can only see pinpoints of light in the center. My legs disintegrate but muscular arms hold me up, then lift me. That does not help the head spins.
He carries me into the living room, pauses, then continues, and seconds later I’m gently laid onto softness. I try to moisten my mouth, making smacking sounds with my tongue, my eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” the voice says, a hand coming to rest on my forehead. “Are you sick?”
That voice… I know that voice. From my dreams. I fumble around and grasp an arm. “I don’t know,” I choke out.
“You’re fucking scaring me,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry.” My heart is still sprinting recklessly. My lungs are spasming. I drag air in with a wheezing noise.
“Don’t apologize. Christ.” He smooths hair off my face, touches my cheek so gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Nikki. You’re okay. Just relax.” He rubs my shoulder, takes my hand in his and holds it firmly. “Relax.” His voice is low and steady.
“I can’t. I’m dying.”
“No. You’re not dying.” He strokes my hair. “I won’t let you die.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do. My lungs ease a little and I pull air into them. I blink my eyes open. Things are still blurry, but I see him now, sitting on my bed beside me.
Marek.
I stare. “Am I dreaming?” I whisper.
“Maybe?” One corner of his mouth quirks.
“You’re here. For real?”
