Jay
I’ve spent the past few hours curled in a fetal position, hyperventilation and sobbing.
I curl into myself further and something pokes into my hip. “Ow!” I hiss, uncurling myself enough retrieve the small pocketknife from my pocket.
Yes!
I forgot I still had it. I could kiss myself right now.
You could end it all,my depression taunts. The suggestion is somewhat tempting. I’d be free, but then that’s one more person Casey will have lost.
I know I said I’m not violent. I’mtraumatized. There’s a difference. And when I get triggered—
Slowly, I rub my thumb over the flat part of the silver blade. My thumb gently presses its edge, leaving an indent as I hope it will relieve the urge to cut. It doesn’t. The pressure isn’t enough, and when it’s not completely alleviating, it amplifies my anxiety and need for relief.
Just this once...I think to myself and swipe the pad of my thumb over the blade. Like a papercut, it stings only enough to soothe away the thoughts. Finally, I can think clearly.
I roll out my shoulders and manually crack my neck, hyping myself up for a pep talk.
Alright, remember. You are not your trauma. What happened to you is only one chapter, not the whole story. Your issues are part of you but not all of you. You are a survivor who fought because you refused to let that be your ending.
I inhale the positive and exhale the negative. Okay, now to figure out how to get out of here.
I take a few steps to the window, standing as close to the wall as I can. High up on the wall is a squared window with metal bars.I don’t think I can reach it—maybe... ?
I grunt and jump, stretching one arm above me and posting the other on the wall, so I don’t face-plant.
Nope. Maybe I can . . .
I grow my talons and try to sink them into the wall. Bad idea. Instantly, I break a nail and clutch my now throbbing finger. “Ow!”
Popping it in my mouth, I suck on it to soothe it. Why is that always the first thing we do when it does nothing? Sure enough, the pain is still there. But I don’t want to dwell on it. At any moment someone could come, and I amnotdying down here.
I’d have to saw through the bars without opposable thumbs. It’s a problem of being able to fit through a small window in wolf form. So, that’s out of the question.
“There has to be a way out of here.”
I scan my cell and land on the bucket meant to be my toilet.
I lift a brow.
“That could work.”
It’s deep enough that it could give me a boost. I rush to retrieve it and flip it upside down.
Good thing I haven’t used it yet.
I perch one foot and shift my weight, testing it’s stability.Seems sturdy enough.
Feet planted, I brace one palm and crawl my other fingertips up the wall, teeth clenched on the blade. On my tiptoes, I stretch as far as I can, but I’m still too far. Jumping, I grab for the bar and try to hold myself with one arm while sawing with the other. Close to an actual grip, my fingertips just barely brush against the bar, and I lose my footing on the way down.
I cry out, crashing to the floor, the bucket flips, and the knife clanks to the floor. I land on my side.
“Agh.” I clutch my shoulder as I roll on the floor biting back a scream and settling for a deep groan.
I lie there for a few minutes, waiting for the pain to subside while I contemplate what the actual fuck is my life.
A light appears in the stairwell, halting my train of thought. The sound of footsteps and a horrible scraping sound, like metal on stone, follows.
