But it's something.
"Yes." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "Walk with me. I'll keep you safe. I promise."
She doesn't respond.
But when I take her hand and pull, she follows.
One step.
Then another.
Her movements are mechanical. Robotic. Like someone programmed her to put one foot in front of the other but forgot to install the rest.
I guide her toward the broken door.
The hallway is empty.
Blood on the carpet near the stairwell.
I don't let her look.
"Eyes on me," I say. "Just me."
She obeys.
We move.
Marina
His hand is warm.
That's the first thing I notice.
Warm and solid andreal.
Everything else feels like static. Like someone turned the volume down on the world and left me floating in the silence.
But his hand is warm.
I hold onto that.
We're walking.
I know we're walking because my feet are moving. Because the floor changes from carpet to concrete. Because the air shifts from stale apartment to cold night.
But I'm not really here.
I'm somewhere else.
Somewhere safe.
Think of something good.
The voice in my head sounds like my mother. Like the woman who used to sit on the edge of my bed when I had nightmares and stroke my hair until I fell back asleep.
When things get bad, think of something good. Something you're looking forward to. Something that makes you happy.
I've been doing this since I was six years old.
