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The gym pod is cool and quiet. James gets comfortable on the exercise mat.
“Let’s give it a try and then I can explain. It may be easier for you to understand what I mean after you’ve done it. I warn you though, it won’t be easy. You need to be strong. You’ll come under attack.”
No kidding.
Funny guy.
My eye twitches.
James squints at me. “I’d understand if you don’t think you can do it.”
I want him to believe I’m strong. Hell, I need to believe I’m strong. “I can do it,” I say.
“Okay, put your hands on your legs,” James instructs. “Good, now let your shoulders relax. Take a deep breath.”
I fill my lungs, slowly. One, two, three times until I feel an unnerving calm falling over me. My eyes spring open. James’s eyes are patient. I try again.
“Your arms are tense, Marci.”
I realize my fingers are curved, fingernails biting into my knees through the holes in my jeans. With difficulty, I let my arms wilt, till my hands slide limply to my thighs.
“Better.” James’s voice is calm, soothing and encouraging. “Now think only about your breathing. Inhale. Visualize the way your lungs fill with oxygen.”
I feel the air traveling from my nostrils, through my windpipe and into my lungs. They expand, pushing my ribs outward. I hold my breath for a couple of beats, imagine little oxygen particles traveling to my heart and exploding into my bloodstream to find homes in inaccessible corners of my body.
“Excellent. Now picture the way your lungs expel carbon dioxide as you exhale.”
My eyelids flutter with an intense feeling of relaxation and wellbeing. I let my lungs contract, squeezing out the spent air. My shoulders fall an inch or two, as my chest empties. Goose bumps roll down my back and sides. I feel like I could fly. Maybe I can do this.
“Good job. Keep breathing the same way.”
James lets me breathe for a few minutes. My imagination runs wild, picturing friendly oxygen particles floating in and winged CO2 flying out, ready to find homes in the depths of some faerie-haunted forest.
“Keep breathing, but now when a thought enters your mind, acknowledge it, then dismiss it.”
Immediately, my body turns into a taut bundle of nerves. This is where things went south last time. I wait for James to snap at me. Instead, his voice grows softer, sweet even.
“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Get your rhythm back and try it. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. I won’t let it hurt you.”
Yeah, right! What is he going to do to stop it? Perform a lobotomy?
I try again until I’m flying once more. Then, when my heart steadies, I bravely go for it.
I hope I don’t end up ...
A cup of coffee would ...
A shadow rises like a dark ghost in a dusty corner of my brain. My breathing changes. James’s voice pierces through the thickening veil of panic that’s beginning to envelop me.
“Relax. Re-lax.”
Quiet inhale.
You won’t break me, I’ll ...
Exhale.
The reason you ...
More air.
I’m not ...
Suddenly, a dark swarm of hungry locusts seizes my mind. Every single one of my neurons shrieks like terrified sheep pierced by hungry wolves’ teeth. Off in the distance, I sense a flailing body, tingling skin. I think it’s me. Shock and survival instincts jumpstart me into my usual defense mechanism. Thought-jumping.
Bugs Bunny.
Hazy smoke multiplies inside my mind, spreading, obscuring everything it touches. I feel as if a belt of heavy fabric has been strapped around my head, covering my eyes and ears.
No! No! Purple laven ...
The shadows take solid shapes. They’re strong. I sense their mocking, satisfied pleasure and, for the first time, I hear their thoughts.
– Fighting is futile.
Tart jelly bea ...
– Hush, weakling.
Xa ...
– You are ours.
***
I’M SCREAMING, WRITHING and kicking. My breaths are shallow, quick, painful. What should have been a scream leaves my throat in a hoarse moan. There’s a coppery taste in my mouth. The right side of my face feels wet. My body’s compressed by a three-ton rhinoceros, my mouth blocked by something hard.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” a voice says. “Shhhh.” The gentle air stream of a shushing sound brushes my ear. “Don’t cry. You’re safe.”
A warm hand rests on my forehead. My stiff limbs release, turning into limp wastelands. Slowly, I curl my body, caving in, wrapping weak arms around worthless legs.
When I realize I’m keening, I try to stop, but it goes on for a few minutes before I manage. Meanwhile, the tender words continue, the reassuring touch grounds me, makes me feel a bit safe. No one’s ever talked to me with such tenderness. No one except Dad. It’s been so long, so long, so long ago. I had forgotten.
Tears tiptoe past my lashes in silence, sliding from my left eye onto my right eye, and from there past my temple and into my ear. I feel so lonely, so unloved. I never knew I craved this warmth. I never knew I needed it.
“You’re all right, sweetie.” A female voice. Kristen’s. “You’re safe. Do you think you can stand?”
I swallow. It sounds like a frog got stuck in my throat.
“Here,” she says, removing the obstruction from my mouth. She hands it to someone else. It’s a brown leather wallet. James’s.
They hoist me to my feet and deposit me on a workout bench. There are two other people nearby. White spots dance across my eyes. I blink, try to clear my vision. Kristen’s face comes into focus. She’s kneeling next to me, holding my hand, searching my gaze with concern. James stands to my left, a deep scowl on his face. Rheema stands next to Aydan who holds a red cup with a straw.
“Would you like some water?” Kristen asks.
I nod. The taste of metal is on my tongue. I want to get rid of it. Suddenly, I realize my lower lip is throbbing. I must have bitten it before they stuffed the wallet in my mouth.
Aydan hands Kristen the cup. She holds it in my direction, steadying the straw as I lean into it. The water is ice-cold. It feels good on my lip. I sip and every time I stop the metallic taste returns. My lip’s still bleeding. It feels like I bit right through it.
“I’m sorry.” I hang my head and stare at the rubber mat.
“Don’t be silly,” Kristen says, as she hands the cup back to Aydan. “We all went through the same thing. What you’re trying to do isn’t easy. You were very brave.” She gives me a small, sincere smile.
“Rheema, would you mind finding something for Marci to eat?” Kristen says.
“No problem.” The oil stains on her coveralls jump up and down as Rheema jogs away.
“I don’t want anything to eat,” I say. My stomach feels like it’s the size of a pea. If I try to eat, I’ll throw up.
“You’ll feel much better if you do,” James says. “Trust me.”
I’m too tired to protest.
A moment later, Rheema comes back with a little basket. Inside, there’s a banana, an apple, a few cheese sticks, and several chocolate bars.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought a bit of everything,” Rheema says with a friendly smile. “I also brought an ice pack for your lip and this rag to clean the blood.” She hands the rag and ice pack to Kristen, then holds out the basket and urges me to grab something.
I settle for a small chocolate bar. Rheema takes it out, unwraps it and feeds me a bite. I feel like a baby. As I chew at sloth speed, Kristen cleans my face. The rag comes away bloody. She folds it in half and dabs once more. She keeps folding and repeating the process until it comes away clean.
“Hold this to your mouth.” Kristen’s green eyes shine under a worried scowl. She presses the ice pack into my hand. As the icy surface touches my skin, I flinch.
Rheema feeds me the chocolate until it’s all gone. As soon as a bit of my energy returns, everyone’s concerned gaze registers, turning my stomach into a pit of embarrassment.
A tangy sweetness lingers in my mouth. “What kind of chocolate is that? It’s good,” I say, trying to drive attention away from me.
“Oh,” Rheema says as she looks inside the basket and pushes the banana out of the way. “It’s Belgian. My favorite. It has a hint of orange in it. Here’s another one.” She hands me a perfect, thin square wrapped in fancy silver paper, stamped with a simple logo and no words at all. I peel it, pop it in my mouth and decide the luscious, rich taste is almost worth the embarrassment.
“Wow,” I say after a forced laugh, “I think that could cure just about anything.”
Kristen and Rheema smile. Aydan stares with his trademark scowl.
James pats me on the back. “The first time is always hard. You were brave and proved your strength.”
“Um, I guess I should be going.” I wobble to my feet.
“Not smart. You shouldn’t get on that bike till you rest for a while,” Aydan says, sounding like someone’s father.
I take a deep breath ready to argue, but Kristen cuts in.
“This isn’t an easy trick to learn, Marci. We all struggled with it and found it is best to rest afterward,” she explains in an understanding tone.
I look at her perfect red hair with her perfect high-end haircut, avoiding eye contact to conceal my displeasure. I don’t need her to tell me it’s okay to flail on the floor like a dying fish. It’s not. I’ve been able to keep this from happening since I was nine, since the day my mother filled the last prescription for a pill I pretended to swallow, since I stopped carrying an extra pair of underwear and pants everywhere I went. I’m not going through that again. Never.
“Meditation kicked all our butts,” Rheema says.
I meet everyone’s gaze, search for the lie. I come away empty handed. They’re telling the truth. It isn’t just me being weak because of my past and what I went through. They’ve all been through the same.
“After I found out I would be in control, though,” Kristen adds, “I never gave up. You’ll get it, but it won’t be easy. No one’s gonna lie to you about that. Just remember, you’re here because you’re strong. Because you beat your agent every day. You’ll master this thing all on your own. We’re only here to let you know there’ll be no more big battles after you succeed. You’ll be in charge.”
At the moment, I feel anything but in charge, so I cling to her words and pray she’s telling the truth.