Tied

My relentless scrubbing only increased the burning, the words dark and still as always despite the red-hot pain. I cut off the faucet and threw the washcloth down with a sigh, my old tank top (now used as a pajama top) tugged to rest snugly over the much-hated inscription. I had gotten ready for bed early, but I couldn’t quite give myself over to sleep. A dream could be waiting. Knowing the life of Joan of Arc, the visions and battles and the burning at the stake, it couldn’t be pleasant. Would I fall asleep one night to find myself in flames? Could one of us die in a dream? And Raven… Poe wasn’t exactly the model of carefree life either. None of our people had truly good lives. Why couldn’t we be tied to the freaking Beatles?

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the mirror, wishing for relief that didn’t come. A tingling started beneath my eyes. I knew what it was, knew what was coming, but I couldn’t stop it. Tonight was going to be one of those nights I cried myself to sleep. All my insecurities, all my fears- my family, disgusted by me for liking girls, friends growing tired of me, being rejected and hated and forgotten by those who I loved, my own God despising me- all these thoughts flooded in with the tears. I locked the bathroom door and, curling into a ball against the counter, rode out the wave.

In the midst of something more resembling drowning, the light brightened in my closed eyelids. It wasn’t quite seeing light as it was feeling it, the warmth and comfort. It grew steadily, at first relaxing, and I sank into it.

But it kept growing and growing.

Soon I was biting onto the once discarded washcloth to keep from screaming. My eyes were closed, but all I could see was white light so bright it blinded and seared itself into my head. Voices rose up, sweet words but in too high of a pitch. Soon they were yelling what sounded like orders, not angry but commanding, and no matter how hard I pressed against my ears it wouldn’t stop. They formed words. Act, and God will act. Act, and God will act. Joan, act, and God will act. Act and God will act and God will act and God will act act act act act God will act and God will act-

It lasted for what felt like hours before combusting in one blast of pure white, a keening sound erupting along with, the tiny handheld mirror beside me shattering. It was at that point that I blacked out.

I woke up a minute later. The whole ordeal had only lasted a few seconds. I covered my eyes and raced out of the bathroom, stumbling into the bed and a troubled sleep.

I was in a garden. It was spring, the birds singing and flowers blooming, but it was all subdued, hesitant. There was the sound of men yelling in the distance. My parents’ voices were a low thrumming leaking from the house, chanting a prayer.

The light crowded my vision, and I fell to my knees.

It was as painful as ever, indescribably so, but before long two women in white robes pressed cool hands to my forehead. “Sister,” they breathed, “we are here. You have found favor in God. He is pleased with your obedience.”

“I am ready for His instruction.” I whispered, bowing. “My saints, let His will be done through me.”

And then the light, the voices, the pain, lasting longer this time, leaving me writhing, cutting plans and prophecies into my eyelids.

I woke up to the shrillness of my alarm. My neck throbbed along with my temples. I turned on the light, faced the mirror, and pushed aside my hair with trepidation.

“Act, and God will act” flowed across the skin on the left side of my neck in tiny neat handwriting.

Holy -.

No.

A navy scarf was knotted around my neck and two advil choked down within thirty seconds. My makeup was rushed, but I couldn’t have cared less, ducking out to meet the bus without a single word to the rest my family. Carlos seemed to sense my mood and left me alone. The pounding in my head continued, most definitely a full-blown migraine, and every jolt of the bus released a new cuss word.

There’s no day like today, my music reminded me.