Tied

(Warning: vague mentions of violence/abuse)
The images came in sharp fragments, flashing across my eyelids and falling away into oblivion.

A man, older than me by some considerable years, his white apron splotched with paint, smiling.
The same man screaming in uncontrollable anger, hands raised.
My easel kicked over, splintered on the floor of the workshop, paper fragments fluttering in the warm breeze from an open window.
And then blood.
My blood.

I woke from the dream suddenly, breath coming in harsh gasps, and collapsed into tears. All I could see were the horrible images, no, memories, nailed to my vision. My stomach tilted, and with shaky legs I dashed to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. When I pulled away, my hands were covered in blood.

It took me a few seconds to recognize that the horrible scarlet was in fact paint. Even so, I curled into the fetal position, waiting for my lungs to resolve the battle for air. Not real, I tried to tell myself. It wasn’t real. None of that was real, only a dream. Not real. I’m safe.

The paint took a long time to wash off, staining the sink red as the water carried away some of the fright. A few minutes more and my hands, though rather pink, were mostly free of the substance. My heartbeat returned to something resembling normal.

And then the words on my stomach made themselves known, and I immediately returned to the toilet.

As long as I live I will have control over my being.

They presented a curious mixture of mocking and reassuring, but at the moment only pain was bleeding through. It was so much worse than last time, burning my skin and unsettling my stomach. I threw up at least three more times, the words fueling my disgust, before falling asleep on the floor with my arms shielding my stomach.

“Aurore?”

I woke up to the foggy image of my mother standing in the door, harsh light flooding my little safe haven. I couldn’t focus, but I was pretty sure the clock on the wall read 5 o’clock. “Don’t feel good.” I managed to grate out. “I wanna stay home.”

“Of course dear.” She leaned over me, feeling my forehead, and I flinched at the contact. “You don’t have a fever, but you can stay here. I’ll e-mail your teachers for the work you’ll be missing.”

The few steps back to my room seemed like an odyssey. Everything hurt, especially my abdomen, and all I wanted to do was climb in bed and sleep for years. It’s strange. Sickness rarely affected me. In all truth, I couldn’t afford to miss school. And now, with the dreams, I needed to be there with my friends. However, my body told me it simply wasn’t going to happen today.

I paused at Zhenia’s door, opening it just enough to see in. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, but his breathing was steady. For once, I envied him.

The bed welcomed me back into its embrace. Mom had placed a trash can beside me in case I got sick again. The pain had subsided a little, but not enough to actually fall asleep. Not that I really wanted to sleep. What if I had yet another dream?

I sent a couple of quick texts to Raven and Rhea, explaining my absence in as few words as possible, before sighing and face planting into the pillow. This thing didn’t seem like such an adventure anymore. If it was fate calling my name, then I wanted to ignore it.

As long as I live I will have control over my being.

And yet, it felt as if every last bit of control was slipping away. We were free-falling into the unknown, and there is nothing to catch us.