Tied

After a long, rough night full of nightmares and endless tossing and turning, I awoke with a dark feeling sitting heavy in my gut. The dim memory of the painting last night plagued my thoughts, but it was slowly overwhelmed by everything else. There was a familiar twinge of pain emanating from midway up my back, and I felt a sudden but strong urge to just cut all of my skin off. When sleep refused to return, I rolled out of bed, landing on the floor with a thump and a muffled moan. It was early, at least half an hour before I actually had to get up for school. At least it was Friday. We had a study period at the end of the day, so Raven, Rhea, Zhenia and I could meet to discuss our truly fucked up week.

Deciding that there was nothing to do except go ahead and get ready, I forced myself to my feet. Every movement made my back ache, like I had pulled a muscle or something. Dragging my last semi-clean long sleeved shirt out from underneath my bed, I prepared myself to face the possibility that this was only going to get worse. There was something about this morning, some feeling of wrongness permeating the air, that reinforced the idea. It made me shudder.

Before slipping the shirt on, I turned to the full-length mirror on my door and squirmed to see what fabulous new addition to my skin was annoying me so much. With the help of my phone, I was able to make out another rectangle of paint, this time an image of a hand holding a dagger, another hand above the first, apparently holding someone down, and bright crimson spurts of blood. “Judith Slaying Holofernes” was tucked beneath in the hollow between my vertebrae. Jesus Christ. Why couldn’t I get a pretty, nonviolent painting again? Sure, there weren’t many peaceful works by Artemisia Gentileschi, but the universe seriously needed to cut me some slack.

Dad was already up and in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee while squinting at the newspaper. I ignored him and slammed a couple pieces of bread into the poor, innocent toaster. Dad looked up at the noise, studying me. “You know,” he said carefully, staring at my long sleeves, “if you have a rash or some sort of ailment, we can get something to fix it.”

“I do have an ailment.” I muttered under my breath. “It’s called being related to you.”

“What?” he asked, leaning forward to hear me better.

“Nothing.” I flashed a bright, thoroughly fake smile at him. “It’s just a… a bet between friends to see who can last the longest in the heat.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t sound healthy. Are you sure these people are really your friends?”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother to answer. As soon as the toast popped up, I stuffed it in my mouth, washed it down with bitter coffee, and ran upstairs. The bathroom was surprisingly still empty. It didn’t bother me, even when Zhenia should have been up for ten minutes. It didn’t bother me five minutes later. It didn’t bother me ten minutes later. All my tired brain could think was that it was nice to have some alone time in the morning.

I should have known.

With that horrid feeling of foreboding still swirling around in my gut like a tornado on steroids, I should have known.

And yet, when the scream shattered the morning stillness and tore my life apart, I was somehow surprised.

“Zhenia!” My mother was desperately crying, “Zhenia! He won’t wake up!”

I ran into his room, heart in my throat. “He won’t wake up!” She was shaking him, calling out in panic. “Oh God, he won’t wake up, and his pulse- it’s so slow- he’s barely breathing!”

The floor beneath my feet dissipated. I was falling, and there was nothing to catch me. Everything was a white blur. I couldn’t breathe. My heart slowed until it matched his, trying to find the rhythm, trying to find him, trying to pull him back.

The entrance of my father jerked me out of my haze. “Call 911!” He turned toward me, gripping my shoulder so tightly I gasped in pain. “Aurore, for heaven’s sake, call 911!”

I was suddenly in control of myself again. My feet couldn’t seem to move fast enough as I raced to the nearest phone. With barely maintained calm I stated the emergency and address, praying to God, no, begging him, that they would be fast enough. When the ambulance came moments later, it felt as if an eternity had passed. Dad went in the ambulance with Zhenia while Mom and I followed close behind in our car. Mom was shaking, tears pouring from her eyes, lips moving silently in what I assumed was a prayer. I dialed first Rhea and then Raven’s numbers with trembling fingers, breath catching at every unanswered ring. When Rhea finally called me back, I wasn’t prepared for the emotions that surged out like water overflowing a dam.

“Rhea.” was the only word I could get out for a moment.

There was a pause filled only with static, and then she replied. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, God, Rhea,” I was holding back tears, struggling to regain my composure. “Something absolutely horrible has happened.”

“Aurore, what is it?” her voice wavered. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“It’s Zhenia. He wouldn’t wake up this morning. He was barely breathing. I think he’s in some kind of coma.” Saying the words out loud made them feel real, and I wished with all my heart that this was nothing more than a nightmare.

“What hospital?” Raven asked.

“St. Andrew’s, on 5th Street.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” I stuttered out, chest tightening against my will.

“Of course.” Rhea paused again. “Aurore, everything is going to be okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” I hung up with a sharp click, clinging to the lie with everything I had.