Lost In The Silence

Chapter One

"Detachment is not the absence of emotion, it is the process of becoming one with the Oneness that is the Universe. To be detached, is to realize that the fullness of all there is, is too much to react to with just one emotion, one thought, or any bias. To be detached, is to acknowledge all, without owning any of it. To be detached, is to summon forth the whole entirety of understanding, to the fragment that is the void."
― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

It's been an hour since Howards and Penn left, I haven't moved from the dirty spot at the end of the dark alley that they left me in. I'm naked, huddled in the corner with my back against the rough brick wall of the side of whichever building this was.

Finally, I will myself up off the floor and am met with new waves of piercing pain washing over my body. My whole body is throbbing, begging me to stop moving so that the sharp aches that engulf me will dull out, but I don't.

I squint in the darkness looking for my clothes, on the floor a few feet away I see the oversized grey t-shirt I was wearing earlier.

With unsteady feet, I stumble forward, my shaky hands picking it up while I keep one hand on the wall to support me. I don't bother looking for my bra, my breasts are small enough for it to be mostly unnoticeable with the loose shirt hanging on my body. Besides, I don't think I could physically put anything tight around my body without it feeling like I'm being set on fire.

After I find my shorts and slip them on I think about what I'm going to do next.

I need help.

A voice echoes through my head reminding me of what Howards told me an hour ago.

"You can cry all you want but nobody's going to believe a little slut like you. You're nothing but a dirty whore with a nice little ass." He sneers as he zips his pants up, "I can make your life miserable, don't forget that sweet cheeks."

I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel my throat closing up, suddenly I find myself gasping for oxygen with my arms wrapped tightly around my torso, hugging myself. As I rock back and forth on the heels of my feet, I beg for this to be some twisted nightmare that will go away when I wake up. But it's not.

"Please," I muttered, "this isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. God please let this not be real. Please. Please." I croaked out into the silence, my voice barely above a measly whisper.

I cover my ears with my hands, this isn't happening. This isn't happening. This is happening.

After a few minutes I open my eyes and slowly uncross my arms. I need help.

I find my bag thrown across the alley and before I know it I take out my phone and dial 911.

They find me crawling up against the wall, knees pressed up to my chest with my chin resting on them, arms wrapped tightly around my body. For the first time since the attack, I'm completely still, lifeless almost.

The tears that had fallen from my eyes are long gone, my soul slipped away with them until there was nothing, in its stead is a glacial semblance that matches my body's demeanor.

My heart is beating with fire but my veins were filled with ice. Two piercing elements, so opposite and contradicting, that feel so different but are burning me just the same. It was the same as the rush of feeling everything- whether you wanted to or not- and feeling nothing simultaneously.

The imperfect balance.

***

"Ms. Ellings?" I turn my head to face the nurse calling me. Her name was Ally, she was a petite woman with fiery red hair and a subtle southern accent, probably from Georgia or Tennessee.