I Would Kill For You

20. Dig Your Grave

❝ one need not be a chamber to be haunted. ❞

emily dickinson

I waited and waited and waited; and prayed that someone was going to laugh it off and tell us that this was one despicable prank. I stared at everyone in the room: at my mom, who was trembling slightly, her brown eyes shimmering with tears; at my father, who was squeezing his wife's hands in his own, his sight downcast; at the two sombre policemen and the doleful William Belfort, and finally, at Damian. 

He didn't look shocked; in fact, he didn't even look surprised. He was carved from stone, his face devoid of emotion, his black eyes focused on the horizon bleakly. 

They all looked surreal to me, and I wondered if I was dreaming. Perhaps I was still in the hotel, sleeping in the same bed as Damian, and this was a frightening nightmare. I wanted to wake up. Why couldn't I wake up?

Because I wasn't asleep. And this was real.

Avery Halloway is dead...dead...dead...dead...dead..., the policeman's words reverberated in my head like a broken machine, until his voice didn't sound human and they didn't make any sense to me. Dead. 

What did it mean, to be dead? Dead in our world and alive in other? Breathless, lifeless, but wasn't that how we feel too, at times? Does that make us dead? Because at that moment, that was exactly how I felt.

I felt the walls close in on me and my vision blackened, an opaque curtain wiping all the colour before me. I tried to breathe but I couldn't; it was as if my lungs ran out of oxygen and I was suffocating. My cheeks started to burn and I wobbled on my feet, suddenly losing balance. The others thought I was about to faint, and my parents leapt from the couch, but they didn't have to. I felt a firm grip on my waist that steadied me and turned me around. Although my vision was still blurry, I recognized his features immediately. I was face to face with Damian, one of his hands cupping my face as the other one trailed to my back, supporting me. 

"Breathe." he enunciated clearly but gently.

I shook my head defeatedly, trying to articulate that I can't. I let my whole body go limp, but he didn't even flinch under my weight. He held me in his arms in a vertical position, his tone much more authoritative this time:

"Rosabel, breathe." 

His voice acted as an alarm signal to my body. I gasped, taking a mouthful of fresh air, and then another one. I saw my parents running towards me, but I stopped them, raising my palm in the air.

"I'm okay." I stated with a quivering voice. "I'm okay." I repeated one more time. 

I was anything but okay. I was devastated, and afraid, and in pure shock. Everything was foggy and obscure and I just wanted to disappear, to feel anything but the growing chasm of nothingness inside me. I closed my eyes and buried my face in his chest, tugging at his already ruffled shirt. He was the only one who eased the affliction that weighed down on my heart like a heavy load, who made me forget, even if for a moment, where we were and what happened. He drew small circles on my back with his hand, and I felt his lips on the crown of my head. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I felt numb and I clung to him as if I were clinging to dear life.

"We understand how hard and unsettling this must be for you, but we need you both to come to the station." one of the policemen said.