Open Heart: Second Year {On Halt}

Chapter 27- Psyche

The same day, after being subjected to far-out and capsized looks by medical professionals of Edenbrook, I headed home without uttering a single to word to any soul. Ethan secluded himself again in his office to investigate further about Gwyneth's mysterious disorder. Secretly, I thought we had a new admirer of Instagram. Or...temporary admirer anyway.

Back at apartment, my roommates were already asleep except Jackie who had night shift for the week. Ignoring the protest in my limbs, I forced myself under the shower and let the cold water take away fear and revelation. I was not going to think what happened under water. I could not think about it now...not when my sanity was misplaced. Not when a crack had occurred in my vault which needed to be repaired very soon.

My head is showing me so many things now a days...making me hear voices and see stuff which is unreal. Am I becoming like...?

I turned towards the long mirror which was affixed on the white-tiled walls and faced myself. Running a scan on my body, I noted for any, any subtle difference I've been ignoring for the past two weeks.

Verily, I looked same if not a bit healthier than before. I used to be on dainty side, but at least now it seemed my body angles have filled in. Being short was not blight, irrespective of how insecure you were made to believe. Trust me, when it came to life...your body measurements were the last thing you needed to ponder or change. My hair reached my waist, thinner than before but long silky chestnut now drenched enough to make me feel like a waiffin lost from one of those Norse mythology worlds. My face...yeah a bit changed. Fuller cheeks, rosy coloured...brown-green eyes under the spell of eternal dark circles. Porcelain skin gone pale...nothing else. Nothing else.

The cuts in my legs weren't that bad and they had already begun healing at an alarming rate which was astonishing when you considered blood-clotting mechanism of your system. Traitorous mind gave me a lull to look down further— further down to my feet which were small and fair—hiding the scars that once upon a time they were shattered into thousands of churned bones.

Don't think about it too. Just don't.

This was worst thing about post-drowning. You just couldn't keep yourself from thinking back, way back when you really wanted to drown and die in order to escape being beaten to pulp. If Sylvan haven't had picked me out of water that night, I would've surrendered to the sea...never waking to see this day again. It was something I never talked before...I had this dangerous tendency to forget things. Forget memories. Incidents. Even people. Forget them altogether like you'd erased them from your mind completely. Brainwashed. And in my case? I just pushed them inside the damned vaults which were mocking me for my failure to uphold a promise to keep it locked. One had broken completely already last year and it mocked me for my weakness. It mocked me for my remembrance.

It wasn't until when a calm breath coming from the windows touched my skin to make me realise that I was out of the bathroom and was standing near my bed, in the middle of my whole world dripping water from head to toe like a frozen effigy. One hand of mine was clutching my neck in fear and the other, fisted down to earth.

I decided it was high time that I talked to someone who probably was wondering about my current whereabouts. It took me a few drippy steps over the puddle towards the stand where I picked my phone and ran wet and wrinkled fingers on screen to dial Aunt Mia's number. Her shifts never remained fixed since she was head of Oncology department at Weill-Cornell, but she'd made time for me always before. She knew how important it was.

Still standing, I listened uninterested to the automatic call recorder ranting about safety precautions at airport and international travels before call was received.