Story Excerpt - Count Down And Breathe

1947 TA - Ahlden

"Hey, hey, look at me,” His hands were on my face, and their stark difference distracted me from the ghost hands I could feel. The long hands that were always warm wiped the tears from my face, and I could no longer feel the cold blooded, stubby fingers that had invaded my mind, “Can you see me?” I nodded, he smiled, that no teeth smile that made him look a bit like a frog, “What else can you see?”

“Smile,” He nodded, “Eyes,” Anything beyond mono-syllables was beyond me, and so was the ability to see anything else other than Rory in front of me, my glasses had shattered, I tried gesturing, but my arm wouldn’t move, “Blur,”

“Anything else?”

“You,” Technically, I had already said this, but my vision beyond two feet was comparable to staring through a misted mirror.

“What about hearing, can you hear anything?”

“Breathing,” Two syllables was an improvement, “There’s a fly,” Three was even better, I could feel myself slowly recovering, but I still felt split between two times, and behind all the noises I could hear him.

“What else, just two more things, that’s all,”

“Clock, it’s loud,”

“It is loud, isn’t it? I’ve always thought that,” My shaky breath allowed a small laugh to escape. It was an obnoxiously loud clock.

“Your voice, it helps,” Four syllables.

I was out of it, but truthful. His voice, it was akin to a melody, drowning out the vulgarities on the edge of my mind, slowly pushing them further and further away.

“Can you feel anything?” Any other time I would have just glared. Of course, I could feel things, my leg is in constant agony, and he should know that I would give anything to not feel anything. The stupidity of some questions always feels like a drill to the brain, but as I have already stated, I was quite out of it.

I could feel the hands from the past, but I knew I had to focus on now.

“My leg,” It hurt, especially as my cane had been broken, and I didn’t have direct access to my medication, it was burning like fire, but so were the ice-cold hands, “The radiator,” It’s ridges were sticking in my back, it was cold, for a radiator, the heating must have been turned off.

My breathing was back to normal, and the hands were fading.

“One more thing you feel,” He was still holding my face, making sure that I wasn’t looking away, or dropping my head, but I was regaining my rationality, and why on Racë would I say that. I conveniently ignored my earlier confessions.

“Dizzy,” It wasn’t quite what he asked, but anything else I could feel was drowned out.

“Alicia-“

“My name’s Felicity,” I corrected him. My new name had meant a new life, a happy house - I wasn’t Alicia any more. She died in that alleyway. Her funeral had been the day I took my sister, my dear Lily, and ran away. Alicia was a scared teenager, who couldn’t stand up to her mother. Felicity was a grown woman with a sister to protect, and a world of people to help, “Felicity’s still alive,”

“Six and seven syllables,” He was counting them too, he took one hand away, and the cold returned.

“Don’t,” I reached up, trapping his hand, “Please, he’s not -  he’s not gone yet,” Eight. He stopped and slowly gathered me into a hug. I’m not a physical person, I’ll hug Lily, but that’s it, even Cassidy’s sensitive about my dislike of physical contact, and I’ve never seen Rory interact with anyone more than a handshake. Toni would tell me to stop being so intellectual, and just feel for once. So, maybe…

It was nice. Short-lived, but nice. As I’m sure Rory had calculated, it helped. I knew the rest of the method, going through it in my head. Two things I could smell, and one thing I could taste. I could smell the coffee that permeated this room, and some of Antonia’s tea, the civilised woman that she is. But what could I taste?

Salt.