110
I didn’t know how long I lay there, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, my body shuddering violently as the wind whipped through me like I wasn’t even there, like I was just another piece of wreckage washed up from the storm. Time didn’t feel real. It stretched and blurred, minutes feeling like hours, the pain numbing me and sharpening all at once. My arms were stiff, my shoulders leaden, every muscle overworked, every nerve frayed. But I had to move. I had to get off these damn rocks. My son was waiting for me. My son needed me to fucking move.
I rolled onto my stomach, biting back a groan as the movement sent sharp, searing agony through my ribs. My fingers curled against the wet surface, my nails scraping uselessly as I tried to push myself up. My arms shook violently, barely able to hold my weight. I pressed my forehead against the cold, wet stone, gritting my teeth, forcing myself to lift my body inch by inch. My knees scraped against the rock, the fabric of my soaked pants doing nothing to protect my skin from the sharp edges beneath me. I sucked in a breath, clenched my jaw, and forced myself to crawl. One painful, agonizing movement at a time.
The rocks sloped down towards the water’s edge, and I knew I had to get back in. Not into the crashing, vicious waves, but far enough to swim to shore. My body resisted every movement, every attempt to push forward, but I had no choice. The moment my legs slid into the water, another violent shudder ran through me. It was colder than before. Or maybe I was just more aware of it now, now that I wasn’t fighting to survive. My arms ached as I began moving, my strokes weak, my shoulders stiff, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Every movement was pain, my muscles cramping, my chest tightening, my head pounding from exhaustion. The water pulled at me, dragging me down, making every stroke feel like a battle. My vision blurred. My lungs burned. My fingers felt numb, useless, as they clawed through the icy depths.
I don’t know how long I swam. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Time was meaningless. All I knew was the endless stretch of dark water, the numbing cold, the exhaustion sinking into my bones, weighing me down. And then, finally, the ground changed beneath me. My hands touched something solid. Sand. I could feel it shifting under my fingertips, soft and grainy. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled immediately, sending me crashing face-first into the wet shore. My body refused to cooperate, every muscle screaming in protest as I tried again, pushing up onto my hands and knees. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest heaving, my limbs shaking.
I had never felt so heavy in my life. The weight of the water in my clothes, the exhaustion pressing down on me, the sheer effort of pulling myself upright—it was too much. I collapsed again, my forehead pressing into the wet sand, my fingers digging into it, grasping at it like it could somehow anchor me, keep me from sinking back into the abyss. I turned my head slightly, forcing my eyes open, forcing myself to look back at the building looming in the distance. It looked so far now, like it was in another world, another life. The balcony was barely visible, but I saw her. A small figure standing there, unmoving, watching. Sophia. She was still there, making sure I had made it.
I wanted to wave, to let her know I was okay, but I didn’t have the strength. Instead, I turned away. I had to keep moving. I forced myself to my feet, my legs wobbling, the wet fabric of my clothes clinging to me, making every movement a struggle.
The city wasn’t far, but this part of it was secluded. I had a long way to go. My breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, my body still weak, but I pushed forward, step by agonizing step. The ground changed beneath my bare feet, the cold giving way to something even worse—the woods. Twigs snapped underfoot, the rough terrain cutting into my skin, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through me. The trees loomed overhead, their twisted branches casting deep shadows, making everything feel even darker, even more suffocating. I could hear the rustling of unseen creatures, the distant hoot of an owl, the occasional snap of a branch that wasn’t from me. The air was thick, damp, filled with the scent of earth and decay.
My vision swam. My body was beyond exhausted, beyond its limits. My breath came in shallow gasps, my lungs burning, my head pounding from the drugs they had forced into me, the drugs Adeline had insisted were to help with my “schizophrenia.” I could still hear her voice, sickly sweet, telling me I was sick, telling me I needed help, that the things I saw, the things I knew, weren’t real. But I knew better. I knew what was real. And I knew I had to keep going.
I stumbled, my foot catching on a root, sending me crashing to my knees. My palms scraped against the rough ground, my fingers pressing into the dirt as I struggled to push myself back up. I had to keep going. My son was out there. And I would not let them get to him first.
I forced myself forward, step by agonizing step, through the darkness, through the pain, through the exhaustion threatening to pull me under. I had escaped. But the real fight was just beginning.
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