Tethered
It was the feeling -the thing I've dreaded my entire life: Wondering if I had finally lost my mind. Once the syringe was removed from my arm, I remember asking myself how -and why-I had let myself get into this situation. But, still, there was no denying my desire to help or my morbid curiosity of experiencing a mind on the edge.
I remember menacing faces contorted with anger; their mouths twisted with evil grins as they spew threats of the infliction of physical pain. I remember the instruments and fists and kicks that delivered on their promises.
I remember the paradox: screams of pain by some, simultaneously being drowned out by the maniacal laughter of others.
I don't know how long I was there. Hours? Days? Weeks? My unconsciousness was consumed by nightmares; my consciousness, warped by delusion.
I remember the hard, cold table. The feeling of chains and straps binding me around my arms, legs, and midsection; trapped like an animal. It was amazing, really, how my body was totally immobilized, yet my brain took me on the wildest trip ever -to places I never dared imagine.
I remember the sound of my own voice. Futile. Crying, begging, pleading for someone to hear me -to help me-to get me out.
And finally when I opened my eyes she was there. The one who has always been there. Her face looked tired. Tawny eyes glistened behind tears as worry gave way to relief. I felt soft, warm lips on my forehead.
"You're safe, Bobby. It's over," she whispered, choking back tears.
"Eames." I was so tired. It was all I could manage to say.
Slipping back into a peaceful sleep, I felt her fingers lace through mine and I squeezed her hand gently. I was back to the safest place I've ever known --tethered to the amazing woman who'd been my anchor for the past seven years.
THE END