Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [18]
A hate-twisted face materialized in the mist while one of its slithering tendrils grew into an arm, with fingers stretching for me. A scream I didn’t even know I was capable of left my throat, echoing off the buildings in a terrified refrain.
A scraping that made my skin crawl resonated in the air, as its nails hit some sort of invisible barrier mere inches from me. Screeching, it pulled back, then attacked again only to ram into the same unseen blockade. Refusing to give up, it battered against it, higher, lower, faster, slower, trying to find a weakness in its defenses. Despite being covered by my trembling hands, my eardrums pounded, threatening to burst at the mist’s shrill cries of failure. Sensing its mounting frustration, I cowered, drawing my knees tightly to my chest, as the fear buzzing in my head grew louder. Then the whole entity attacked at once, circling me completely, its energy squeezing me momentarily in a breath-stealing vise before it was slammed back with a force that left me dizzy.
“Yara!” A familiar voice called. I spun toward Brent, who was waving his hands dramatically, trying to get my attention. His face tightened as he took in the horror in my eyes and the panic etched on my face, but his arms kept moving. “Over here, Yara.”
My lips were mouthing the word my fear wouldn’t allow me to voice. “Help.”
My eyes slid past him, seeking the mist, when an assault of wind stung my eyes, forcing them closed as an explosion ricocheted around me. For a moment I feared I had died. But the hard concrete didn’t transform into a billowy cloud; I didn’t hear heavenly angel choirs, accompanied by harps. It took several blinks before my open eyes believed that not only had I survived, but that the mist was gone. I had no idea what had happened and chose not to question it as my body sagged in relief.
The air in my lungs that had felt thick and heavy instantly felt fresh, like pure oxygen. Black spots danced before my eyes and my head felt light as the rush of clean air overtook me. The encounter had drained me of the ability to sit upright and I felt my body give way under the exhaustion. More softly than I would have imagined, I collapsed onto the concrete.
My cheek lay against the warm walkway as my body shuddered with shock. Tears coursed down my face, my breathing shallow. I had never felt more weak or vulnerable in my life.
Brent crouched down beside me. “What are you doing on the ground? Are you sick?”
“Did you see it?” I whispered, my voice crackling with fear.
“See what?” Brent asked, looking around. The angry blue bruise on his temple convinced me that answering truthfully would just reignite our old argument.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, suddenly wanting him to go away.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
Did he really want to know? I stared up at him. No, he doesn’t, I decided. Still, he looked at me expectantly for some sort of answer, so I nodded. Not because I was okay, but because that is what people do in situations like this— they muscle through it, cowgirl up. When people ask how you are, they don’t really want to know, they just want to hear, ”I’m hanging in there.“ I was not as strong as other people, I decided, as I sniffed back tears. My hand covered my mouth to contain the sobs that were bubbling in my throat.
Brent accepted my answer and started to reposition himself. I thought he was leaving, and a tug of war between abandonment and relief fought inside me. Instead however, he lay down beside me, his ankles crossed, hands laced behind his head, face to the sky and began whistling.
“Please leave me alone,” I muttered. He must not have heard me over the off key melody he was creating, because he didn’t move. Even though I was angry at him, that didn’t make me any less grateful. “Thanks for your concern but you can go.” I pushed unsteadily off the ground to an upright position.
He didn’t budge; the rhythm of his song swirled in the air, chasing away all of my fright and I found myself humming along to the old classic, “Can’t