Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [41]
I picked up one of the cups and rolled it between my fingers, swirling the last few drops of the juice over the thick clump of dregs stuck to the bottom. “The two of you look an awful lot alike.”
Brent nodded. “I’m still thirsty. You drank all my juice,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. He looked me over. “You still look pale. Want some more?”
I shook my head. “Water, no more of that juice. It’s awful.”
“All right. I spotted some water bottles in the fridge. I’ll go get those.” Brent laughed as he stood and disappeared into the locker room.
I glanced at the clock and it read ten-thirty. I sighed, thinking of how much homework I still had left to do before I went to bed. I picked up my purse, checking to see if I had any breath mints. My tongue rubbed the inside of my mouth, trying to get rid of the bitter taste. A tickle in my throat spread to my toes as the world blurred and shifted. Something slammed into my body and hurled me across the room, through the glass walls and into the groves. Trees, people, and buildings sped past me faster than a striking snake. When I hadn’t shattered the glass and sliced myself to ribbons, I realized I had astral projected. I landed prostrate on the ground with a thud; my stomach turned like it was seasick and my head felt fuzzy as I attempted to stand.
“What was that?” I asked myself, struggling to my feet.
“Yara!”
I spun around and my head felt like the inside of a blender as I found Brent standing beside me instead of back in the pool house. I noted with surprise that he had changed from his suit back into his school uniform.
“Get back to your body,” he demanded, his brow furrowing.
“How did you get here so fast? Why did you change?” I asked, trying to catch my balance, my hands flailing in front of me. I stumbled over my own feet, feeling unusually heavy, as my hands caught the limb of a tree, the leaves scratchily poking me. Feeling sluggish, like I was moving through sand, I stretched out my hand toward Brent, my entire arm feeling like it was bound in heavy shackles. For a fragment of a second the corners of my vision seemed hazy and my vision blurred like I was looking through thick glass. I took a step back to find an odd squishing feeling between my toes, a heavy sogginess in my shoes.
Brent stretched his arms protectively to my shoulders, his hand slipping on my slick skin now beaded with water. Lifting his hand he examined the moisture on his fingers rubbing it between his fingers, worry lines creasing his forehead.
“You have to get back to your body.”
My hair clung to my face and shoulders, plastered there by the chemically-laced water that was suddenly dripping from it. I felt . . . wrong, and once again my vision grew fuzzy. I tried again to breathe but my lungs resisted like my chest was caught in an iron cage that refused to let it constrict. I coughed violently, chlorinated water gurgling from my lips.
“Go back,” he begged, grabbing my shoulders, shaking them so hard my head rattled. Brent lifted my chin forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dark against his unnaturally pale coloring. “Listen to me, Yara, you’re dying. You’re drowning. You’ve got to reconnect with your body before it’s too late.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Please.”
The words he was saying seemed important but my mind was slow and unable to make sense of them. He kept murmuring about my body, wanting me to go back. This seemed important to him so I quit arguing and tried to obey. I closed my eyes, concentrating, trying to find the tether that linked my soul and body so I could reunite them but couldn’t find it, almost like the connection had been severed.
It’s not there, I thought, unable to speak, my eyelids drooping.
He scooped me up in his arms, holding me tight, running faster than a shooting star toward the pool. The lights were off when we got there, and the door was closed but Brent paused only for a moment to readjust me and raise his hand before the door popped open. Once inside, Brent ran to the edge and plunged us into the water.