45
Nell
Lea sobs, too wracked with pain to even curl in on herself.
My throat is parched, my vision swimming. I try to move—but nothing happens. I’m still groggy, but the pressure on my wrists sharpens into focus. They’re pulled taut, stretched to either side of the bed. It takes a moment to register; I’m bound. Arms and legs tied down, spread-eagling me to the bed.
“Lea?” My voice cracks as I strain against the ropes, twisting my wrist, trying to find the knot. But it’s useless. I’m too weak, too unfocused to see clearly, let alone untie anything. “Lea, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
I crane my neck, desperate to see her. She’s trembling, her fingers clawing at her own back like she’s trying to tear the pain out of her skin.
“It hurts, Nell,” she gasps, her voice raw. Every muscle twitch makes her flinch.
“I know. I know. But it’s going to be okay. I’ll get out of this—I’ll get you help.”
Even if I can’t. Even if we’re both screwed, she needs hope. And right now, that’s all I can give her.
But I know how bad this is. I know how much she needs medical care—and how far out of reach that is.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
Her voice is thin, frayed at the edges like it’s unravelling with her.
And it breaks me. More than I already am.
Because she knows. She can feel it—whatever’s happening inside her, it’s not slowing down.
“No,” I say, too fast, far too desperate. “You’re not. We just need to take your mind off it until I can get free.”
I have to believe that, because I have to make her believe it too.
She’s just a kid. She should be worrying about school and birthdays, not whether she’ll make it through the next hour.
She lets out a sound—half sob, half breath—and curls slightly, her muscles spasming so hard her back arches off the mattress. Her fingers dig into her arms again, nails scraping skin like she’s trying to claw her way out of her own body.
“It hurts,” she gasps. “It’s like everything’s on fire inside me. I can’t—I can’t make it stop.”
“I know,” I whisper, choking on the helplessness. “I know. Just… talk to me, okay? Tell me something about your family.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her breath ragged, her body twitching with every wave of pain. Then, through clenchedteeth, “My mum… she sings when she cooks. Always off-key. She doesn’t care. She just twirls around the kitchen like she’s in a musical. My brother used to roll his eyes, but he’d end up dancing with her. He’d grab the broom and pretend it was a guitar.”
A faint smile flickers across her face, then vanishes as another spasm hits. She cries out, curling tighter, her entire body suffering through the tremors.
“My dad,” she gasps, “he used to make pancakes every Sunday. He’d shape them into animals—bad ones. Like, really bad. But he’d act like they were masterpieces. He’d call them ‘culinary sculptures.’” She tries to laugh, but it turns into a sob. “I miss them so much.”
“You’ll see them again,” I say, voice cracking. “You will. I promise.”
I don’t know if it’s true. But I say it anyway.
Because right now, hope is the only thing I can give her.
And I keep working the knot, my fingers raw and shaking, because I have to get us out.
Because she’s fading—and I can’t let her go.
“If you ever see them… will you tell them I love them? So much. Please?”
Her voice is barely there—just a thread of sound stretched thin by pain and fear.
