Inescapable Escapism

I sat up abruptly, my vision still hazy. Lights danced across the room as nausea, stronger than anything I’d felt before, rocked me. I needed to get to the bathroom. I had to get there now or I’d be sick all over the floor.

Throwing my legs off the bed, I pushed myself upright. The movement hurt. Pain shot through my stomach and I clamped my lips shut, knowing that if I opened them even slightly, I would vomit all over the carpeted bedroom. Sweat dripped down my face as I staggered, half-blind, towards the door. I clutched the handle tightly, saying a silent prayer to whoever would listen that my mom would still be in bed, and pulled the door open.

The corridor was silent, thankfully, and I rushed across it, diving into the bathroom. I barely managed to lock the door behind me before the need to be sick became too strong. Turning, I lunged towards the toilet as bile rose in my throat.

I lost count of how many times I was sick. Each time I stopped, thinking that I was safe and that it was over, stomach-churning nausea crashed into me again. I tried to be as quiet as possible, turning the shower on during one of the brief reprieves that I was granted to drown out the noise.

If my mom hear me vomiting first thing in the morning, she would assume the worst immediately. She would suspect that I was pregnant, I knew that but I barely had a chance to worry about it. I was too distracted by the endless stream of vomit that forced its way out of my mouth.

After some amount of time, I had no clue how long, my stomach was empty. I huddled against the toilet, grateful that my grandparents had a cleaner who was quite so meticulous. My body was shaking, sweat dripped down my face and the disgusting scent of bile mixed with cheese hung heavily in the bathroom. I lifted a trembling and weak hand to flush the toilet but it did little to clear the smell. There was nothing else I could do though. I didn’t have the strength or energy to do anything more than collapse back against the tiled wall, feeling the chill reach into me as tears that I hadn’t noticed before stung my eyes.

Wrapping my arms around my painful stomach, I reached out apprehensively for the other world. The dizziness that accompanied it forced me to lean over the toilet again as my stomach heaved but nothing came out. My eyes shut as I let my head drop back again, reaching out more slowly that time.

People were surrounding me. It was claustrophobic, terrifying. Their faces loomed above me, barely in focus.

“Give her some space,” a sharp voice instructed, causing everyone to take a step back.

They kept staring at me though. I could feel their eyes burrowing into my flesh. I looked away, staring straight ahead. Slowly, clarity came over me. I was sitting on the floor of the shooting lane. Something hard and sharp was digging into my butt but I couldn’t bring myself to move, I was too focused on catching my breath again. Strangely, in the fantasy, I wasn’t very nauseous. I felt like I could be sick but it wasn’t as insistent as it was in real life. It hurt less. A shiver went through me and I fought to breathe normally but it was tough.

“Are you alright, Grace?” the voice asked.

There was movement in front of me. Hannah had crouched down, staying far enough away from me that I didn’t feel suffocated. She was watching me carefully, her eyes monitoring my reaction as I fought to breathe normally.

It was tough, I was winded and each intake of air hurt me. I had to respond though. I wanted to show the others that I was okay, that it wasn’t that bad.

“Okay,” I wheezed.

It was the best I could manage.

A huge smile stretched across Hannah’s lips.

“Great job,” she told me. “You did fantastically, you should be very proud of yourself.”

I smiled back at her as best as I could whilst still fighting to breathe. I wasn’t sure how to feel, not really. Part of me wanted to be proud of myself, I was scared but I didn’t run away however I was painfully away of how badly I reacted in real life. I was still huddled on the floor of the bathroom, crying and shaking.

Slowly, I withdrew from that world. I couldn’t stay there and listen to Hannah talk about how well I had done when I knew that she was wrong. It was fake, my real reaction was so much worse. I was weak, ashamed.

Another tear trickled down my face but I couldn’t bring my hand up to wipe it away. I was too exhausted, too drained from how much I had been throwing up. And I was embarrassed. It was stupid, I knew that. My reaction, the vomiting, couldn’t have been linked to my fantasy. I had a good imagination but it wasn’t that good. It must have been something else, something real…

Food poisoning. Mom had said that O’Connells had a bad reputation or something, they had probably just cooked something wrong, used gone off food maybe. That made more sense that… whatever the alternative was. I was just sick, ill, nothing more. I almost believed that, despite how much my stomach hurt.

The tiled wall was cold against my back, uncomfortably so, and my body shook with shivers but I was so exhausted, so tired. I couldn’t bring myself to move even though my bedroom wasn’t too far away. I should have showered or at least brushed my teeth but instead, I reached out for my dressing gown which hung on the back of the door. Shaking it until it fell off, I pulled it towards myself and huddled under it as my eyes fell shut again.

My head swam. It felt hazy, like I was floating, as I dozed. I went from being wide awake to asleep in seconds before jerking awake again as a shiver wracked my body, followed by pain that radiated from my stomach and made me worried I was going to be sick again.

Finally, it settled down as I began to warm up and I hovered in a space that was not quite consciousness but I also wasn’t asleep. It was comfortable, cosy. I wasn’t in pain and the nausea barely bothered me. I felt like I could stay there forever. In fact, I wasn’t sure how long I spent in that strange nowhere land. Time seemed to flow over me, not quite touching me. It made me not want to return to reality. Why would I when I could stay somewhere so soft and warm?

But I couldn’t stay there. Something was seeking me out. A dizziness, comforting like the nothingness I was in. It found me before I could resist it and I opened my eyes, staring at the dark red wood-panelled wall in front of me. I was in an office, somewhere fancy clearly. The lighting was low and there was music coming from somewhere. Jazz music. It was soft and coming. Where was I? I still don't actually know.

“What are you doing here?” a man’s voice asked kindly.

I turned quickly as panic gripped me and I tried to search my memories to work out where I was but they were blank. Then I had no recollection of where I was or how I had got there.

I stared at the dark-haired man who was sitting behind the desk, an expectant smile on his face. There was a lamp on his dark, black and gold in colour and perfectly polished, but his skin was glowing like there was a spotlight pointed directly at him.

“Hm?” I asked as I tried to work out what else to say.

My brain was useless though. I couldn’t think of a single excuse because I had no clue where I was. I didn’t even recognise the dark city outside of the floor to ceiling windows that covered one of the walls. In fact, I’d never seen anything like it before.

The buildings were huge and gleaming. It looked like a capital city, like New York or somewhere, but it was dark outside. Night time, probably. The city was shrouded in darkness, small specks of light were illuminated in windows but, apart from that, the only source of light came from the giant glowing moon.

“I asked what you’re doing here,” the man repeated. “Do you need something?”

His tone was nice. Kind. He sounded gentle, not annoyed that I had stumbled into his office and had no clue why I was there. I looked around, searching for the door but I couldn’t see it. It must have been designed to fit in with the wood panelling around the room to hide it. I didn’t know why someone would want that but it was clearly the choice that someone had made.

“Yes,” I said, having decided that it would be better to say that than to admit that I didn’t know who he was or what I was doing there. “I was just… looking for you!”

He cocked his head to the side, examining me carefully as he steepled his fingers in front of him.

“Are you sure? My schedule is empty for the afternoon. I have no interviews,” he said. “No appointments.”

There was something so confident, so assured, about his tone. It was too smooth, sinfully so, and it made me almost wish that I could fall asleep to it. That felt like a weird thought but it was so soothing, so calming. It made me feel more self-assured, like I was safe.

“Oh, that’s why I’m here,” I decided. “I was told to come up for the interview. Last minute addition.”

I smiled at him, hoping that he would believe me. He must have been hiring people, that’s why I was there. It was a job interview. I had no idea what the job was or why I wanted it but that made sense.

His flawless forehead creased for a moment as confusion crossed his face and he glanced at the computer screen that was floating just above his desk and emitting a dark green glow. I stepped forwards, trying to get a closer look at it. There was nothing holding it up. It was just hovering in midair.

“My secretary would have warned me,” he muttered to himself more so than to me.

“They weren’t at their desk,” I said quickly. “But someone told me to just walk right in and introduce myself.”

Confidence flared in me. It was going well. I was getting away with my utter lack of knowledge of what was going on.

“Walk?” the man said, sounding baffled.

I glanced down as the brief spark of certainty was snuffed. I was in my pyjamas. Somehow, I was wearing the exact outfit I had changed into last night when I returned home from that dinner with my mom. The oversized t-shirt and far too short shorts made me feel wildly out of place as the man pushed his chair back and stood.

I took the opportunity to examine him quickly. He was dressed in a black suit which was perfectly tailored and highlighted how tall and lean he was. His dark hair was pushed back but shone in the low light and, as he rounded his desk and walked towards me, I noticed his shoes. It seemed like such a silly and unnecessary thing to notice but I couldn’t help it. They were pointed and embellished, but the colour was the thing that I was taken in by. Dark red, obscured by black smoke.

“I don’t think you’re meant to be here,” the man said.

I swallowed nervously, ripping my gaze away from his shoes to stare at his face.

“Yes, I am,” I lied weakly.

The room was silent as he walked towards me, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The jazz had stopped playing, I noticed numbly. I hadn’t seen him turn it off.

“No, I don’t think you are, dear child,” he said with a sympathetic sigh.

“I am,” I insisted, unsure why I was even trying. “I have an appointment, an interview.”

He closed the gap between us and gently took my chin with his pointed fingertips. His touch was warm as he leaned down towards me, towering over me. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me as his face moved closer but he didn’t close the gap between our lips. He just stared deep into my eyes.

At first, I resisted. I looked away, scared of meeting his gaze, but I couldn’t avoid it forever. Finally, I allowed my eyes to meet his, noticing the slightly irregular shape of his pupils. Once I made eye contact, I couldn’t look away. It felt like I was falling, like I had missed a step and was careening towards the ground. My body braced, ready for an impact that never came.

“Ah, now I see. Aren’t you an interesting one?” the strange man asked, still holding my chin.

My chest felt tight. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move or pull away as the man continued to examine me. Somehow, I knew that he was seeing more than I meant him to. He was seeing into me, into my soul.

I didn’t like it, I felt so vulnerable, but I couldn’t even blink. My body wasn’t listening to me, my mind was barely even working.

“No,” he said softly, “You’re not meant to be here for… some time. Well, it’ll feel like some time to you but a blink to me.”

He finally let go of my chin and I staggered backwards, sucking in a breath as I stared at his fingers. They were pointed, longer than they should have been, and they were dipped in darkness as if shadows had grabbed hold of him and refused to let go.

“What do you mean?” I breathed.

“Time passes differently for each of us, young one.”

That wasn’t an answer. Or, at least, it didn’t answer my question. He didn't tell me what I wanted to hear but then, I wasn't even sure what that was.

“Who… where am I?” I asked.

The man chuckled, the noise soft and inviting.

“Well, isn’t that the question?”

“Is it?”

He smiled at me, giving me the impression of a father smiling at his young child. My dad looked at me that way. It was kind, indulgent.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” he said as he turned and started to walk away from me, gesturing for me to take a seat in front of his desk. “Well, I can technically but I will not.”

“Why?” I asked, almost tripping in my haste to follow him.

I sunk into the low leather armchair as he seated himself behind his desk.

“It is a decision that I made long ago,” he said, giving me another half-answer.

“But why?” I pressed.

I wasn’t sure why I was asking the question or why it even really mattered to me. I just wanted to know.

“Because…” The man trailed off and glanced at the city outside his window. “I don’t like to meddle. If I say too much, life is influenced.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have faltered,” he admitted, looking back at me with such intensity that I had to look away. “Several times, in fact. Never does it end well.”

“What happened?” I asked, risking a glance into his hypnotic eyes.

“Death,” he said simply. “Famine occasionally, destruction generally.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say to that.

Part of me wanted to reassure the man, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault or that he could talk to me. He seemed weary, exhausted by his decisions. I felt bad, I wanted to help him.

“Alas, there is nothing to be done. But you should go, Grace of Many Lives.”

My heart felt like it stopped.

“What did you just call me?”

The words repeated themselves in my mind over and over until they became embedded deep within in my brain.

“Is that not your name?”

My mouth was dry. How was I meant to answer that?

“My name is Grace,” I said. “Just Grace.”

The man continued to stare at me for a moment, unblinking.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

My voice was little above a whisper and I saw his lips curl up in a kind smile.

“Well then, Just Grace. You should leave, it’s dangerous for one like you to spend too much time here,” he warned me. “Go be with the others.”

I stood, following his instructions instinctively but there was a reluctance in me. A heaviness in the pit of my stomach that begged me to sink back down and ask the man to reconsider, to have my interview or whatever it was now.

“I don’t know that I want to,” I heard myself whisper.

The sympathy on his face made my heart hurt and my eyes burn.

“I know, dear child, and I’m sorry. Your pain… I wish I could do more for you, for all of you,” he told me. “The life you have been given, the path you have been placed on, is not a fair one.”

I couldn’t hold back the tear that escape my eye.

“Why?” I asked, my voice cracking.

With a heavy sigh, he stood again.

“Because it is unfair. You have free will, all humans do. And unfortunately, many use it for cruelty,” he said as he rounded his desk towards where I stood. “Those around you are cruel but you are not.”

More tears trickled down my face.

“Are you sure?” I asked, voicing a deep insecurity, a fear.

I worried that I was like her.

“I am certain, young Grace,” he said. “You are kind. It is a great achievement but also a curse.”

“Why?”

“Because it means you feel the pain of the world, the suffering. Those who are cruel expect cruelty, they are used to it. You may be used to it but you still hope for more and you deserve more,” he said softly. “You will receive it again one day but… for now, I have sent you a gift. A weapon.”

“You have?” I whispered.

“Yes, it is still searching but soon, he will be there,” the man told me. “But now, you must leave. Go be with the rest of the living.”

I swallowed, taking a small step away before looking back at the man.

“When?” I asked. “When will I come back?”

“In just a blink,” he promised. “This world will be closed to you, forgotten. But you must try and remember to have some food, anchor yourself to your world. It’ll make it easier when the time comes.”

I stared at him as he walked away, seating himself behind his desk once more as something on his desk glowed a faint pink. I didn’t want to but I needed to leave. I knew that but it didn’t make it any easier.

A bright white glow caught my attention and I stared at the now visible door, my feet taking me towards it unconsciously. My heart ached with each step, reluctance dragging at me and making me fight with myself. It would be easier to stay, I knew that. Easier and better in a way but… he promised something. He told me I would receive more, whatever that meant, and that he had sent me something.

But who was he? That question bounced around my mind. Suggestions flooded my mind but none felt right, none accurately explained the man who sat at his desk, now staring at the computer screen intently.

My feet stopped moving as I reached the doorway. The glow was so bright that I couldn’t see through it and I was scared to move any further, unsure of what lay beyond. I glanced back at the man once more, hoping for some reassurance.

For a moment, he didn’t look at me. He continued reading something on his floating computer screen but then his eyes found mine.

“Go,” he said, with a soft flick of his fingers that caused my dizziness to react instinctively, pulling me away from the world.

But, before it could disappear from my vision, I caught sight of something. Someone was materialising in the chair in front of his desk. She sat taller, her figure wider than I was used to and her hair somehow lighter but I still recognised her. I still recognised myself.

“Grace.”