The Space Between

Strips of daylight pierce through a crack in the curtains, dragging me awake.

My mouth snaps open and closed, trying to summon moisture as my throat burns for water.

My head throbs with a thick, heavy ache and I feel anchored, chained to the bed.

I scan the array of fading yellow stars on the white ceiling above me and a small wave of relief washes over my paralysed body.

It’s real. I’m still in my room.

I need water desperately.

Attempting to move, I muster no more than a few wiggles at the tips of my fingers and toes.

Scanning the rest of the room, I can just make out the pink dressing table with my new stereo atop it, a stack of magazines on a chair and my blue and yellow rollerblades parked by the door.

The headache continues to grow with every passing second.

I close my eyes again and focus on the slow thud coming from my chest.

Breathing and beating.

Breathing. Beating.

It feels like it’s slowing.

Two soft knocks come from the door across my bedroom.

“Sofie?” A gentle, familiar voice escapes from the other side.

I go to reply but say nothing, can feel nothing.

The voice comes again, softer this time. “Sofie, it’s time to get up.”

I want to reply. I want her to come in.

But I remain frozen.

Mum! I try to call out her name.

Nothing.

My jaw doesn’t so much as flinch at my attempted words.

A dozen memories crowd at once — my hand on her hospital bed, the flowers scattered around her room, the white gown that swallowed her shrinking figure.

I can smell the antiseptic and lilies now.

My whole being aches to move and to be with her.

The door handle rattles once.

Then silence.

Panic claws back up my parched throat and my heart battles against my ribcage.

I still can’t fucking move!

My chest caves, the stars on the roof seem to shoot far away as something drags me downward.

I begin falling.

Gasping for air, I leap out of bed, tripping on the sheet I dragged with me as I slam my knees into the hard wooden floor.

The impact rattles the cabin and the sound of items crashing onto the floor clangs through my ears.

On all fours, my body shakes and tears fall freely from my cheeks.

It’s happened again.

Taking in my surroundings — my real surroundings — I am reminded of reality once more.

A small wooden box fit for an exiled teenager. A single bed behind me, a window to my right, a mirror and a desk to my left.

I crawl to check the door in front of me and reach up to the handle. It’s still locked.

Peering out the crusty drapes, I see the sun setting behind the main house a few feet away.

They’ve probably already had dinner. Without me. Again.

Staring across the small garden that separates them from me, I see a shadow in the window.

The shape shifts slightly, then stills.

From this distance, I can’t make out much — just a figure standing perfectly still, facing my direction.

I press my forehead to the glass, but the image blurs and doubles in the reflection.

When I look again, the window is empty.

Probably Deirdre. Checking on me like she always does.

I back away, limbs trembling as I swipe the debris out of my path back to bed: keys, a photo frame, an empty pill bottle.

Another failed attempt, it seems.

The air in my room is stale, heavy with the smell of cigarettes and damp.

Glancing in the mirror as I crawl past, I startle at the reflection.

I bring a hand to my face and the little girl in the mirror does the same. Her eyes are bright and unblinking.

Shaking my head and willing the vision to go away, I glance to the mirror once more.

No little girl, just me — looking like I’d seen better days.

Then I see it: the shadow from the main house.

I whip my head around to the window behind me.

“Deirdre?” I rasp.

But the shadowy figure is gone.

I stand to pull back the curtain and see no one.

Now standing in the middle of my room, my ears ring loudly and the cabin shifts to a tilt.

Nausea whirls in my stomach and I feel sweat dampen my brow.

“Dad?” I call out, voice hoarse and cracking. “Deirdre?”

Nothing.

Just the faint creak of plants rustling in the wind.

Bile threatens to spill and gravity tugs on my limbs.

I reach for the door to unlock it but it doesn’t budge.

I test the handle again, jiggling it hard. Still locked.

Now pounding on the glass door, “Let me out!”

The echo dies instantly, swallowed by the walls.

The smell of antiseptic and lilies hits me, sharp, sweet. My chest tightens.

“Sofie?”

It’s soft. Right behind me. The gentle, familiar voice from my dream.

It can’t be.

“It’s time to wake up, Sofie.”

I spin around.

Nothing.

It’s not real. She’s not real.

The pungent smell of memories past clog my nose as I dive for my bed, but I trip — my feet catching on blue and yellow rollerblades.

“Fuck!” I fall onto the bed, squeezing my foot as the pain shoots up through my shin.

The fading yellow stars on the ceiling mock me as I start weeping again.

Then I hear it.

The sound of a monitor beeping faintly fills my room.

I release my leg and let my feet fall to the dark carpet as I look over to the pink dressing table.

Beep. Beep.

I’m back in my childhood bedroom again.

The sound grows louder as I approach the stereo.

Beep. Beep.

My eyes dart to the stack of magazines on the chair below.

I try to read the words, but everything’s wrong.

Beep. Beep.

Two knocks come from the door.

My heart fights to escape my chest.

The beeping continues to thunder around the four enclosing walls.

I reach for the stereo to try to turn it off, but it just booms louder.

Terror floods through me as I scramble to turn off the sound.

I yank the power cord out, but it continues to surround me, I almost didn’t hear her this time.

“Sofie?” Concern laces her tone.

Beep. Beep.

“It’s time to wake up, Sofie.”

Beep. Beep.

Her voice moves closer with every piercing sound — through the door, through the air, through me.

The room brightens — too bright, blinding.

I drop to my knees and scream.

I can see both rooms at once — the cabin and my childhood bedroom — folding over each other like two sides of the same photograph.

Beep. Beep.

“Mum?” I barely recognise my petrified voice as I peer up towards the door.

It swings open and I’m face to face with the shadow from the window.

A final breath trembles out of me.

And everything goes silent.