I chant my mantra to myself, steady and unceasing as I drag my bed across the floor.
I know I can’t stop, not for a moment. The last time I did, the memory of *why* I was chanting it slipped away so swiftly I almost lost it completely.
Even the nauseating terror that grips me is transient, fading to a distant memory when I stop saying the words.
There’s a distant roaring in my ears, and I shake my head to try to clear it. I hip check my heavy dresser, struggling to shift it along the carpet as I continue to mutter under my breath.
At first I think I’m imagining it. As it is, it’s barely audible over the pounding of my head, but then I hear it again. Someone is calling my name.
“Sweetie? Are you…ok?” It’s my dad, calling hesitantly from outside the room.
His voice, so warm and reassuring, washes over me, filling me with a weak-kneed sort of relief. I hear him moving hesitantly across the living room floor.
Warm blue eyes, full of concern, shine at me through the gap in the bedroom door.
“What…what the hell? What’s going on, Annie?
” he asks in horrified confusion, no doubt registering the destruction around him, the curtains hanging in shreds, the glass coffee table smashed to pieces.
“My god hun, let me in there, I need to know you’re ok!” he says in panic, shaking the door handle.
I open my mouth to respond, and dimly register I’ve stopped saying the mantra. The sharp flicker of terror is a sharp enough spur to start it going again.
I say it again desperately, as I have each time this scene has replayed itself in the past couple of hours.
“Green, green, green” I chant, blinking back stinging tears. My dad’s eyes are *green*.