She tried. Her arm stretched, her fingers twitched, but the couch swallowed her back. The room darkened, but the clock didn’t move. Dry mouth, full bladder. Nothing. The invisible force pressed down, like cold hands on her shoulders, as if the air conspired against her.
When she finally broke free, it was too much. Water dripped down her chin, the bread crumbled on the table. She chewed without hunger, swallowed without thirst. Her body no longer felt like hers, as if it were borrowed, stolen from someone who knew how to use it better. Every movement was slow, and heavy, as if time had stuck to her skin.
Night came, and with it, the Other. It lay on the bed, motionless but breathing. She observed it, and it returned her gaze. Neither blinked. Its breath was ragged as if carrying the weight of something she couldn’t see. She wondered if it was also trapped if it also fought against a force it couldn’t name.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling. The Other didn’t move, but its eyes seemed to say something. Maybe a warning. Perhaps a plea for help. She didn’t know. The silence between them was thick, cutting, like a blade that didn’t bleed but still hurt.
When she finally lay down, the Other stayed there, breathing, watching. She closed her eyes, but she knew it was still there. And, somehow, that comforted her. Maybe it was just another part of her, something she couldn’t control but that wouldn’t leave her alone either.
