A slate sky hung over the Santa Cruz mountains, loosing a persistent drizzle from swollen, purplish clouds that seemed to bruise the morning. Below, an L-shaped house cut into the steeply inclined corner of Debby Lane and West Park Avenue, its sprawling grounds perched on the rock wall surrounding the property. The front door rested wide on its hinges, framing the red-brick patio and sloping lawn beyond it like a photograph.
Inside, Abigail Crawford stood inside the foyer watching the rain fall. The dark orbs of her pupils, filling her wide eyes until little more than a sliver of their color was visible. Her jaw flexed, the tendons in her slender neck bulging.
Move. Her mind screamed at her trembling body to take a step forward but her feet felt as though they’d been fused to the granite tile beneath them. Why can’t I just move, goddamn it? “It’s alright, Abbey. You are alright.” Dr. Sloan spoke softly, her voice carried by the soothing lilt that Abbey had come to expect. “The hard part is over.” Abbey shook her head, clutching her t-shirt between her breasts, wringing the fabric until her knuckles were white. Her heart was pounding too hard in her chest and her lungs felt heavy. “I… I can’t do this.” The words lodged themselves in her throat, her tongue too dry and thick to expel them. “You are okay, Abbey,” Dr. Sloan said again, “It’s barely drizzling now. Listen. You can hardly hear it.” But Abbey was sure she could hear every drop striking the moss laden brick like an army of tiny fists. “I’m not going out there.” She whispered. “Just take your time.” Dr. Sloan gentle hand came to rest on Abbey’s shoulder. “Focus on your breathing.” “I. Can’t. Fucking. Breath.” Abbey dropped to her knees, waves of dark hair falling around her face as she put her head in her hands. “This isn’t working.” And …show more content…
Session over. See you in two weeks,” Abbey said.
Dr. Sloan murmured As Abbey made her way through the kitchen door, small plumes of smoke swirled out behind her and crept toward the ceiling where they hovered like specters in the fading afternoon light. Her feet were small and pale against the carpet.
She sunk into one corner of the living room window alcove, wine sloshing out of the glass to splash her shaky hand as she folded up her long legs. The maroon cushions puffed out from beneath her as they settled, holding her like the mind often holds a fond memory. She drew three long gulps from the glass, the rosy liquid disappearing between her pallid lips, and then set it down with a hollow 'clunk.'
Abbey squinted as she looked at the world beyond the sill. Outside, the day was playing tricks with the light as it faded into dusk, transforming the window into a double-exposure of her reflection and the front yard. She looked for a moment into the emptiness of her own dark eyes, but they faded into the statue of Saint Francis jutting crookedly from the middle of the lawn. But the lawn proved no more concrete, the overgrown expanse of it giving way to a reflection of black curls spilling wild and unkempt from the top of her
Inside, Abigail Crawford stood inside the foyer watching the rain fall. The dark orbs of her pupils, filling her wide eyes until little more than a sliver of their color was visible. Her jaw flexed, the tendons in her slender neck bulging.
Move. Her mind screamed at her trembling body to take a step forward but her feet felt as though they’d been fused to the granite tile beneath them. Why can’t I just move, goddamn it? “It’s alright, Abbey. You are alright.” Dr. Sloan spoke softly, her voice carried by the soothing lilt that Abbey had come to expect. “The hard part is over.” Abbey shook her head, clutching her t-shirt between her breasts, wringing the fabric until her knuckles were white. Her heart was pounding too hard in her chest and her lungs felt heavy. “I… I can’t do this.” The words lodged themselves in her throat, her tongue too dry and thick to expel them. “You are okay, Abbey,” Dr. Sloan said again, “It’s barely drizzling now. Listen. You can hardly hear it.” But Abbey was sure she could hear every drop striking the moss laden brick like an army of tiny fists. “I’m not going out there.” She whispered. “Just take your time.” Dr. Sloan gentle hand came to rest on Abbey’s shoulder. “Focus on your breathing.” “I. Can’t. Fucking. Breath.” Abbey dropped to her knees, waves of dark hair falling around her face as she put her head in her hands. “This isn’t working.” And …show more content…
Session over. See you in two weeks,” Abbey said.
Dr. Sloan murmured As Abbey made her way through the kitchen door, small plumes of smoke swirled out behind her and crept toward the ceiling where they hovered like specters in the fading afternoon light. Her feet were small and pale against the carpet.
She sunk into one corner of the living room window alcove, wine sloshing out of the glass to splash her shaky hand as she folded up her long legs. The maroon cushions puffed out from beneath her as they settled, holding her like the mind often holds a fond memory. She drew three long gulps from the glass, the rosy liquid disappearing between her pallid lips, and then set it down with a hollow 'clunk.'
Abbey squinted as she looked at the world beyond the sill. Outside, the day was playing tricks with the light as it faded into dusk, transforming the window into a double-exposure of her reflection and the front yard. She looked for a moment into the emptiness of her own dark eyes, but they faded into the statue of Saint Francis jutting crookedly from the middle of the lawn. But the lawn proved no more concrete, the overgrown expanse of it giving way to a reflection of black curls spilling wild and unkempt from the top of her