A Script for Seven Years: Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Cal

At the mention of my house, Alex flinches. It's barely perceptible—just a sudden sharp intake of breath—but I catch it. My heart plummets. Calm down, she doesn't remember, it's okay. Her trauma is locked away to protect her, but her body remembers. Her body remembers that the man living in my house is a monster, even if her conscious mind can't seem to put the pieces together.

"Alex?" Lucy's tone shifts from annoyed to concerned. She reaches out, in an attempt to console Alex.

"Don't," I snap, a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

Lucy freezes, her hand hovering in mid-air, her eyes going wide with surprise. "Cal? What is wrong with you today?"

But I'm not paying attention to Lucy anymore. All my focus is pinned on Alex. The trembling in her hands has spread to her shoulders and her breath is coming in short, ragged gasps that don't seem to be giving her any oxygen.

"Alex, breathe," I murmur, leaning across the table, desperately trying to keep my voice low so we don't draw a crowd. The last thing she needs is people staring at her.

"I can't," she whispers. It's a strangled, terrifying sound. "Cal, the trees... they're too close. The sky is wrong. It's happening again."

She's slipping, her dream—the one with the skeletal trees and bruised purple sky—is seeping into her waking mind. She's drowning in the memory of the woods, and I'm the one that dragged her down there in the first place. My silence, my compliance, my absolute terror of my father has kept her in the dark, but the truth is slowly clawing itself out into the open.

"Hey, look at me," I command gently, shoving my tray aside. I reach across the table to firmly grab her shaking hands. Her skin is ice cold. "Alex, look at my eyes. Focus on me. You're in the cafeteria. You're safe."

Safe. The word tastes like sandpaper. She isn't safe. Not as long as my father is still breathing.

"I can't breathe, Cal, I can't—" her voice cracks, a gasp escaping her throat as she pulls her hands violently from mine. She clutches at the collar of my old sweatshirt, pulling at it as if it's choking her. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and completely unfocused as she hyperventilates.

"Oh my gosh," Lucy gasps finally grasping the gravity of the situation. She stands up, her chair screeching against the linoleum. "Alex? Cal, what do we do? Should we get the nurse? Is she having a heart attack? Is she breathing?"

"Lucy, sit down, you're making it worse," I say, my own panic spiking, though I force myself to keep a mask of calm.

Alex suddenly stands up, knocking her chair back, and her water bottle over. It rolls off the table and falls, spilling, onto the floor. But she doesn't notice. She backs away from the table, her hands pressed against her ears, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She looks like a trapped animal, searching frantically for an escape.

"Alex, wait!" I yell, abandoning all pretense of remaining quiet.

I push away from the table, catching her just as her knees buckle. I pick her up in my arms, bringing her back from the edge of a total collapse, while Lucy watches in horrified silence.