Chapter 18 – Shattered Nerves

Dickens was not wrong at all about the strange feeling in his guts... or in this case, his skin.

His instinct was right after all. It was really Jasmine beyond that hallway... beyond the girls' restroom door.

Her world was shattered into a million shards and like tiny innumerable mirrors, each shard reflected a different facet of her anguish.

As she stood in the restroom, her breaths seemed to cease and when they came, they came in ragged gasps — a desperate attempt to fill her lungs with air.

Jasmine lost her balance and fell forwards, her hands clinging to the sink, knuckles white from the force of her grip as if the porcelain ware could anchor her to reality.

The floor beneath her feet was frigid and that coldness seeped through the sole of her feet into her muscles and bones.

It was a chilling reminder of the isolation she had endured during the harrowing days of being held captive.

Those painful memories surged forward, unbidden, like a tumultuous wave crashing against the fragile walls of her mind.

Jasmine could still hear the sound of a door creaking open. The haunting sound of the door that opened up to where she was held captive in shackles.

The sound of her binds clanking and dragging across the floor was clear in her mind.

And then there were the eyes – the eyes of her captors, devoid of humanity, filled with a sinister hunger that sent shivers down her spine even now.

These were the pieces that came together to bring the nightmarish experience back into her mind.

She thought she had forgotten but her liveliness and bold declaration earlier that day were merely a performance mask that covered the real Jasmine inside.

The Jasmine that was in the girls' restroom was the real Jasmine... and she was a shadow of herself at this moment.

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She felt life leaving her. Her throat constricted as if an invisible hand was strangling her.

She doubled over, her body folding in on itself, as a guttural cry tore its way from her chest.

The pain she was experiencing was no longer just a memory.

That pain was a living, breathing entity that clung to her, suffocating her and squeezing dear life out of her.

She pressed her palms against her temples as if she could physically hold back the flood of images assaulting her mind.

The taste of fear lingered on her tongue. The different sensations and emotions were overwhelming her, trying to swallow her whole.

Her body shook with the weight of her memories, the weight of her fear.

She sank to the cold floor, her legs giving way beneath her.

The cool tiles provided no comfort, only a stark reminder of her vulnerability.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she hugged her knees to her chest, a feeble attempt to shield herself from the onslaught of emotions.

Her fingers shook as they clutched the hem of her white shirt, her knuckles turning white as the shirt bunched beneath her trembling grip.

Jasmine was tossed and turned by her own emotions like a ship caught in the middle of the sea by a ravaging storm.

Her tears flowed freely.

Once again, her mind strayed and she was no longer in the restroom.

She was back in that grim, claustrophobic room in that warehouse where White had come for her.

Her heart pounded like a trapped animal as the memories played out before her eyes.

The sound of her own voice, pleading for mercy, begging for release, echoed in her ears, a haunting memory that refused to be silenced.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the vivid images that replayed in her mind, but they were relentless, a never-ending loop that tormented her.

Jasmine's body convulsed with each sob, her cries a desperate plea for the pain to subside, for the memories to relent.

She felt as if the walls were closing in around her, the very air she breathed thick with the weight of her trauma.

But then, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness appeared.

A face. A masked face.

A tiny light at the end of this dark pit of gut-wrenching, mind-breaking despair.

She saw that masked face again, the man in a white mask holding out his hand to her.

She saw White.

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This memory of White was a whisper of comfort.

Jasmine clung to that memory like a lifeline, her breath hitching as a sliver of hope pierced through the despair.

As the waves of anguish began to ebb, Jasmine's trembling gradually subsided.

She lay on the restroom floor, spent and broken, her pallid face turned toward the ceiling.

The journey ahead was dreadful, the path to healing uncertain, but in that fragile moment, as she wept in the washroom, Jasmine resolved to fight.

She resolved to claw her way back from the abyss, shattered piece by shattered piece, and reclaim the life that had been stolen from her.

"It's okay, Jasmine," a familiar voice suddenly came into her ears, jolting her.

Her moment of seemingly unending despair did not afford her the awareness of her real world surrounding.

She had seen a person holding out a hand towards her but the memory of White overlapped that moment, allowing her to see White's face.

"It's alright, Jasmine. Breath," the voice said again in a calm and soothing tone.

"I'm here with you, Jasmine. Let's take slow breaths together."

He demonstrated what he wanted Jasmine to do, encouraging her to do the same.

He gently placed a hand on her back, providing a reassuring touch.

"Focus on your breath. In and out. You're safe."

The presence exuded a sense of comfort that began to ease Jasmine's panic.

He continued to speak softly, "You're not alone, Jasmine. I'm here to support you through it. You going through a panic attack. They can't harm you."

He maintained his presence, giving her space and time to recover.

As her breathing gradually steadied, he smiled gently and said, "You're doing great."

Although it was gradual, Jasmine was recovering control of her body and mind.

Her breathing was getting closer to normal and her mind was clearing.

She could look and see what was in her real world and not the tormenting images that her panicking mind generated.

She looked up to the figure that helped her, in the end, to scale through her breakdown.

"J-James?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.