Trigger warning: Panic attack

Kiara—

The sound of the front door opening distracts me from my cleaning. I look up to see Mama walk in, still in her scrubs. She tosses her purse onto the counter before sinking into the nearest chair with a heavy sigh.

“Long day?” I ask.

“You have no idea,” she says.

I go over to the microwave where I left her a plate earlier, turning it on. “I saved a plate of spaghetti for you since I figured you probably haven’t eaten yet.”

“You’re the best,” she tells me, coming into the kitchen. “And how is our patient?”

“The girls sat with him and colored for a little while,” I say, smiling.

Her brows arch. “I hope they didn’t pester him too much.”

“Oh no, I was listening most of the time. I stepped in to save him after Jade started getting a bit too pushy. He actually seemed to enjoy their company. I think. His voice wasn’t as tense when he was talking to them.”

She settles down at the table, satisfied with my report. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s at least relaxing a little.”

“Yeah. Oh, that reminds me.” I go over to the counter, picking up a sheet of paper. “They asked him to write a bunch of stuff in Japanese. This one is supposed to have ‘Mama’ on it… I think.” I stare at the sheet of strange markings on it, unable to remember.

Mama laughs lightly. “Perhaps he should have written it in English also.”

“He doesn’t know how. He said he could read a little, but he doesn’t know how to write English. I asked if he would like us to teach him though and he said he’s fine with that.”

“I see. We should get out the girls old alphabet books then,” she says.

The microwave begins beeping and I go over to take the plate out. I take it over to her with a drink. Shortly after, Jeremiah comes out from the hallway, his hair still wet from showering. He comes over and sits across from Mama.

“Anything else happen today?” she asks, taking a bite of her spaghetti.

I mull over the events of the day. “I showed him around the barn and introduced him to the animals.”

Jeremiah starts chuckling. “Sugar did the same thing when she first met Nicky.”

Mama appears a little surprised at first, but a gentle smile spreads across her face. “I see.”

We are all silent for a moment.

“He asked me today what we have to gain from helping him like this,” I say.

“What did you tell him?” Mama asks.

I glance down. “I told him about all the animals we’ve rescued and such. I said we just do it because we care, you know? I didn’t really know what else to say.”

She looks down at her plate. “It may take a while for him.”

“I’ve seen that look before,” Jeremiah says, and we look over. “You’re going to ask him to stay with us. Are you sure that’s wise? Yeah, I feel for him, but we don’t know anything about him, not to mention that if he gets caught, he’ll be deported. Nicky was even telling me he got some weird vibes from him.”

Jeremiah and I both wait in suspense for Mama’s answer as she considers it carefully. “We can’t make any decisions until after he’s healed anyway, but I would like to talk to him about it,” she says. “I can’t say for sure whether he is lying about amnesia or not, but I could tell he doesn’t want to go back to Japan.”

Jeremiah lets out a breath. “What if someone comes looking for him?” he asks, his voice tight. “That marking on his arm… Someone branded him like cattle. What if it’s connected to a gang or something? I just don’t quite trust him.”

We are silent again. “I understand what you’re saying, and I will talk to him,” Mama says. “But I’m not going to turn my back on him.”

Jeremiah lets out a deep sigh before leaving back to his room. After all that had transpired, my mind is abuzz. I have no idea what to think.

“You made cookies?” Mama asks, eyeing the plate on the counter.

“Oh, yeah. I gave some to Shyba,” I tell her. “It was like I saw a small spark of joy in him for the first time when he ate them.”

“I see,” she says, her eyes soft.

Shyba—

As light pours in through the curtains, I find myself yet again in this strange place. Wide awake, I stare out the window as the sky changes from blue to orange and pink. A few more days have passed calmly and swiftly. It is almost a blur.

There is a knock at the door. It opens slightly and Reba peeks through. She smiles, coming in with her red bag. I quickly look away. Though Reba has shown me nothing but kindness and I have never seen her harm a fly, I know I have to remain on her good side… She pulls up the chair from the desk and sits before the bed.

“Now that you’ve had supper, I’ll bet you’re ready to get these stitches out,” she says, and I nod. She sets the bag on the desk. “How did you like the pot pie?”

“It was good,” I mutter, staring at my hands.

“I’m glad,” she says, pulling on some latex gloves. She then takes out some tools and a small bowl along with a few towels and a bottle of clear liquid. I start to feel my stomach twist.

She turns to me, taking the bottle and a cloth. “Okay, sweetie, this shouldn’t take too long.”

I reach up to pull my shirt off. As she opens the bottle and begins pouring the liquid onto the rag the scent of pure alcohol fills the air. Instantly, my eyes sting and I feel my throat clenching up, my stomach churning. My hand is suddenly over my mouth and nose and I am unable to breathe.

“Shyba, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice gentle. “I promise this won’t hurt much at all.”

“Take it away,” I manage to utter, though my heart feels like it is going to beat out of my chest. The smell only seems to get stronger, and my head starts to feel like it is splitting open.

“I know it’s a little strong, but I have to disinfect around your wounds, so you don’t get an infection,” she says.

“I don’t want it!”

Without thinking I grab the bottle from her hand, chucking it out the window. Crash! Shards of glass fall onto the bed. 

I stare at the hole in the window. My heart goes from a million miles an hour to a total halt. What have I done?

I can’t bring myself to look her in the eye, but I can see her mouth agape as she faces the window. But then her eyes fall on me and I find myself scrambling. The room feels as if it is getting smaller and smaller. It is like I am watching this all play out, unable to control my actions.

“Shyba! The glass!”

My back hits against the wall as Reba lurches for me, and I suddenly feel sharp pains in my right hand.

“G-gomen nasai…” My mouth moves on its own. “Gomen nasai. Mastah… N-no medicine… O-onegai. I-I can… do better…”

She reaches for my hand, but as she does the door bursts open. In comes Jeremiah--I buckle over into a ball, trying to hide from the world.

“What the hell is going on?” his voice bellows.

“Jer, shush!” 

Suddenly, I feel a presence looming over me, suffocating me in the corner of that room.  My throat clenches, burning bitterness chalking up my airways. I find myself unable to catch my breath. Each beat of my heart feels like a crippling strike to the chest, over... and over... and over...

“Yamete k-kudasai…! Otou-sama…!”

“Get out of here. You’re making it worse!” Reba’s voice is drowned out between the thumping of my heart rising into my throat and the insurmountable pressure of this invisible force dragging me down.

Each footstep sounds like a muffled drum before they fade away. But then, the looming presence seems to slowly dissipate as I feel something else take its place. A warm touch grounds me again--but my body’s instinct is to tense up, and my fingernails dig deep into my palms. But then that warm touch glides back and forth over my back, and the soothing motion helps me trace back to reality. 

“Shyba, sweetie, can you hear me? Just nod once,” I hear Reba say. Following her orders, I nod. “Take a deep breath.”

Once more, I do as she says. She guides me through a set of breathing exercises, and I begin to feel my chest relax a bit.

“Very good. Now I want you to tell me five things you can see,” she says.

Despite my confusion, I do as she says. I glance up slowly and between ragged breaths I mutter, “Bed… floor… desk… door… bag.”

“Good. Now tell me four things you can taste,” she says.

My stomach churns again, my throat burning. “I t-taste… the… medicine…”

She continues to stroke my back. “What have you tasted here? You said you liked the pot pie, right? Tell me four things you liked here.”

I recall the meaty pot pie; the chewy cookies… Taking a ragged breath, I slowly list off, “Pot pie… cookies… stew… chocolate.”

“You like sweets, huh?” she says, her voice warm. “Now tell me three things you can hear.”

I manage to quiet my breathing and slowly sit up, though my arms are still guarding my chest. “I hear… birds outside…  your voice… and the little girls laughing… down the hall.”

“Good. Now two things you can smell.”

“Warm cookies… and flowers.”

“Now one thing you can feel.”

“I… feel your hand on my back.” And that somehow reassures me.

Everything is silent for a moment as she continues to gently stroke my back. “You did well, sweetie,” she says softly. “Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe here.”

Her words, the soothing tone of her voice, the gentle stroke of her hand against my back… Slowly I regain my senses. My breath returns to normal, and my head is no longer pounding. But I feel immensely exhausted. My head slumps over and my eyes droop. She pulls my head onto her shoulder and before I realize it everything goes dark.

Translations:

“Gomen nasai” = I’m sorry

“Onegai” = Please

“Yamete kudasai” = Stop please

“Otou-sama” = Father