Her breathing, already shallow and uneven, hitched in her throat as her horrified eyes gazed at the door. 2B, the rusty metal plaque said. As her breaths grew even more short and choked, hordes of memories crowded behind her eyes: memories she’d hoped she would never have to revisit.
The dim lights, flickering on and off, threatening to plunge her into darkness. The suffocating walls, splattered with unidentifiable liquids of gold, green, and red. And the questions – Oh God, the questions. They would bombard her from all sides, rapid and cunning, pressing in around her body, until she felt like this time, she would crack. Won’t crack, she tried to reassure herself, you won’t crack today. But even in her head, the words sounded like a lie.
“Stop!” The pleading cry rang through the hallways. Another one, she thought. Everyone always asks them to stop on their first time. She was not interested in the fate of the one who had emitted the yell. On her first day she might have been, but after spending years here, she knew: no one would come out the way they were before. Not even I, and her hands trembled like aspen leaves. Behind the door, murmurs started rising: “Why isn’t she here yet?” “She should’ve been here ten minutes ago.”
Taking a shuddering breath, she lifted one quaking hand and pushed open the door. “Good morning, class,” she said.
