Slowly she walks around the room. She turns off the lamp over her desk. Then the lights plugged into the wall. Next it was the light over her dresser. And finally her standing lamp in the corner. The room is dark, save the sliver of yellow light from the streetlamp and the harsh glow of her computer monitor, which she then also darkens.

Ignoring the current noise regulations, she increases the volume on her stereo. Loud enough to engulf the room with sound. Not rolling, light melody but a harsh, staccato sound. Not soothing, but encouraging. Not relaxing, but angry.

When she lies down on the carpet, it is cool and rough. Uncomfortable, but in a way that is completely supportive and makes her feel safe, the carpet offers little padding to the hardwood floor.

Her legs are pulled up so that her knees make a steeple. She breathes deeply. In. ..out...inhale...exhale. Under her shirt her hands are laid flat on her stomach, feeling the abdomen move up and down. In. Up. Out. Down. In the dark, with the music playing so that it seems like she's lying below a canvas of sound, she begins to relax.

Suffocated. That's how it felt. Like she couldn't breathe. And she had to just lie down to prove to herself she could.

Suffocated in an open room. In an open room in an imaginary world, she lost her breath. Stifled she couldn't choke out words for help, and didn't even know if she wanted to. She'd been in that open room in an imaginary world for hours, days, months, years even it seemed at times. She'd explored every nook, every cranny, every corner. It was an open room in an imaginary world ready to be known. And when she had found every secret it held, she suffocated. There was nothing more it could offer her anymore.

In and out, she breathes. She pulls her shirt up right below her bra, and places her hands back on her stomach. Looking across her chest she watches the steady motion it makes.

And when the open room in an imaginary world couldn't provide anything for her, she didn't know how to live without it. She didn't know how to live without occupying her seconds and minutes exploring the open room. It was all she knew, all she had known really, for upwards of three months. And now...it had nothing left. And she felt like she was suffocating without it.

She sucks in her belly, as far in as it will go. She feels her ribcage, the ridges of her ribs, and her sternum. Sadly, she likes it better that way.

Forcing herself to forget the open room, letting the music roll over her as the darkness engulfed her, she pushed herself until her neck ached and her abdomen screamed. She pushed herself, forcing her mind to focus on the lyrics - and not the open room in an imaginary world or the pain shooting through her torso. She pushed herself, knowing that it was the only escape she'd have for five minutes. And when the pain became too much, she stopped and breathed heavily letting her muscles relax.

But she couldn't escape the open room in an imaginary world. Not without pain, not without suffocating, not for more than five minutes. And she had to. She had to know how she could force herself to be done with it.

She knew right away.

She'd be talking to David, just like any other night. And tell him she'd see him the next day. Then she'd call her mom and tell her about her day, telling her she'd call later that week when her mom had to go make dinner. Next she'd turn the music louder, cause it wouldn't matter anymore what kind of regulations she was breaking.

Then she'd take out her Tylenol PM and take the rest of that bottle. Then she'd pull out the Nyquil from her roommate's dresser, and finish that. Finally she'd take the duct tape, and her throw pillow, and tape the soft pillow tightly to her face. And then she'd lay back down on the carpet. And wait to pass out. Cause she was already suffocating. She already couldn't breathe. And she didn't know how not to.

That's what she would do. If it came that far.

But she knew it never would.

She stood up and turned on the standing lamp. Picking up the phone she called her mom. Even if she didn't know how, and even if she didn't even know if she wanted to, and though she felt like she couldn't speak, she found that words for help came from a simple conversation. Help came from a simple conversation about nothing in particular. Nothing she'd remember an hour from now.

The open room in an imaginary world. It was there, waiting for her. Ready to be rediscovered, and ready to suffocate her. She had left for a few minutes, but it was waiting and knew she'd come back to an open room in an imaginary world. And when she hung up the phone, when she had said good night, she returned. Knowing she'd suffocate and knowing she would be safer leaving it behind, she couldn't. Not for long. Because she didn't know how to not live there.

Contact Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4