Possible trigger warning: inferences of suicide

The longer I stare up at the ceiling, the more it swells. Darkness creates a hurricane in the shadows, swirling deeper and deeper until the white ceiling becomes an eternal black hole. When I blink, it's gone, but it only resets and begins swirling again.

In the back of my head, I hear a steady beeping. At first, I thought it was the pounding of my heart echoing in my ear. But it has moved outside of my body and into the room. I cover my ears with a pillow but it penetrates the feathers and cotton.

I know what it is, but I don't want to go. I can't. All I can hear is Georgia's screaming, and I see Seth's face in my head. They're all I can possibly think about, and yet, there's something else pulling me away. Begging me to listen.

"Claire..."

My breath catches. A wheezy voice calls out from the hallway, and the tears sting in my eyes when I recognize it. I shove the pillow over my head, trying to shut her out. She isn't real. Not real not real not real.

"...Claire..."

The voice forces itself through the pillow and it slams in my ears. I throw the pillow across the room and squeeze my eyes shut. Why why why why!?

As the voice calls out for the third time, my eyes flash open and I throw my legs over the side of the bed. My bedroom door is open even though I thought I had closed it, although that is the least surprising thing I've experienced as of late. I put my bare feet on the cold floor and make my way into the hallway where the steady beeping comes from Emma's room.

Nana's old room.

In the entryway of the bedroom, the lights are off, but the night light casts a light glow over the bed. Nana lies in the bed, her body rigid and a nasal cannula guiding oxygen from the tank next to her. I hold my arms around myself as I watch her chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise... and fall.

Then, she lifts her arm and holds it out. Her head turns and she looks at me. At me. I nearly stumble back. A cold pressure passes through me and I lose all of my breath. I cough, tears poking in my eyes as a small figure moves toward the bed and touches Nana's outstretched hand.

Little Claire had moved through me from the doorway, I realize as I catch my breath. Nana was looking at her. Not me.

"What's wrong?" Little Claire asks her. "Do you need me to get Daddy—?"

She had started to step back and pull away, but with surprising strength, Nana pulls her back and holds on tight. Little Claire looks down at their hands in surprise.

"No," Nana says in a wheezy voice. It's deep and scratchy, but weak. She takes a sharp breath, and it sounds like she's inhaling pins and needles. I wince as she does. "I need you, baby girl."

Little Claire shakes her head. "What do you —"

Nana looks up at the ceiling. "I'm hurting. Real bad."

"W-What?" Her eyes widen. "But Mom said —"

Nana starts to shake her head but stops mid-shake. "She wants to hold on, but I can't..." Her breath hitches and she starts to cough. "I can't hold on."

"I don't understand."

She smiles sadly. "I need you to do something for me, okay? One little thing, and you don't have to tell a single soul ever. Can you do that for me?"

Without a single thought, Little Claire nods. "Okay."

"You see this pillow?" She waits for Claire to nod. "Grab that. And hold it —"

No. No! All other words she says goes in one ear and out the other. High-pitched static bursts in my ears as I rush over to the bed. I stand over Claire as Nana continues to speak but I don't hear a thing. Claire shakes her head and she cries. My body is a foot behind and I can feel everything she feels — her anguish, confusion, grief, fear. But Nana holds on tight to her hand, and she begs her. A tear drips from the corner of Nana's eye and it flows down her cheek.

Little Claire holds the pillow but her hands shake. She still refuses, but Nana doesn't let up. She grabs ahold of Claire's pajama top and she says to stop once she lets of her shirt. My breathing is in sync with Little Claire's as she steps toward her and places the pillow over her head.

My heart pounds in my ear, and I shake my head over and over. "No!" I shout once I force the word out of my tight throat. "Stop!" My body shakes as I cry. "Nana..."

I don't know how long it's been, but Nana's machine flatlines. The long beep echoes in the room, a sound that matches with the rushing of my blood. I look down just as Nana's fist unclenched from Claire's shirt and her hand falls to the bed. Little Claire puts the pillow back, sobbing quietly. She turns to leave, and her face is right there in front of me. It's filled with heartbreak and wet tears streak over her cheeks. This time when she walks through me, I don't feel anything.

Not a damn thing.

As the rushing fades, my mind begins to run. I... I remember this. But I always thought it was a dream. When I woke up the next morning, my father told me Nana died peacefully in her sleep. When I asked how she died, he looked at me funny. He said she died naturally in her sleep. I never told him about it — dream or otherwise.

Maybe I wanted to believe that I wasn't involved, no matter if it was based on Nana's wish.

But this... This really happened?

I don't think a ghost would haunt me over a dream, over something I thought I did. Over something I might have done.

No. They would torture me over something I did do. Over something that would destroy me.

I move closer to the bed. She lies completely still, her machine echoing that never-ending beep. I reach out and put my hand over hers, and to my surprise, I touch flesh. I gasp and its coldness. I swallow the painful sob in my throat.

"I'm sorry, Nana," I whisper to her, and then I look up at her face.

Her eyes are open and she's looking directly at me. Before I can step back, she screams, and a swarm of moths rushes at me from her mouth. I scream and fall back, hitting the floor. I feel the hundreds of moths hitting me, smacking against my head and body. I hold my arms over my face as Nana's screams drown out mine.

"Claire!"

Hands grab ahold of my arms and lower them. Through my blurry vision, I see Emma standing over me in her pajamas. On the floor, Bailey barks insistently. Emma furrows her brows and shakes her head. I quickly glance behind her at the bed, and I notice that the sheets are pulled back.

Emma was sleeping.

"Claire, what's wrong? What happened?"

I try to gather my words, but I can't. I sputter and shake my head, and all I can do is cry. Sobs wrack my body and I shake my head over and over. Emma falls to the floor and puts her arms around me, and she holds me.

"It's my fault," I let out in between sobs. "It's all my fault."

She rubs circles in my back. "No," she whispers. "It is not your fault." I only cry in response, and she gives me a comforting squeeze. "It's okay," she whispers. "It's going to be okay."

I don't know if I can believe that. I don't know if anything will ever be okay again.

Current word count: 24,132