Laurel coughed and sputtered as dust swirled around her face. She could feel it caking her skin, her lips, her tongue, and slowly her lungs. Her eyes were squeezed shut, too afraid to take in her surroundings, too worried about what she would see. Laurel tried to move. Her arms shifted, not much before they touched stone around her, but they did move. Her legs however, would not. She could not feel them. Panic began to rise up in Laurel, like the dripping water she could feel rise up around her face. Laurel squeezed her lids together, a tear seeped from between them and slid down the side of her cheek, stinging as it pushed dust into a cut there. She clutched at the blanket that lay in the puddle beneath her, the blanket that had been spread out over the lumpy twin mattress. She should never have come here. She should never have left Iowa. Laurel cursed under her breath and coughed. The joy she had experienced from leaving and finally getting out from under Jay’s thumb seemed insignificant and stupid now. Now, she was going to die.
Still unwilling to open her eyes, Laurel slowly lifted her hands, inching them out in front of her, above her. Her palms pressed against stone, inches from her face. Laurel gasped and drew in a quivering breath as tears streamed from her still closed eyes. She covered her mouth and sobbed, all hope draining from her. She was going to die. She was going to die.
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