valeriebtrix Valerie Trix

This story is on hiatus as I work to finish my first book, Tempest & Temptation. Yesterday I was Maria. Today I am Elise. I woke in this body.

Romance Suspense romantique Déconseillé aux moins de 13 ans.

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This body is not mines

If I could describe how it feels to have your skull crushed, your stomach burning, and bones screaming; then comes the pressure. Rising. Squeezing you so tight, there's no air left. Tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

There's a pulsating need to breathe. To taste a sweet release from the constrictive forces tearing at the fabrics of your sanity.

But you can't. You can't breathe.

Your chest caves sinking further. Further. Further. Your ribs weaken and deacy with every thud and hammer of your beating heart.

If I could describe all this clearly. Then perhaps, I can begin to explain what I'm experiencing. Even then words are lacking to explain every sensation of my blood curling ready to burst from past my skin, the violent searing heat blighting every inch of me, and my vision blanketed in a smog.

Perhaps there is one word that can describe this.


Indescribable pain.

There is no end to it. Even the seconds feel like years in this state.


Only pain.



Only pain.

Then like magic.

Everything stops.

It stopped.

The burning.

The tearing.

There's only stillness left.

I am like a feather. Floating back to my body.

Where was I?

I feel as if I were lost at sea. Swaying in the current of the ocean. There's a peace to it. Pure solace. A humming in my ears. Its melodic.

It's confusing.

I can't place it.

There's this revitalizing feeling pouring into me. I'm returning. But I don't know from where. I just know, I'm returning.

Air pushes into my lungs, forcing me to breathe. My eyes flutter open. The bright rays of sunlight make me squint. It's warm. I feel almost blanketed in gentle mild heat.

"Elise?" I know I've never heard the voice before. "Elise?" The voice cracks, desperately searching for a response. From the deeper timbre and lower pitch I know it must belong to a man's. I pull my heavy eyes open wider.

"Elise?" A soft touch presses onto my cheek. Grey eyes shine like the gleam of a coin, then the color shifts. His eyes become that of a dove grey, and I swear, for a moment, I see it. The wings of a dove in his eyes.

"Elise." He whispers. His voice stands firm this time. His resolution clear. The soft touch become more aggressive. Hands gripping my cheeks, and fingers exploring the surface of my skin.

"Elise." My vision wavers becoming fuzzy lens. Everything's so blurry. Yet, why?

Why is he so clear?

Isolated from all the fuzz is him. His hands press deeper holding my face tighter, as if he let go, I slip through his fingers. He pulls us closer. Grey eyes against mines. Smooth Tawny brown hair. Soft features that appear painted. Sun kissed maroon skin. Everything about him, from slow rising smile, hopeful glow, and his frantic grasp, is unfamiliar. Yet he stares at me. Feels me. All as if, he knows me.

Missed me.

"Elise." Again, that's the one name he won't stop uttering. It's as if he has no words left, except for the name.

"Elise." I know he's on the verge of tears with his shaking voice. The blur clears and my scenery become distinct. I pull away from the man's grasp. Velvet red curtains with gold trimmings dance in the wind. Satin covers rest on the bed I'm lying in. A graceful royal purple bed canopy hangs above me. The ceiling pure white gilded with chandeliers and dramatic domes and caves. I've never seen this bed. I've never seen this room.

"Elise, I...," I can hear him looking for words. I don't know this man. I don't know this place.

And for the life of me, I don't know who the hell Elise is.

A pit grows in my stomach. Panic settles on my tongue. Where am I? I must leave. I must go. This is not my home. This is not my room. My room has yellow curtains and dainty small window that lets in just air for circulation and an inch of light. My room is average sized, one of 4 in my house. I know it's not this spacious expansive room that spreads in front of me now. All at once, the realization dawns on me.

I don't know where I am.

My breath begans to break its rhythm, becoming sporadic.

Leave. I need to leave.

In one hasty movement I rip away from the bed.

"Wait! Elise, it's too early to move—-!"

"Bang!" I crash into the floor. My legs knot together becoming a tangled mess that weighs me to ground. A stinging sensation vibrates through my muscles. It's as if my legs aren't used to walking.

"Are you alright?" The man hurries to my side.

"Elise," he wraps a hand around my arm lifting me slowly, "please be careful."




Enough of that!

"Stop it!" I shout, snatching my arm away and propelling from him. The shock on his face is prominent.

"Elise," he reaches out for my hand, "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you. Please return to the bed, you're still so weak."

"No!" I state, every letter hinging on the fear boiling in blood. Why does my body ache this way? Every second standing feels like walking on glass. The stinging sensation spreads from toes and rolling up through my legs. My bones feel brittle, gnawed down by fatigue.

It's strange. I feel different. My legs shake feeling thinner than paper. I'm slimmer than I remember, in fact, everything feels ganut and threadlike. My throat burns, as if I've had a sore throat for longer than a day.

"Elise? Please," he begs, "return back to the bed. You shouldn't stand. Not when you're this weak."

"No!" Has my voice always sounded this way? This raspy croaking murmur of a voice? The pain blazes through my wobbling legs. I know they're about to give away. Stumbling to the wide vanity desk only a few steps, I make my way forward, although every step might as well be stomping on shards of glass. Exhausted, I catch my breath, and lift my head in ragged movements. My eyes are first to catch sight of the mirror.



Who is that?

Those aren't my eyes. That's not my nose. These aren't my lips. Those aren't my ears. That isn't the color of my hair.



Who am I staring at?

I don't have large doe brown eyes, charcoal black hair, or rounded petite lips. I didn't have these deep set bags under my eyes. My fingers trail across an unknown face.

I didn't have this sunken in appearance. My eyes fell to my body. I didn't go to sleep in a pastel pink nightgown. I was never this small, so fragile, almost broken. I'm pale. So pale I could disappear. So small I could be carried by wind.

Just who?

Who am I staring at?

Who is this?

This is not me.

Tears well in my eyes.

This is not my body.

1 Janvier 2020 06:18 4 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
Lire le chapitre suivant I close my eyes and remember

Commentez quelque chose

Elle Rae Whyte Elle Rae Whyte
Whew. Took me on a journey. Loved your use of sensory details to show, not tell. Great work.
January 31, 2020, 19:10

  • Valerie Trix Valerie Trix
    Thank you so much! That means a lot to hear. :) February 03, 2020, 00:46

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