Counting
Ariana was huddled on the footpath; her arms hugging her knees, her eyes squeezed shut. She hummed loudly, trying not to listen to the voices in her mind.
(One).
She knew if she made it to ten everything would be alright. (Ten was a good number, a safe number). Ten was how many fingers she had. And how many toes. Ten was how many chocolates Papa brought her on Sundays. Ten was how many seconds Abe gave her to hide when they played hide and seek. (Ten was a good number).
(Two).
Her eyes were starting to hurt now. But she mustn't open them. (Mustn't. Mustn't. Mustn't.) She tried to think of nice things. That's what Albus told her to do when she had nightmares. She didn't have many nightmares. But sometimes real life was worse. Today was worse.
(Three).
She didn't like those boys. Not at all. Mama said she shouldn't hate anybody. (Hate is a strong word.) But she thought she hated those boys. They weren't nice. Not like Abe and Albus. Although Albus forgot about her sometimes. (Mama said that was normal). She hoped Abe would never forget her. She needed him.
(Four).
She felt dirty. But she was too sore to have a bath. And besides, she didn't know how to get home. (Where was home?) She didn't want to go home. Those boys might follow her, and she didn't want them to hurt anyone else. She felt too dirty.
(Five).
She was halfway there now. (Not far to go, that's what Abe told her when she got to five.) She hummed louder. (It was getting harder to ignore the voices in her mind). She didn't want them to come back. (Never. Never. Never.)
(Six.)
There was something on her dress. (Warm and sticky). Mama would get cross. It was a good dress. She didn't like making Mama cross. Her tummy hurt.
(Seven).
She wanted to open her eyes. (Too hard). They were stinging. And yellow spots were floating like suns, as if they all had little planets to attend to. The sun was warm. She wished she were warm. Warm. Warm was the opposite of cold. (Or was it hot?) Albus would know. Albus was a clever boy. (Mama said that all the time). She wanted to be a clever boy too. But she was a girl. Girl. Boy. They were funny words. Strange. Albus always told her to say strange.
(Eight).
She was nearly there now. (Albus said eight was nearly ten). The humming wasn't working anymore. She could hear their laughter. (It wasn't real). In her mind. Mind. Was mind like brain? Or head? What was the difference? Albus would know. He was a clever boy.
(Nine).
(Was nine next?) She wasn't sure. Her legs hurt. And her tummy. She could feel tears on her cheeks, but she couldn't remember crying. What was next? (Ten was a good number. When did ten come?) She didn't know. (One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine). When was ten? She had to count to ten. Ten was a safe number. It was her fault if she didn't find ten. (Her fault. All hers.) Abe said she had to count to ten. He said good girls counted to ten. She wanted to be a good girl. (Where was ten?)