I don't quite feel - trapped, yet. This is different. [...] I can feel the ghosts of all their hands on me. Their breaths on my neck. Smell the memory of vanilla and garlic.
[...]
It feels almost - not quite as though [...] if I could shed my skin, I could outrun the memories. I could outrun the past closing in on me, trying to take me back there. I can almost feel the pressure of shackles and the walls closing in around me, but if I fight, maybe I can get free. As though I'm part of the way to remembering, but stopped just shy of what normally happens. Like maybe I could fight it off rather than fall into it this time.