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I wake up covered in sweat, my hands above my head, sitting up, my fingernails clawing my throat. The harsh rasp of my breath feels like I’m drowning, unable to get enough air, my lungs filled with the abuse in my dream, a kind of liquid poured into me that I can never expel.
Coughing, I feel the moan rise up from my core, as if it needs to speak, as if I can find it a voice.
This is one of the dreams that has plagued me for four years.
I thought coming home would make it stop.
A light turns on in the hallway. I grab my pillow and cover my face, crawling under the covers and resting on my side, away from the door. Eyes wide, heart twitching like I’m being defibrillated, I force myself to breathe evenly. Fighting instinct, I make it happen.
I have no choice.
I’ve had no choices for four years.
Someone is on the other side of my door. Shadows along the small crack at the base of the threshold tell me I’m right. The door creaks softly, like someone is pressing their hands against it. Are they shoving their ear up to the wood to listen for me?
I have to give them nothing.
Did I scream? Cry out? Gasp so loudly they heard me? I can control my behaviors when I am conscious, but the subconscious and the unconscious...ah, they are finicky mistresses. So hard to control.
Three faces flash before my open eyes, memories frozen in time. John, Stellan and Blaine.
Funny how they look just like the vulture in my dream.
Those eyes.
The person on the other side of my door knocks softly. Tentative, they’re exploring whether I’m awake or not. I hold my breath.
Go away, I think. Just go away.
To my surprise, they do. The shadows and the shuffling in the hallway tell me so.
I spend the next three hours until dawn staring at my ceiling fan, willing it to move.
I do not close my eyes.
Chapter 9
Home.
I’m home. I can smell it. At some point, I must have dozed off, because I wake up with drool in the corner of my mouth and that hazy feeling you get when you’re not quite sure whether you’re asleep or awake.
That scent? It’s the smell of carbs.
Carbs and cinnamon. My two favorite food groups.
Something in the room is ringing. The sound is electronic, and it takes me a while to recall the sound.
It’s a mobile phone.
I sit up and search the room, my eyes running across the surface of my dresser, nightstands, desk, and coming up empty.
Then I realize it has a hollow sound.
Three, four, five times it rings, and as I stand and search, I finally discover it in the left, top drawer of my desk.
I open the drawer. It is empty other than the phone, which is brand new.
