The air suddenly smelled sweeter, and panic surged throughout my head.
He'll be here soon...
My hands pressed against the glass as I stared at the waves crashing into the soft sand. The dark waters stirred under the wind, as a gray sky conquered the beach. The horizon seemed to disappear with the colors bleeding together, trapping me in a dark place that I couldn't escape. My heart ached at the longing to feel water again, but terror had overcome my mind, disguising rational thinking with fantasy. With soft sand swirling in my hands instead of a cold window piercing my skin. The water coating my toes instead of a broken wood floor cutting into them. Breathing the cool breeze instead of polluted air that drugged my mind. A sweater around my waist instead of a rope around my ankle. The poisoned air let me escape the reality of my situation, but it also blinded me of the real danger that lurked behind the door. Warm tears burned my cheeks as I resurfaced from the grasp of a dream that seemed impossible. I pulled myself off the window and climbed into the frail bed that stood against the wall of the small room. The blankets wrapped around my legs, brushing against my skin. With a muffled scream, I kicked off the sheets, spilling onto the floor in a heap of fabric. It was the only bit of freedom I could get from his grasp. I stared at the scars that laced my legs, watching them disappear beneath my shorts.
What happened to me?
The footsteps began.
I backed into the corner of the bed and curled up into a ball. The tears were flooding my vision, but maybe that was a good thing. I stared at the blood stained mattress and wondered who's blood it was, or was it mine.
The door slowly opened.
My stiff sobs choked the scream I wanted to let out, and I swallowed that idea all together.
He stood there with his clown mask disguising his identity, and I found myself often thinking the mask showed his psychopath side even more. The bits of flashing light coming from the blade blinded me. The black gloves on his hands were stained with lighter reds, offering a clear explanation of what he intended to do.
He looked at the mess on the floor and shook his head, "Why are the blankets on the floor?" His voice was deep and hoarse. With the knife still in his hand he picked up the sheets and threw them next to me on the bed. The ugly yellows and faded reds laid in a heap of false hope.
I hate it...
My body felt numb, leaving me senseless and disoriented. I tried flexing my fingers but all they did was twitch, igniting a fire within my chest. With whatever trust I could muster I kicked the blankets back onto the floor and felt his eyes slowly trail up my leg and around my body until I could feel them burning through my skull, even if I couldn't see them. My nerves were slowly dissipating and my heart nearly stopped beating, even as I could feel his cold hand rub my feet. A scream boiled in my throat, but with each easy breath, it became more restricted and scrambled back into my lungs where it dissolved in the pool of venom that reeked in my mind.
I looked at him one last time, with a heavy threat hanging over my consciousness and muttered, "I hate you."
All he did was chuckle, "It's time for your demons."
I waited in the darkness, a cold lingering in the air that pressured my fear. An endless blackness laid before me, surrounding me in a mix of confusion and anticipation. My heart throbbed with anxiety every second, twitching at the silence that tortured my ears. Every sense I had was standing with full force, ready to defend me. I was shuddering with every thought of a single finger on my body, practically feeling my skin peel as I let that consume my mind. The empty void brought a new misery, one filled with dread that tore at my sanity. The unpredictable movements of these demons always found a way to my mind and twist it until I wasn't prepared for anything. It made everything burn, all the way from my toes to my eyes, scorching them until fire was practically pouring out every pore in my body. These were games being played. And I was a regular contestant.
