Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

7 1 ~ R u s t y

                 

Present Day ~ July 13, 2011

I wake up in the middle of the night. Not to the nightmares, not to the rush of water in my lungs or to the sound of my own cries for help. I wake up to a rustling, a thump, and the drift of a summer breeze brushing my face.

When I heard it, felt it, I kept completely still. But now I don't think I can let it alone.

All of these thoughts are running through my mind, like maybe it's the police. Maybe it's a robber. Maybe it could be Caesar or one of his pets that he controls. This could be it. He might have found me.

But, of course, I know I'm wrong. I've had this thought hundreds of times in the last... has it been five months now? Four? I know it isn't going to be him because it never is.

I slowly sit up in bed, squinting through the dark and around the room. It looks the same as when I went to sleep, or at least I think it does. The wall is still painted a glistening black and the snowflakes are still watching me from the wall to my right. I shake my head... I must have dreamt the sounds, right?

I get up anyway, my heart beating out of my chest. The rustling, the sounds of footsteps came and went in a blur, just barely there, but not enough to completely convince me that they were real. I swallow, heading over to the window.

It's still open, and it gives me a chill. Then I remember not closing it last night. As fast as I possibly can, I yank the glass down and latch the lock on the edge, then slowly back away from it. I'm trying to get my heart rate down when I notice... smudges.

It isn't just the sound of footprints that convince me that someone was indeed here.

It is also the footprints themselves.

The realization hits me like a train. The black paint has been smeared onto the window sill. I see the smudges on the window, on the floor right below it, leading right up to the bed.

I feel like I'm choking.

Someone had come in and walked up to the bed while I was asleep. Holy shit. I follow the trail with my eyes, where they lead out the door and into the garage itself.

But I never heard the garage door open, or the back door to the garage.

Oh my God, they're still in here.

A wave of cold chills hit me and I'm frozen. What do I do? I know that if things were different if I weren't a criminal, I would be calling 911 for help. I would be freaking out on the phone with the police dispatcher.

I don't even have a phone.

And here it is again, the fight or flight. I could go out the window, but then the intruder might hear me and come after me.

I crouch down to the ground and look around for a weapon. Squatting beside the bed, I grab a baseball bat that I had insisted on keeping beside my bed. I realize now that I am holding my breath. If I follow them out, they could kill me. I mean, I'm not ready to die. And I'm not ready to go after whoever this is.

I guess I was hoping I was wrong, but my fears are verified with the crack of something out in the garage. What if I barricaded the door? What if I ran out and just started hitting them?

What if they have a gun?

Who is it? Who the hell is out there?

I stay completely silent and just stay there, too scared to even move. I hear a squeak of a door opening out in the garage, but I don't hear it shut. I close my eyes for a second, not that it really makes a difference in the dark. I count to five.