Breathe

Chapter 2 - Oblivion

I'm running. I don't know what from, but there's a sense of urgency in the air. My legs pump faster and faster, desperately trying to distance me from whatever I'mtrying to get away from.

I couldn't look back. I couldn't do much of anything else really, apart from running. 

I didn't feel anything. That wasn't in of itself a new feeling for me; I had grown accustomed to the emptiness that plagued my dreams. But this, this lack of feeling, was entirely different. It wasn't necessarily plain emptiness, it was like I was missing something, as though a something had been torn from me. And that scared me more than I'd care to admit. 

I was vaguely aware of something breathing close behind me, I could smell it, I could taste the foul air around me, but I didn't let myself turn around.

To see my attacker was to die. And though I hate life, I didn't want to die unless it was of my own accord. I want to die when I want, not because someone, or something was chasing me. 

All I needed to fucus on was running. The same pattern, over and over. Don't think, just do. Don't look back, just put your left foot in front of your right.

I looked back. And when I did, I immediately lost balance and tripped, hitting the ground. I only had a glimpse of what had been chasing me -- a black, shapeless form, dripping some sort of black ooze that reeked of death, with rows of razor sharp teeth, trying to get a taste of my flesh.

I held my hand out in front of my face, as though I could shield myself from the inevitable. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I bolted up in bed, the white sheets sticking to my skin. I threw them off me in disgust, and swallowed, trying to calm my senses. 

My heart hammered in my chest, driving the moniter beside my bed crazy.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, stopping right outside my door.

"Are you okay, Noelle?" A male voice called, one that sounded vaguely familiar.

"I'm alright," I squeaked, my voice coming out more vulnerable than I had intended.

I cleared my throat. "Just a bad dream, that's all," I said, trying to sound confident, though I wanted nothing more than to crawl under my hot sheets and drown in my conciousness again.

The man sighed, opening my door despite my protests.

They should really get locks on the doors, ones that work to keep outsiders out. Not just ones that keep me in, but keep others out.

"Harry?" I asked, pulling the covers over myself, moving my feet so he could sit on the edge of my bed.

The fact that he was in my room wasn't what shocked me, other patients always came in my room, because I had a reputation. I could listen to other people, I could help them, I could soothe them. Different people came in the dead of night. Sometimes neither of us would speak. Sometimes I would just hold the person close to me, wrapping my arms around them as they told me about their demons. Some just cried, as their bodies trembled under the sadness that kept them prisoner.

So when Harry came in, I wasn't too surprised, until I saw his face.

I was used to fear. The frantic eyes looking around as if memories were right in front of them. Sweat-drenched faces, hands that wouldn't stop moving. The anxiety was something I knew. I knew what to do when someone came in looking sad, or mad, or just confused.