The next few weeks pass in kind of a blur.
The majority of the time, I'm huddled up on the floor of the bathroom. I only venture out to have a sneaky cigarette, or if I'm lucky, a slice of bread to stop myself from dying. But that's a rarity. Not only has my fear of my ability gotten out of hand, it's causing the nightmares to be more intense. No different. Just a lot more damaging when I wake up.
I always wait until the middle of the night to attempt these mini life missions of mine. It's got the least chance of bumping into anyone. But it's not like I'm not awake during the day. I can hear them knock on the door, trying to coax me out of my protective cocoon. Excuses like 'It's a lovely day, come and see it' or 'You need to eat something' or my personal favourite 'We aren't mad at you'. That last one almost makes me laugh out loud whenever I hear it.
Besides, even if that was true, it wouldn't matter to me. Nothing they could say will ever matter. I'm mad at me. That's the most important thing. I let that wanker wind me up to the point that I practically gave him a piece of his own medicine. I could have seriously hurt someone, or even myself, in that moment of insanity. I lost control of everything I knew, despite having the upper hand in the situation. I won, but I feel like a loser. And I won't let them push me to that ever again.
Another soul-ripping nightmare jerks me awake. I bite back a scream, not wanting to give those arseholes another reason to come running to the bathroom door. Having them badgering me about needing the toilet or wanting a shower is bad enough...
I stare at my shaking hands, still seeing some of the tiny cuts that I failed to notice in my outrage. I forgot how glass could slice you up. But luckily, they aren't deep. They won't scar. They won't leave me any memories of a time I long to forget. I have far too many of those for a lifetime...
I sigh angrily and look out the window. Darkness. This is my time.
I creep out the door and head into the kitchen. A glass of water is required. If they've had the time to buy new stuff, that is...
I turn the corner and my heart stops. They're all there. All three of them, stood in a line with their arms crossed. All staring straight at me. They've been waiting.
Oh shit...
“We need to talk.”
Glen's voice is stern, like a teacher telling off his student. If I had any sense, I would leg it. Forget the water, I'd rather dehydrate than be in this situation. But I can't move. Once again, my fear has control here. And my legs have decided to stop listening to my brain.
“Are you going to cooperate?”
I can't answer. I just stare at them, mouth open like a goldfish. In the back of my mind, I realise how pathetic this is. But there's nothing I can do. I can't do anything. And I guess they take this as a positive thing, because Glen's body relaxes slightly and he glances over at Mark. My eyes involuntarily follow. And I'm surprised at what I see.
He looks drained. Like any soul he may have had has been wiped out. His once healthy looking skin is now clammy. He must be unwell. Or hungover again. That's the most likely answer, in all honesty. I wouldn't put it past any man to pass up a chance of getting drunk as often as they can. Like I said. It's a recipe for disaster. And that's man's middle name.
As our eyes meet, I see something flash in them. Something that I don't understand. But before I can think about it too long, it's gone. As is his gaze. It's dropped to the floor, like a small child. That's when I realise what that look was. It was fear. The same fear I've always felt around him. The tables have turned. Man fears woman.
