People Can You Hear Me? [A Brian May Story]

[11]

I'm running and running, my legs carrying me as fast as they can. It's chasing me! My lungs are on fire, desperate for air. But I can't unrun it, I never can. It snatches me from behind, it's slimy, black ooze wrapping around my body. I struggle as hard as I can but the ooze begins to tighten. I look up, my heart beating in terror as the black inked monster opens it's mouth, saliva raining down on me as it engulfs my head-

I shoot up out of bed, stumbling against my night table, crashing into the wall. I'm breathing too hard, my heart racing as if I've run a marathon at full speed. I desperately reach for a light switch, flicking it on. My lamp turns on and the room is dimly lit. I try to swallow but my throat is too dry. Looking at the clock on the wall, I've been asleep only an hour.

The shortest time yet. I refuse to sleep, the nightmares crushing my brain, giving me sleep paralysis and making me physically ill. It's always the same; the black, evil monster runs after me and devours me whole. Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I make my way to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with water. I pour it into the coffee machine, getting ready to load up on caffeine to keep me awake.

Now on average, I drink almost six cups a day, desperate for anything and everything to keep me awake. In class, I'm typing at two times the speed I normally do. I'm nearly running to class, my body is so hyped on unnatural energy. As the machine gets ready, some of my senses come back to me and I realize my pajamas are sticky with sweat. I haven't done laundry, I haven't cleaned, cooked or hell even showered. My hair is a big, curly, black mess.

My mom nicknamed me the "black sheep" as a child because of my hair always being wildly curly. And also because I loved watching the sheep at fairs and zoos and refused to leave if I didn't get to pet them. I sigh as I strip off my shirt, double-checking to make sure the curtains were closed. My mom would be so disappointed in me. Almost three months in and I've come close to failing my class, done drugs and even who knows what with Noah!

Noah...

I wonder if all of those people are in prison. I hope they are, I never want to see them again. I should never have trusted them. It was purely because Kim could understand me, even by just a little bit, that I decided to hang out with them. I just wanted to fit in a little bit, really get to know the culture of another country. Now, I'm a filthy, unmotivated, lonely mess.

And it's all my fault.

The machine beeps and I take the steaming coffee pot and pour my mug to the brim, mixing in only a pinch of sugar. I wonder if Brian would've come up for coffee. It's been a week since he so graciously took me home. I've been so busy catching up on my work that side trips to Kensington Market are nonexistent. I know I should have been more insistent on Mrs. Davidson to let him in, but I was worried about Oscar. Maybe Brian will understand.

Speaking of Oscar, he saunters into the kitchen, sitting by his bowl. I fill it with some food and gently pat his head. I walk back into my bedroom, completely ridding myself of clothes. I go into the bathroom and get a shower ready. It's been harder to shower when I'm feeling such paranoia. I feel like someone's going to pull back the curtain and go all Psycho on me. Violin screeching and all.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the shower and try not to let the thoughts overtake me. I give up halfway, deciding to shave my legs at another time. I put on a Jackson 5 record as I blow-dried and straightened my unruly curls. Luckily, they aren't very voluminous but still, it's a pain in my neck. The caffeine is slowly sinking into my consciousness as I let the music overtake me for a while. I shamelessly dance around my apartment to I Want You Back, trying to imitate the young Jackson family moves.