Falling Bad

5- Nightmare

"You aren't scared of me, are you? Well, you'll be, soon."
Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots and I woke up covered in sweat. Again. It was raining outside. I had the same nightmare after that day. It's been a week. I barely sleep. I'm traumatized by him. One day I'd see him and me tying his tie and then quickly he'll shoot me. Another day, I'd see myself in that man's shoes and lying in a pool of blood. My head is so fucked up that I've gone insane. So much for helping a handsome guy!

And these nightmares are insane. What the hell?

Everything plays again and again in small films in my head. I was ready to smack him the next time I see him because he made me lose my sleep, which I love to do.

I slowly lost interest in everything. Food, running, music. Though there was nothing much interesting at all in my life.

I was slowly becoming what's more like a zombie. Everyone understood it. My parents were worried that something was wrong in my workplace, and my colleagues were afraid that something was wrong at home. Whenever did someone ask me whether everything is alright or am I fine? I would smile at them and say "Yeah! I'm fine." But deep down we all knew nothing was fine.

My colleagues were planning to go to a concert that weekend and as everyone was worried about me, almost everyone wanted me to come. They even called my home, like I'm some kind of a teen who needs permission and alibis to go out. My parents were super happy because it was the first time in years that they heard I had friends. So, I was forced to leave home in a fancy dress around six in the evening. It was not a concert of a teen pop band. It was a very old yet talented band doing classic songs. Deep down I kind of liked it as well.
Two of my colleagues came to pick me up because I told them I'm too lazy to drive. I was to return home around midnight. I rolled my eyes at my dad when he said it.
"I'm not a teen. I can take care of myself and I'm not going on a date. So why bother?"

I had become cold with time so I had this straight face ready for every occasion.

We arrived on time and reunited with the others. One of my colleagues had pre-booked tickets for all of us and it was easy for us to just pay and get in. We went to our seats which were on the second-floor balcony. It was spectacular from up there. The instruments shined in the lighting. I looked around the balcony and downstairs. It was a full house. From where I was seated I could see the separate balconies where "loaded" people would sit.

It's not that I'm not "loaded". I'm quite content with mine but I hate how snobby some rich are.

Anyways...
The show started. It was nice. The crowd joined in for some songs and it was fun. It was a two-hour show and it was worth the spend. The music was genuine and the artists were all good. Perfect.

I felt relieved of my stress. When the show ended we went out in a very orderly manner which I was surprised by. Three of my colleagues went to the washroom with me while the men waited in the lobby. I adjusted my hair a bit, reapplied lipstick a bit and washed my hands.
I didn't wait for my colleagues and walked out hoping to find the lounge. It was dark in the hall. I walked in, which felt like diving into the deep sea, although I'd never done it. It only got darker.

Suddenly a hand grabbed me from behind and I felt myself bumping into some kind of a wall.

"Ouh!" I squirmed. "What the fuck?"
I heard a small laugh.

"Dear Ms Teacher knows how to cuss!"

I raised my head to see from where the sound was coming. Suddenly there I was, in a fully lit room. Oh! That's how I saw all the colours and shapes of him. It was a blue jacket, a white shirt, a chiselled jaw, dark red lips, a strong nose, and a pair of chocolate brown eyes. I was lost in those eyes for a moment till he threw me away but I managed to stand straight without losing balance.

"What? Are you following me now? Spying on me? Worried that I might tell someone?" I returned his mocking laugh.

He was angry. Furious would be more appropriate. He grabbed me by my hand and pinned me to the wall.

"Let me go." I hit him with my free hand. Just once and then he caught it as well. Now both my hands are pinned down and he was towering over me. I had to lift my head to look at him.
I didn't show any weakness. I sternly held my gaze which made him angrier. With every minute he got angry he'd press my hands harshly. I'd grit my teeth and frown at him. It was a battle of ego. Whoever has the biggest ego will win over the other, making them look bad and lost.

Unknowingly a tear fell out of my eyes. Even I didn't see it coming. I guess I lost. I was keeping my stern face when it happened. He looked angrier and loosened his grip just to hit the wall behind me. Instinctively my head turned to the side and my hands grabbed his other hand when my body jumped.

I slowly lifted my head and looked at him. There was something I couldn't read in his eyes. He quickly hid his eyes and turned his back to me, ran his hand through his hair, grabbed a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and quickly lit one cigarette.

"Seriously?" I said. I hate the smell of cigarettes but that wasn't the question was about. Seriously what does he want? He ruined my sleep now he's ruined my mind.

Is he bipolar? There's something about us, even though we didn't, well, he didn't utter a word, there's something we understand or want to understand but deny so badly.

I wanna pull my hair and scream right now. I was frustrated.

He had a drag or two and puffed out slowly like he was trying to calm himself. I couldn't care. I wouldn't. I don't. I turned angrily to walk away.

"Not that way. The other way. Turn right from there." He said pointing to the other side with his cigar hand.
"Whatever. Don't follow me." I said quietly "Not even to my dreams anymore." I walked in the direction he showed.

I hate him would be an understatement. I loathe him.

He's gonna be the death of me either literally or not.

I hate that the only guy who got this close to me, who made me feel things I couldn't comprehend and after years but had to be my grim reaper.
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Love,

Writer.