Chapter 4
Chapter four
The Phoenix
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t slow my racing heart as I lay in my bed, paralyzed.
He was too close to me. I couldn’t see him, but I could sense that he was in the room.
He had that effect on me after I fell asleep.
I wasn’t sure how he would sneak in, whether it was through the window or an open door, or how he could get past Riley, who was still asleep in his dog bed on the other side of the room.
Nothing I tried to do had kept him out once my conscious self slipped away.
Cold air hit my skin, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over my naked body, pebbling my nipples to the point they were almost painful.
Blood pulsed in my ears, reminding me of the rising panic attack that I could feel approaching.
I couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t endure another night or the touch of his hands on me.
A shadow moved across the foot of the bed where my feet were shaking slightly, even though I was unable to consciously move them.
He was watching me, his eyes like pools of ultramarine against the endless darkness.
The light blue orbs sent anxiety rocketing through me; they saw into my very soul and mocked my fear with a ferocity that made me tremble.
He stayed in the shadows for a moment. Like every other time he appeared, he remained patient.
The demon of my nightmares never needed to rush; he always got what he wanted in the end, keeping me on edge with never knowing when he was going to step out of the shadows and into the sliver of moonlight streaming in from my window between the curtains.
As soon as he would, just as I would be able to see his face, I would wake up.
Maybe tonight would be different, and I would finally be able to see the monster who stalked me in my dreams.
My bed was wet, sweat dripping off me as if I had run a complete marathon, all while lying down, chilling my body even more.
As my limbs shook in their locked position, I could feel the dampness against my skin and how it formed a tacky buried between my body and the duvet.
Every night that he appeared, my clothes were always missing despite the fact that I wore them to bed every night.
I could hear him breathing as he moved along the wall, closer to the head of the bed.
His deep, even breaths revealed just how calm he was during his game.
He never made a sound when he moved, other than his intentional rhythmic breathing that I could hear growing deeper as he moved closer.
He wanted me to be aware that he was inching closer to me.
My body reacted whenever he started to move, shaking more violently than before, dreading what was about to come.
My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to break out of my ribcage and start beating on the floor, flopping around like a fish out of water.
Maybe a death like that would be preferable to what I knew he had in store for me.
Even just the thought of his touch made my stomach turn to lead.
I needed to move. I needed to find an anchor to grab onto, to ground me in reality.
Fear kept my hands pinned at my sides, leaching my strength from trying to regain control.
The inability to overcome that fear and break out of the spell scared me.
I was his puppet, only instead of keeping me suspended with strings, he kept me compliant with his invisible restraints.
My lips moved without making a sound. To scream, to plead, to curse, I wasn’t sure what words were wanting to fly off the tip of my tongue, only that none would come when I needed them most.
His boots didn’t make a sound as he made his way forward again.
Always in the same spot, just behind the same sliver of light that penetrated my dark bedroom.
He stopped next to the bed, keeping his face forever hidden in the shadows.
His gaze found mine with those ice blue eyes, even though I couldn’t move my head from it’s forward-facing position.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I silently cried, wishing for it to be over quickly and resigning myself to the fact that it was real and I wasn’t ever going to escape him.
A gloved hand lifted from his side. He gently placed the back of his hand against my thigh as he let his fingers graze the blanket I lay on, drifting up and down, caressing my thigh.
When he pulled his hand up to examine his fingers, he marveled at the red that now coated the pale blue latex gloves he wore.
It was worse than the thought I had produced so much perspiration that I had saturated my bed, I was lying in a pool of my own blood.
I couldn’t even comprehend taking stock if I could even feel an injury; my adrenaline was too high for me to feel any ounce of pain.
He placed his blood-covered hand on my chin, holding it tightly between his forefinger and thumb, manually forcing my head to turn to face him.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Rae,” He whispered, bringing his face slowly closer to mine.
He was going to destroy me. Slowly, he was stealing away pieces of me until nothing of my former self could be found.
“You can’t hide from me forever.” His deep voice sent a chill down my spine, only adding to the shivers already racking through my body.
I awoke with a start in an unfamiliar room, covered in sweat, and my heart beating expeditiously in my chest. A scream from my own mouth had broken through my dream, startling me awake.
The echoes in my head, residual from the dream that had been plaguing me the past three nights, lingered like fog in my mind.
As I took in the room, trying to calm my breathing, I wiped the sweat away from my face and remembered where I was.
The blankets scratched against my calves, my scrub pants having hiked up to my knees in my sleep, as I reminded myself I wasn’t in the comfort of my own bed, but rather in the Behavioral Health Clinic.
The dream drifted away from my memory like they usually did most mornings, never lingering long enough for me to recall the vivid details.
This one was starting to become a broken record, playing on repeat, ever since I had tried to escape my relationship with Craig.
My mind seemed to be hardwired not to retain anything it endured during my subconscious state.
I threw the thin white blanket off me as I got out of bed, ashamed at how damp the mattress was from sweat, wishing more than anything that these newfound night terrors would find someone else to torment.
Logically, I had no reason to have such issues in a place where you couldn’t even take a shit without someone having a front row seat. I was safer here than in my own home.
I stripped my clothes off quickly, knowing the faster I could get myself clean and scrub away the residual odious feeling lingering on both my body and in my mind, the faster I could start to feel normal in my own skin.
The nightmare must have started early in the night since half the sweat that covered my body was partially dried, leaving me feeling encrusted in my own skin.
The shower in my room wasn’t much, and offered little to no privacy.
A saloon-style door made of a clear, thick plastic was the only thing separating me from anyone who looked in my room.
Like clockwork every fifteen minutes, my door would open and someone would make sure I was still alive before moving down the hall to the remainder of the rooms. In my shower stall, I was only allowed a small wash rag and a small plastic bottle of soap and shampoo.
Razors were against the rules, so I didn’t have a choice but to ignore the prickling feeling on my legs as hairs were starting to grow.
Turning on the water as hot as I could stand it, I let it scald my skin.
Holding my head under the stream of water, I tried to rinse my mind of whatever negative thoughts plagued me in my sleep.
I held my breath as the scorching water ran down my face, wishing I could feel anything other than the horrific and empty feeling that started the night before I found myself in the hospital.
As carefully as I could, to avoid getting my bandaged arm wet, I scrubbed my pale skin until it was red and raw, cleansing myself of not only the layer of sweat that had accumulated in my sleep, but the aches and pains in my body that made me feel as though I had been running instead of sleeping.
It was difficult washing my arms while trying not to ruin the gauze protecting my stitches.
The last thing I wanted to see was the damage they kept saying I had inflicted upon myself if the bandages needed to be replaced.
My muscles were tense, despite the lack of physical activity I had seen the past few weeks, though I supposed getting pushed from my second-floor landing was enough to leave me feeling like I had been hit by a truck.
As if on cue, as soon as I had rinsed my hair, I heard my bedroom door open, letting light in from the hallway.
I didn’t bother looking to see which nurse was doing the rounds this time, having forced myself late last night to adjust to the constant invasion of privacy.
There was no such thing as a private moment in a facility where they thought their patients were going to off themselves the second they were no longer being watched.
Other than just needing to set eyes on me and make sure I was still breathing, they didn’t say anything, just wrote a tally mark on their clipboard before making their way to the rest of the patients.
The nurse didn’t say anything as they closed my bedroom door; they typically didn’t unless they had a reason to ask something.
I waited under the water for a moment after I heard the door close completely, trying to time getting dressed before the next round went by.
Exiting the shower and wrapping myself in a towel, I grabbed a clean set of scrubs from my sink and dumped my soiled ones next to the door.
I sighed and pulled on the scrubs as quickly as possible, not giving a shit that I didn’t have my own belongings, so that meant I had to go without a bra and properly fitting underwear.
After my intake assessment last night with the nurse who didn’t seem capable of even pretending to care about me, I was humiliated and wanted nothing more than to just get these next few weeks over with as swiftly as possible.
Even though the clinic was on the same campus as the main hospital, they still insisted on transporting me by ambulance last night.
I wished they would have let me walk instead, allowing me to work out my issues physically rather than being strapped into a vehicle for a three-minute ride.
After arriving, before I was even shown to my room, they had one of the nurses conduct another exam on my body.
This one however, wasn’t for medical purposes, but rather to document any and all injuries, scars, tattoos, and piercings.
The documentation process even included taking photos of every inch of my body.
They told me it was standard procedure to make sure I didn’t acquire more injuries while in their care.
Having to strip naked for a medical exam was one thing. Having every scar photographed, no matter where it was located on my body, was another. The only positive note the nurse had to say about my nude and vulnerable body was that she liked my tattoo on my left arm.
The intricate sleeve took up the entire expanse of my arm.
Purple flowers grew along detailed vines with objects mixed in, hidden in their foliage.
The lovers tarot card, a favorite of mine though not from the practice of tarot, a gray beaded bracelet with a heart-shaped pendant sat along my wrist, peaking out of the leaves and down my hand.
A strand of pearls wove in and out with small, detailed insects appearing in various places.
She even went as far as to take the dressing off my right arm, which ran the entire length of my forearm, and photographed the lacerations.
It was the first time I had seen the damage done to it since I had woken up.
There was no way I would have ever been able to inflict that much damage on myself with my left hand wielding the knife.
Two deep cuts ran from my elbow to my inner wrist, requiring stitches.
But that wasn’t all of the defilement. Fifteen cuts, held together with butterfly stitches, were also on my outer forearm.
I seriously questioned where the doctors studied because there was no way my non-dominant hand would have been able to do that many clean cuts.
After the altercation with Craig, I knew who must have done it, the fucking idiot probably didn’t even know I was right-handed.
My biggest concern was just getting someone to listen to me, that I wasn’t suicidal, and that I had been attacked.
Having been with the man for almost three years, I knew in my heart that he wouldn’t give up that easily to just let me walk away this time.
It was just a matter of time before he appeared to either finish the job he started or convince me to belong to him again.