Chapter 5 #2
“Eyes down,” someone barks. I groan, the bright light making the world spin even more. They keep walking.
What the hell is going on? Am I dreaming again? Panic seeps into my muscles. My shoes skip on the pavement behind me. Run, run, run, thrums through my veins, but instead I’m frozen. Frozen, frozen, stuck, limbs locked in a fuzzy, dreamlike grip.
The pavement transitions to concrete with lines running through it. A sidewalk. It’s so bright it’s hard to see. I try to get my legs to move, but it’s like trying to move an inanimate object with just your brain. Oh my god, why don’t my legs move?
I realize with a sagging sense of relief that this is a dream. Only in dreams does your body not move when you want it to.
Then, the all-consuming brightness is gone. I damn near sigh, but then something slams behind me and my body jerks in surprise. I don’t go anywhere, because the dream people are holding my arms.
Holding me, but not hurting me. I’m numb.
“Fucking wake up.” I’m shaken so hard my head snaps back and forth, and that makes me feel sick.
Sick?
I blink my eyes open again. I’m in a hallway with no windows and cement walls, almost like a basement.
Then, I’m being yanked toward a set of double doors and pushed through. The room is long and wide, and there are men sitting down, lined up against the walls. They’re all spaced about five feet apart, and there have to be at least thirty. An odd feeling settles in my gut.
I dig my feet in, but of course, I have no control over whether they obey. I’m yanked to an empty spot on the wall and thrown down against it.
“Save your fight for tomorrow, dumb bitch.” There’s movement at my back, a zipping sound, then both men are standing up and stepping quickly away from me. Their movement is so quick that I get dizzy.
I pull on my arms. They’re fuzzy and stuck behind me, but I doubt they’d work if they were free anyway. Even blinking feels like a monumental effort.
When I can keep my eyes open, I glance around at the other men, wondering if they’ll morph into men puking blood. Or worse, the kids from my school who usually appear in my nightmares.
I brace for the cold sweats that normally come from seeing the nightmares.
My arms break out in goosebumps, but none of the men in the room change into the typical nightmare subjects.
Some of them are awake, and some of them are slumped over.
Then the door opens again, and another dazed man is dragged inside. He’s tied to the wall, then left.
I sit there, humming in my ears, with a slight throb in my right one. When will they turn? The goosebumps shiver over me again, and my hands are cold.
I’m not sure how long I slip in and out of the dream. When I come back, I know the dream is still going because my feet are cold and clammy. I look around me. Immediately next to me is a man who’s attractive in a boyish way, with soft curly hair.
Oh? Cute boy? Is this dream about to take a turn?
As I notice him, there’s loud shouting that rips my attention away. I look over at a man across the way from me. He spits obscenities, trying to escape the wall. He howls, shaking and fighting, until a man next to the screaming man kicks at him, barking, “Shut the fuck up!”
The screaming man ignores him, thrashing around.
I frown. Right when my dream was about to get better. Right when I was going to shake the cold sweats and wake up to my warm blankets. Or maybe I’m not in bed, maybe I’m sleepwalking again.
“I said, shut the fuck up!” The other man leans back, angling his kick to the screaming man’s head. The blow lands, and the man slumps, unmoving.
Damn. This is getting a bit violent.
I shift, antsy. It’s time to wake up now. Cute boys never survive my bad dreams.
The man who kicked the screamer scans the room with dead eyes.
He’s older, in his fifties, with slightly loose skin despite his muscled arms. His hair is silvery, and he has…
something yellow on his ear? Like a tag.
When his eyes lock with mine, I shiver immediately.
There’s no remorse in the man’s gaze—just emptiness.
Oh yeah, it’s time to wake up. I try to close my eyes and manually open them again, but when I open them, I’m still in the nightmare basement.
I realize then I’m the only woman here, which is unusual. Where are the mean girls?
I squeeze my eyes shut. If I just…stop. This will all stop. It has to stop. You always wake up from dreams. I just need to wait it out.
My dream morphs into a nightmare, as they usually do.
Only in this nightmare, there’s a man between my legs, ripping them apart.
No, not just a man. The man from the other part of my dream from across the room. The room where I was kidnapped and tied up. The man has a concentrated look on his face, trying to get my pants off.
I cry out, kicking at him. Only, he’s too close to me to land any of my kicks.
“Fucking stay still,” he growls.
I don’t. I thrash, but there isn’t anywhere to go.
His fingers are on the waistband of my pants, ripping them down.
And now I feel actual terror. Releasing a scream, I try to headbutt him.
My forehead collides with his chest, and he just grunts as my bottom half is exposed to the air and the cold floor.
I can’t get words out. All I do is scream. No, no, no. Connor taught me to fight. To protect myself. But I can’t. My arms won’t move, and I can’t.
Where’s Connor? He usually shows up in these dreams. Shows up for just long enough to get killed, but I need him now. I need him so bad my throat tightens, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Suddenly, there’s movement from my right, and the cute guy leaps up, slamming into the guy on top of me. They grunt, then roll to the side.
I’m stuck lying there for a minute, terror keeping me still. Then I’m up, scrambling back, my ass grinding on the cement.
Something glints in the curly-haired man’s hand, and my mouth drops open. It’s a knife.
The older man growls, backing away. “Cheating bitch,” he spits, but doesn’t come any closer.
“You’re lucky I don’t gut you right here.” Curls’ voice is soft.
Everything is silent, and for some reason, I notice everything in stunning detail. All the other people in the room are still, watching in silence, each of their eyes different shapes and colors, but with the same look—afraid.
The curly-haired man doesn’t back down till the other man sits, then he turns back to me.
“You okay?” he asks gruffly.
All I can do is stare at him. He has a tag in his ear with the number seven on it. As I look around the room, I realize that everyone has a tag with a number, almost like cattle.
Just like cattle.
My stomach feels like ice. I try to reach up to touch my own ear, but my arms still aren’t working. Instead, I brush my shoulder up against my ear. As I do, a shot of pain shoots through it.
Oh my god. Terror freezes my veins. I want to wake up.
“Allow me?” Cute guy, number seven, is still there. He’s nodding at my slacks, which I realize are still around my ankles. And I realize everyone is looking.
I pull my legs up to try to cover myself. Number seven just waits.
I don’t want to acknowledge him. If I do, he’ll die. It always happens with Connor.
The man, or Seven, slowly lowers his hands and pulls my pants up. I have to hike up my hips so he can raise them. When they’re up, Seven raises his hands and backs to his spot.
It’s then that I register that he has a knife. He’s no longer tied up. Neither is the other guy. The guy who tried to…
I close my eyes.
I just need to breathe. In and out. In and out. This is just a horrible nightmare. Granted, worse than some in my past, but I can make it through. All I have to do is breathe and make it through. Use my coping skills. It’ll be okay.
It has to be okay.