Chapter Sixteen Sinnerman #3
And then it comes back all at once. Blessed fucking air.
I’m so bloody happy that I can breathe and that I’m not dead that I forget for a full second where I am and what the fuck’s going on.
My face is all in a sheet or a duvet or something, my heart’s all over the shop, there’s someone trying to turn me over -- right.
Instinct Brain is back and it’s already remembered everything it needs to: Danger and Escape.
It takes the reins for me just as my regular mind, my “me” mind, realises that I’m really bloody scared.
That I’m probably more scared than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
My elbow drives back with all the force I’ve got. His hold on me’s gone and it’s like I’m seeing the fucking pearly white gates of heaven in front of me. Freedom is right there, waiting for me. I hear him cough and gag and I’m scrabbling across the covers to safety.
I’m almost off the bed when he gets a hand around my calf and drags me back.
Fuck. I’d been so close. But I’m bloody well not giving up now.
If I’d been all over the shop before, that was nothing compared to now, with my limbs going all over the place like a demented windmill.
He’s saying something, but the words are choppy, unintelligible.
Instinct Brain doesn’t do language. It does Escape.
It’s turned me into water, clouds. I’m here, I’m there, I’m nowhere.
I’m smoke, I’m wind. I’m a memory, I’m a thought.
You can’t catch me because I don’t exist.
But he just goes and bloody catches me, meaty fingers digging into my shoulders like fucking drills.
It hurts so bad I can’t even ignore it, can’t even file it away to deal with later.
I want to shout or cry or anything, but he’s shaking me.
Everything’s rattling inside me like I’m a human maraca, only the beans are organs and the outside is bones and it hurts.
My brain’s like a marble inside my skull, rattling round and round.
Not even Instinct Brain can think and it doesn’t need to think.
I hear someone shouting “stop” over and over again, but it’s hard to make out over the whooshing going past my ears as they rocket back and forth in the air.
I think I’m gonna be sick. We can’t Escape at this rate.
We can’t even survive at this rate, with our brain turning into scrambled egg.
Maybe we should stop. If we stopped, then maybe everything would stop and it could all be over. The pain, the sickness, the --
Stop! That’s it! Instinct has it before I do, and all my muscles go out at the same time. Limp as a fish. He’ll never see it coming. Then we can get out of here right quick and --
CRACK
The world fuzzes out like a telly with bad reception.
There’s just this whine like microphone feedback.
That’s it. No colour, no feeling. No smell, no taste.
Just a droning whine. I don’t know when I notice it, but eventually I think I hear someone talking.
They’re light-years away, though. They’re on Mars, probably.
Then vision starts to blink back in but I can’t really make sense of the images.
They’re just shapes, maybe colours. They’re swimming like I’m pissed, only I can’t remember drinking.
I can’t remember much of anything, to be honest. I’m not even entirely sure where I am.
Then I see a face hove into my field of vision.
It’s a little distorted, like in a funhouse mirror.
But I recognize it well enough all the same.
I’d recognize Michael anywhere. There’s this little part of me that cheers up then.
It’s Michael. It’s my boyfriend. Whatever’s wrong, he’ll make it right.
But it disappears like the first snowflake you catch on your palm.
He’s not my boyfriend anymore. And he’s hurt me. He’s tried and --
Steady on, Julian. Breathe. What’s happened, then?
He’s tried to do something awful to you, but you wouldn’t let him.
He hurt you, tossed you around, then you must’ve hit your head or something, ended up down here.
He looks worried, upset even. Good, that Instinct part of me says, already two steps ahead.
Let him think he’s knocked us out. Let him get close.
And when he least expects it, we’ll… We’ll what, Instinct Brain?
We tried to fight him off before, didn’t we?
He’s like a full bloody ox, this man. He’ll just keep coming. There’s got to be something. What if…
He’s looking at my face, coming over, looking at my chest, my right hand.
Now’s my chance. I kind of feel around with my left hand and my fingers brush up against something hard.
Perfect. Now just wait. Wait… He puts his head down, ear against my chest. I hold my breath but my heart’s hammering like nothing else.
He stirs, like he’s about to get back up. Now, idiot. NOW!
I’ve never hit anything in all my life as hard as I hit Michael with whatever is in my hand.
I just bring it down with everything I’ve got.
I just want it to be over. I want it all to be over.
I want Escape and I want Rahul and I want to be in my cosy little flat and I want this all to be some kind of horrendous nightmare.
I bring it down so hard that I feel something give way. But I don’t wait. Instinct’s got me covered on that. The second that bastard’s down, I’m up. My muscles are being powered by adrenaline alone as they hurl me off the floor and out the door and I’m running.
Run.
Run.
I’m nearly at the bottom of the stairwell of the flat block when the pain hits me.
It’s not even the accumulated files of “to deal with later” that get me.
It’s this new pain. This crushing, all-consuming, blinding, white-hot pain in my skull.
The back of my head, the side, I can’t even tell.
It’s like someone’s come up behind me with a sledgehammer and drove it straight down into my cranium.
I almost fall to my knees from it. I didn’t know I could feel a pain like this without dying, or at least passing out.
I feel “passing out” right on my heels, though.
Everything’s swimming, coming in and out of focus.
But I can’t faint here. I’ve gotta get out.
I’ve gotta get away from him. I’ve gotta get as far as I can. I’ve gotta get back to Rahul.
Thoughts of Rahul are the only thing keeping me going as I stumble the last length down the stairs and out of the building.
As soon as I make it into the street, the white light of day hits me like a second blow to the skull, fizzing out my vision again and choking me with pain.
Before I know it, I’m on my knees and doubled over at the gutter, emptying my stomach with great, wracking heaves.
“Little early to be pissed, eh?” someone scolds as they walk around me.
I couldn’t be buggered. At least I feel a little better now.
Less like there’s someone actively performing brain surgery without anaesthesia and more like a migraine from hell.
Adrenaline’s bleeding from me fast, leaving my muscles with nothing to power them.
The fading voice of Instinct prods me, reminds me I need to get to safety. Safety is named Rahul.
I stagger to my feet and stick out my hand until I hear tires screech to a halt. I yank open a black door and throw myself inside. It’s blessedly darker in here. And comfortable. I close my eyes and feel the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness tugging at me, until a grating cockney voice pipes up.
“Where to, guv?”
I rattle off the record shop’s address before I can stop myself. Rahul. Safe. Safe. Rahul. Record shop. Rahul. Safe.
I think I might have drifted off when I hear the cab driver ask, “Sure we oughtn’t be takin’ you to A&E?”
I crack my eyes open. We’re moving, but the cabbie’s looking at me through the mirror, eyebrows all pinched in concern.
Opening my eyes makes my head throb, and I lift a hand, sluggish like I’m underwater, to rub at my forehead.
It feels all wet. Was it raining outside?
I look at my hand and my fingers are stained red. Well. Fuck.
It’s fine. No. It’ll all be fine. Once I get to Rahul. I just need to get to Rahul and then everything will be better. He’ll fix everything.
I think I say “no” or maybe “shut up.” I dunno.
But the next time I open my eyes, I’m standing outside the record shop on wobbly legs.
I don’t even remember paying the taxi. Must’ve done though, right?
Sure. Who cares when safety is so close.
The shop door looks so welcoming. I’ve never seen anything more warm and inviting.
I love the sound the bell makes above the door when I push inside. I don’t even care how it hurts my head.
Because there’s Rahul. Behind the counter.
He looks up from his book and I could just cry when I see his face.
He’s so handsome, with that thick, dark hair that’s going grey at the temples, and that big old moustache of his, like a sexy, stern principal.
His skin’s such a beautiful golden-bronze, too.
He practically glows. I’m so glad to see him.
My Rahul. My best friend, my lover, my partner.
Rahul. Safety. Instinct thinks one last time before it evaporates, taking good ol’ adrenaline with it.
With both of them gone, the floor rises up to meet me.
I’m like a puppet with its strings cut. It’s fine though.
I could lie here forever. I’m safe here.
I’m safe here with Rahul. The last thing I see before unconsciousness finally gets its claws round me and drags me under is Rahul’s handsome face hovering over me.
His concerned, tawny eyes. His full lips forming my name.