It’s too cold. My breath mists in the air,
catching the flickering of the fluorescent light. My skin prickles, hairs
standing on end. Why is it so damn cold? I
shiver. I’m not wearing nearly enough for these kinds of temperatures. A click,
steel on porcelain. I glance behind me, but no-one is there. A squeak, the
gurgling of water. I turn back again, recoil in shock. There he is. Right there
in front of me, holding me with his baleful eyes. Brown eyes, just like my own.
Fear clutches me, claws raking my stomach. So
it has finally come to this? He looks pale, afraid, glistening with nervous
sweat. But there is resolution in those eyes, behind the fear. He won’t back down.
He looks me up and down, and I examine him
in return. His gaze is chilling, but there is something far worse. I know this
face. That broad nose, that high forehead, those narrow eyes, that
stubble-covered chin. The face of my dreams, and my nightmares. He finishes his
appraisal of me, mouth twisting in disgust. Even through my fear, my roiling
nerves, this hurts me. He has judged me, and found me lacking. I shouldn’t care
what he thinks, I shouldn’t. But I do. We’re connected… somehow. I’ve had enough of this. Enough of the
fear, enough of the judgment. I should just walk away.
I shift slightly, his nostrils flare. He
flicks his arm up, one quick motion, and there is a blade at my throat. My
breath catches, perception tunneling down into this one sensation. The
flickering light fades away, leaving nothing but his face. Pale, drawn,
unkempt. The sounds fade away, save for the fluttering of my terrified heart.
The cold, that goes too, until all I feel is that burning line of pressed
against the soft skin of my neck. He stares at me, mad eyes boring into my own.
My guts churn with fear, my muscles ache and groan, my nerves sing with
tension. My own symphony of terror. My teeth grind and the tang of metal
pervades my mouth. I’ve bitten my tongue.
The face grimaces, the hand twitches, and
the world rushes back to me. Every sound, every taste and sight and touch
grates at my sanity; clawing at my overwrought brain like talons gouging the
soft flesh of a melon. I want to puke, scream, run away, hide. But I cannot
move, I’m completely in his power. I
don’t want to die!
The blade shivers, then moves, slowly
caressing my throat, my cheeks. He plays it over my face, piggy little eyes
gleaming, reveling in my fear. Why me? Up
my neck, firm enough to feel the pulse of my jugular, blood pounding just
beneath the skin. He’s sick. Under my
eye, then gliding playfully close to my ear. He should be locked away! Around my lips, cold and dangerous,
tugging slightly on the soft skin. He
should fucking DIE!
The hand jerks, and a searing line of fire
lays open my defenseless throat. Hot blood bubbles out and flows down my neck,
warmth against the cold. He looks almost surprised. I feel faint, my head is
spinning, vision blurring. He’s breathing hard, eyes bugging out. So this is it then. It’s done. I slide
into the waiting darkness…
Cold water dashes across my face, making me
gasp. I squint into the light, shivering in the cold, breath misting in the
air. I dab ruefully at the cut in my neck, shooting my clean-shaven reflection
a wry smile. God…
I’d always hated shaving.
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