I woke disoriented and groggy. I could hear soft sounds near me. ‘pffftt, thok’ …. beep….I lay still, just listening. ‘pfffftt, thok’… beep. And silence. Mostly silence, with that occasional soft percussion of….what? What was making that noise?
My mouth and throat were dry. Exceptionally dry. My throat was so sore. Water. I tried to sit but my body wouldn’t cooperate. It felt as though I were trying to rise through a tar pit and the effort made me give up; I couldn’t make my arms or head move. Panic started to seep into my consciousness. Oh my God! What’s wrong with me? Am I dead? Where am I? What’s happening?! Why can’t I move?!!
I needed to calm down. Take this slowly and logically. Retrace my steps. What was the last thing I remembered… The last thing I remember. I winced. Kevin.
Kevin standing in the living room with his legs spread shoulder-wide and his knees slightly bent. His arms hung with tension at his sides, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer…was he about to punch me? I could feel pain in some distant location, was that why? Had he beat me again? No. I’m not at home. I’ve woken on the bathroom floor, bloody, bruised and weak. This isn’t the bathroom. Why can’t I remember? I remember he was in a terrible rage this time. I’d never seen him that angry.
His eyes. I knew he was beyond reason when I looked at his eyes. His eyes had become black, a depthless, soulless, pool of black. And they were looking fiercely at me. The sensation of panic spread through my psyche, a trickle at first, then like a dam had broken wide.
I slowly started to remember what had happened before I….what, before I passed out? No, this didn’t feel like waking up from a sleep, like before. Now, I couldn’t move. Though after doing what I could to sense restraints, there was no current evidence there were any. I simply couldn’t move; like I had been drugged. Shit! What was happening?
Then. Murmured voices… distant, but getting closer. Abruptly there was a sound like a door opening. I struggled to even open my eyes and was weak from the effort. Where am I?
Oh shit! The gun. He had a gun in his hand. When I looked away from those terrible eyes for a split second. I was suddenly lost in visions of dust motes dancing in sunlight and unaware what was happening outside my own nightmare.
The sunlight trickled through the closed curtains in my periphery, bringing a meteor shower of dust motes. Through sheer instinct I held his eyes while frantically searching my surroundings for escape. There was nowhere to go, he had me cornered. As I cowered, I saw the glint of the chrome in a sliver of sunlight. It had trickled through those damned closed curtains. Why did I always close the curtains?! Dammit!
I know I’m not supposed to start my novel for NaNoWriMo yet, but I guess I belong with the rebels, cause when this filled my head, I had to write it down!! What do you think so far?