Images of a specific set of hands coming down onto me with force flood my mind, hugging the soft edges and crevices of my brain even though it's unwanted and highly juxtaposed.
Of course, my body can't react, I feel like I'm drowning. My lungs aren't filling but for whatever reason, I'm not struggling. Even after I feel the pressure of the impacts, there comes no pain. I'm calm.
Then I'm not.
The hands grab at my clothes and shoulders as I thrash around attempting to free myself from the familiarity, discomfort, and fear that suddenly rush my mental picture. No matter how hard I try to fight I always get pinned down again.
My throat grows more hoarse each time I let out what should be a blood curdling scream from the pit of my stomach, but the sound doesn't reach my own ears. Am I even making noise?
Can anyone hear me?!
Oh, god.
Vivid stories replay all at once and it completely overwhelms me.
The kisses. The touches. The soothing whispers. The curiosity.
The smacks. The bruises. The lack of consent. The yelling.
The closed fist beatings.
The pregnancy.
The cops.
Blood.
Helpless...
"You're a whore who will spread your legs for anyone, huh?"
No.
"Stay still and shut up. It'll go faster."
Liar.
"I'll treat you how you deserve."
You didn't.
A vice-like grip builds around my neck, preventing me from making any sound at all. I'm choking.
I can't breathe.
I'm gasping as the hands now cradle my face, seemingly more gentle which catches me off guard.
"Esther, calm the fuck down. What is with you?"
The face above me has disheveled dark hair and concerned, otherwise lifeless, bistre eyes framed with matching eyelashes, slightly sparse now from long term pulling and tugging.
The pitch blackness of the room lightens ever so slightly when my eyes adjust to see the peeking deep amber rays through the tops of the curtains. I sigh a breath I thought I dispersed long ago, and allow my body to relax into the bed again.
The sheets cling to my body from the humidity and perspiration, Neil over me wiping lengthy hairs away from my face and neck.
"I'm alright... just a bad dream is all."
"Like hell. That was... that looked like how I feel sometimes. Absolutely wretched."
A huffed laugh escapes my chapped lips, making the small busted tears burn a little.
"I don't know, it's no big thing."
Neil gives me a look of either disgust or worry, but I don't do anything to elaborate further. I really hate when these night terrors suddenly make an appearance in my otherwise peaceful sleep.
They make Neil's hands feel like his. Morph Neil's voice to sound like his. Momentarily, they make Neil's face look like his.
I close my eyes and try to regain control over my breathing when a heavy head rests itself on my sternum, between my breasts, ear down. Eyelashes flutter on my bare skin every once in a while, telling me that Neil doesn't plan on falling back asleep. He is, however, analyzing me. That much I can deduce.
YOU ARE READING
Façade
Romance// 18+ // A convicted murderer, Esther Lynn Able, falls for a killer who struggles to identify reality from his overwhelming mind, and the man's life threatens to ruin her own. Hoping that all it took was a move to a rural town to get his life back...
