In my dreams, the moonlight slithered through the open window and bathed the room with light. In the corner the antique red violin rested, unplayed for so long.
In my mind, he came and went. In deep sleep, he hovered over my threshold of sanity. When my heart skipped a beat he was gone. I never could see his face for darkness covered it like a mask.
For months his silhouette moved against the walls, swaying like a phantom. I heard the sounds of shallow breath as his knelt on my bed and whispered the profanities he felt. When his hands reached out and grabbed me by the throat, I bolted awake just to see that I was all alone.
Sometimes, when thunderstorms crashed outside, I heard the violin being plucked, never played, only plucked. Over and over, louder and louder, quicker and quicker. The sound created havoc in my brain. I would wake up drenched in sweat, wishing this nightmare would stop.
But there were those nights, darker and more silent than the others. I knew those were the nights where no amount of waking up or screaming would drive him away. I knew what was coming towards me. Like hell opening its door for me to feel the inferno, I felt him. I knew what he was going to do to me again.
Night skies hushed and painted themselves in mourning hues as his presence took up every space in my bedroom. A ghost without a face.
His weight moved my bed. He pulled me off the mattress. "You are mine," he hissed into my ear as he dragged me off my bed and pinned me to the wall.
Ice cold hands lifted mine above my head, I almost felt my feet leave the ground. Subconsciously my palms opened wide to welcome the knife being driven into them. My screams could not shatter this anguish.
"Mine." Storms brewed in his eyes, taking me, dragging me under.
His hands painted my throat purple and blue. Syllables shattered on my tongue, turning acidic, burning holes through my flesh. I felt molten fire burn across my lips and dribble down my chin where it reached my heart and blazed holes into that, too.
I wanted to close my eyes as he slithered against me but I was left to watch him pound into the core of me, over and over, till I could feel nothing but numb.
His hand dove into my chest and pulled my heart out by its roots. Every single night he came, and the torment happened till I felt like I had no more blood left to spill. He had killed me a million times already, but I knew that he was not done yet.
Tomorrow I would wake up in my bedroom surrounded by golden rays of light. The droplets of blood dotting my skin and the walls would somehow be gone. There would be no marks around my neck, no wounds on my hands.
But his words would echo in my ear till night came to call. "Mine. You are mine."