Breathless

It’s that gut feeling you have, like something is terribly wrong. It just hit me like one swift punch from that big ugly bouncer at Natt’s bar. One swift foul punch, right in the stomach. I feel like throwing up even though nothing actually hit me.
“It’s just a feeling, a bad taco or something…maybe.” I try to convince myself.
It’s not working! The worry is swelling up inside me, me face is on fire, my heart is racing faster than a wild mustang sprinting through an open field. My breaths are short and shallow. My head is pounding. The room goes dark and I hit the floor.

I open my eyes to see a blonde haired goddess looking down upon me. My breathing is regular again. She is watching my naked chest move rhythmically with my lungs. I look around to see a spray of blue flowers against a white sky of walls. I’m lying on a white bed of clouds, soft and warm.
“Are you awake Mr. Jones?” her beautiful voice flows harmoniously like a song. “Can you hear me?”
“Am I dead?” I ask almost in a whisper.
“No Mr. Jones,” She giggles quietly. “You are in the hospital.”
“God, how did I get here?” I grumble. It was supposed to be a rhetorical question. I know how I got here, or at least I have a vague idea. She answered me anyway.
“You had an anxiety attack and you passed out. When you did, you fell and hit your head on the table in your living room. You are stuck here, with me, for the next two weeks.”
She smiled.
Baby doll, if I’m ‘stuck’ here with you, I won’t ever want to go home, I thought to myself.
She is about my age and she looks extremely familiar.
The doctor walks into the room. “Visiting hours are over miss.” He says in his matter-of-fact voice.
She walks out of the room.
“Who is that gorgeous girl?” I ask the doctor.
“That’s Miss Michaels. You know her sir.”
“Do I? Where from? if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Maybe you should ask her that, Mr. Jones. If I told you, I’d be breaking doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“So she’s a patient.”
“She might have been at one time or another. That is all I’m saying Mr. Jones.”

I wake up to her face again.
“Good morning Mr. Jones.”
“Good morning Miss Michaels.”
“You know my name?” she looks incredibly uncomfortable.
“Yes,” I answer. “But that is all I know. It’s not all I want to know though.”
“Is that so, well what do you want to know?”
“How do I know you Miss Michaels? I have never seen another face or smile as beautiful as yours. I know I knew you before this.”
“Mr. Jones, Mr. David F. Jones. We went to school together. You were with me in my worst hours, you tried to save my purity, and you successfully saved my life.”
“Well, I don’t remember.”
“That is because you forced yourself to forget. Something I tried to do, but never could.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t remember, I’m sorry you can’t forget.”
“You will remember, it’s time for me to go. Sleep on it and let me know when it comes back to you.”
“Ok, Goodbye Miss Michaels.”
“Good bye David, ooh yea, you can call me Allie.”
She walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
“Allie.” I whisper to myself.

Closing my eyes, I slip into a deep sleep. Every muscle in my body relaxes, starting at my feet and moving, up my body, to my head. Soft pulses sooth, relax, and almost paralyze my body with sleepiness.
A dream rushes over my mind like a rising tide.

I am slowly walking down an alley; something I do almost every day on my way home from work. That is all life ever is anymore. School, work, sleep; it’s an endless cycle. I’m 16, almost 17.
It is a cool Tuesday night. I know its Tuesday because that’s the day she works my shift with me. We walk home together on Tuesdays.
I see her and wave.
“Hey Allie.” I say with a smile.
She doesn’t have a clue as to how beautiful she is. Her shoulder length, sun-bleached, curly blonde hair is so stunning. It’s like looking into a star.
Her sparkling, innocent, green eyes look at me like candy apple diamonds. As she smiles, her full red lips curl up to reveal beautiful bleach white teeth.
I smile as I remember fifth to eighth grade when that awe-inspiring smile was full of metal. Three years of dorky, lip-cutting orthodontics really paid off. Still to this day, I’ve never seen a prettier smile.
I catch up to her and we start to walk home.
“You look nice today.” I say as my cheeks turn slightly red.
“Thanks.” She replies, also blushing.
As soon as she opened her beautiful lips to reveal those pearls of white, the light in the alley went out. In pitch blackness I can hear her breathing. It increases rhythmically like a metronome. She grabs my hand.
“David,” she says in almost a whisper. “Keep me close, keep me safe.”
“I promise.” I whisper to her in a strong, protective voice. I hope I can keep that promise.

Just like that alley, suddenly, my mind goes dark, blank. I can’t remember what happens next. I’m trying, but I just can’t remember.
I wake up. At least I think I’m awake. It’s dark, pitch black, like that alley and my mind. “Am I dreaming again?” I ask my self out loud.
“No Mr. Jones. No, you’re not dreaming.”
It’s a mans voice, a recognizable one at that. Although under my state of mind, you never know.
The lights flicker on quickly and I am momentarily blinded.
My eyes take a while to adjust, but when they do I see him. It’s Mike.
“Hey Mike.” I say excitedly.
“Hey coach, how are you feeling?”
Mike is one of my athletes. He plays for my basketball team. 6’5”, 150 lb, that kid is a rod. Luckily for us, he runs faster than lightning. That’s why we call him bolt.
“I was sent to deliver these cards from the team. I’ll just leave them for you to read. The nurse said you needed your rest.”
“Thanks Bolt.”
“N.P. Coach. Get better soon. We really need you this season.”
“I’ll try.”
“Later coach.”
“See you later Mike.”

I hate hospital lights. They make me feel like I’m in an interrogation room.
Quick flashes of memories flicker in and out of my head. Like small subliminal messages telling me about my forgotten past. No, not forgotten, just misplaced.
These thoughts and memories settle into my mind as I fall back asleep. I’m out in an instant and the dream washes back over me.
Instead of starting at the beginning or even where I left off; the dream starts somewhere in the middle of the previous one.
I’m running to catch up with her. I compliment her and she smiles. Just as before, the lights go out. Her breathing increases and she grabs my hand.
“David, keep me close, keep me safe.” She whispers.
“I promise.” I whisper back. I hope I can keep that promise.
This time the dream is a little longer.
I hold her close and try to navigate in the dark alley. I can hear rats scurrying across the ground right in front of my feet. Then I hear a sliding door. I stop walking.
“Keep quiet” I whisper. “I think somebody’s there.”
“Maybe they can help.” She whispers back.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, she speaks.
“Hello. Is anybody there? Please help us.” She says this quite loudly.
“Yes honey.” Says a deep mans voice. “I’ll help you. Just follow me.”
We listen.
He leads us around the alley for about two minutes. Then he says, “Just a step up and we’ll be out of here.”
We take a step and he helps us up.
All of a sudden I hear a door close. Then another opens and closes again. I hear a car start. It seems incredible close.
As the lights come on, I realize we are in a van. We were tricked.
I feel a hand touch my arm.
“David” I hear in the distance. “David, wake up.”
“Allie?” I respond.
The dream fades away and I wake up to see her smiling over me.
“Were you dreaming?” she asks.
“Yes” I respond. I tell her about the dream. I don’t leave out a single detail. It looks painful for her to hear, but she listens intently and nods to let me know I’m not just dreaming. I’m remembering.
“You have a vivid memory. You barely left out a single detail.”
“What did I forget?” I ask.
“Before we got into the van, you told me you liked me.”
“Ooh, yea, well, people say many things when they’re scared for their lives.”
“Ooh, yea, well, there is that. I guess.” She frowned.
“I’m sorry.” I say in a muffled voice.
She leaves me here alone, again.

Days go by before the dream changes. This time it’s almost the whole thing. It’s the worst part of a melodious hell.

We are in a dark warehouse. Few lights illuminate small spaces. We know our fate.
I look at her. She’s beautiful, not beautiful like any other 16 year old girl, but truly, genuinely, amazingly beautiful. Her soft, curly blonde hair falls angelically around her shoulders. Her innocent green eyes are staring into the darkness. The spot light seems to sting on her soft naked skin as she sits bound by her wrists and ankles.
I have often walked through the halls and seen her unique beauty. I just thought she was like every other girl, but now I see it. I see her. I will never forget her face, her hair, her eyes, and her smell, everything about her. She is an angel. She is purity and virginity. It is slowly being stripped away from her as every second slips by. Every second which will come down to the minute he rapes her.
He walks into the room quietly. His silhouette frames the doorway. He looks at her as if he finds her interesting, possibly even beautiful. He watches every move she makes as if he were critiquing a screenplay which she is acting out for him. He looks at her hair as it falls from behind her ears to softly line her face. She licks her lips and he thinks of kissing her. She is, was, and always will be exactly what he wants.
She looks up from the corner which her gaze was fixed on. Her eyes are angry and hurtful. He smiles evilly but looks away. He knows that if he had looked into her stare, he wouldn’t have been able to look away. He would have been stuck in a trance, mesmerized by her. She is and always will be beauty and everything which surrounds it.
Suddenly, he moves. “Come here princess!” he stares at her with evil, perverted black-brown eyes.
“NO!” she angrily snaps back.
“Now, don’t push me princess.” He replies with a grin. His nasty, yellow, crooked teeth reek of hell.
“You dirty, horny, bastard! Don’t touch her.” I yell. It’s a risky move for a scared 16 year old, especially one who is tied to a chair.
He hits me with a ringed hand. It stings like alcohol on an inch deep flesh wound. I feel like fighting back, but I know he will just take it out on her. I take the hit and shut my mouth.
“Shut up.” He screams at me. “Now, princess, get up and come with me.” He talks to her while staring into my hate filled eyes.
“NO!” she says again as she shrinks into the corner and tries to cover her body.
“You little rat, I see you, and you can’t hide.” He yells as he walks closer to her. She shuts her eyes as he breaths down her skinny neck.
“I’ve got you now, you dirty little whore.”
I prey he will just walk away and leave her alone. His large thick, rough hands grab her delicate, flawless wrists.
“I said I had you. You’ve got nowhere to go. Get up and do as I day.”
She screams, knowing nobody else can hear her. But she screams anyway.
“No!”
He lifts her off the floor by her wrists. She flails like a rag-doll.
“My dog has more fight than you do.” he tells her as if it will make everything better or different somehow.
She spits in his face.
Not flinching or moving to wipe the saliva away from his eye, he says “So you are a kinky little whore!” he smiles. “Good, I like it that way. The more you fight, the better it feels.”
He’s sick!
At this comment she stops fighting. She doesn’t want him to get any pleasure out of it. He drags her into another room. All I can hear is the sound of his hand hitting her soft skin, his evil laugh, and her soft whimper of a cry.

He drags her back into the room and he throws her against the wall. “Hush doll-face.” He whispers.
His voice seems sympathetic but after what just happened, I know he’s not. She was 16. Almost a woman, yet still a child.
“Why me?” she whimpers, pressing her almost naked body against itself to hid her soft young breasts.
Through tear stricken eyes, she looks at me.
“It’s going to be ok.” I muffle through the sticky saliva which has clouded my throat. I spit to clear my voice.
I don’t even believe the words which are coming from my mouth. I say them anyway in hopes that they will comfort her.
He tells me to shut up. “Don’t talk to my princess that way.” He says as he walks closer to me.
He stands with his feet shoulder width apart and leans forward to put his hands on the arms of my chair. “Don’t talk to her at all.” He says.
I kick him where I know it will hurt. I kick him hard. He goes down like a sack of potatoes.
“Allie. Untie me, please.”
No second thoughts. I’m loose. We run out of the warehouse. I’m winded and I have a job to finish off. My job is lying in the warehouse by a chair which moments ago I was bound to.
“Run Allie!” I scream. “Run fast and hard, run home.”
She runs.
I walk back into the room. He’s still lying there, dirty and as ugly as a week old carcass of a run over raccoon.
I slip a piece of rope around his neck and pull. It snaps, and I don’t mean the rope. I run home.

I wake up alone and in a cold sweat. As soon as I am awake enough to make sense of everything I call for a nurse. I ask her to call Allie right away and have her come in. She agrees.
As I wait for Allie, I read the cards from my basketball team. They’re not very wordy, but they are incredibly sentimental. I wipe the small amounts of moisture from my eyes just as Allie walks in.
“I had another dream.” I tell her.
“You remembered more?”
“I think it’s the rest.” I reply.
“Tell me.” She smiles.
I do. I tell her everything. I don’t leave out a single detail. Not a single word or action slips my mind.
She listens closely with tears in her eyes. When I’m finished, she takes a deep breath.
“That’s it, everything. Is there anything else you want to know?”
“No, well, yes.” I reply. “What did you do afterwards? What happened when you got home?”
“I showered.” Her eyes roll back and she remembers. She tells me what happened as if she were going through the procedure right now, in front of my very eyes. “I stand and let the hot water roll down my body. It’s extremely refreshing. I am washing away the filth. The past, everything he did to me, and everything I wish he hadn’t done is washing down the drain.
Then I start to recall. The evil, staring eyes, unwilling to help a naked young girl. They are scaring my mind and exploiting my thoughts. I’m not a whore. I am a victim. People never see what happened; only what they want to see.”
She opens her eyes and looks into mine.
“I’ve spent the last eight years trying to find you.” She blushes. “I love you.”
These words rest on my heart and burn into my soul. I am speechless, breathless. I take a deep breath.
“I love you too.”
She smiles.