The Window

“Are you hungry?” I stir uncomfortably in my sleep, wondering why I am dreaming of you again. I will your voice to go away as my skin prickles with goosebumps. “Are you hungry?” You ask again, closer this time. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my face with my pillow as my limbs start to tremble. I thought I’d gotten away, that I had lost you forever. I thought I was free. As consciousness fights through my haze of deep sleep, I notice my pillow caressing my face. No, caressing isn’t the right word. It feels too stiff to caress. The starchy, rough fabric rubs against my skin and fills my nostrils with hints of vomit and bleach. The faint aroma of stale cigarettes trickles under the pillow as I feel you creep closer, your warm, sour breath whispering close to my ear, “Are you hungry?”

This isn’t right. This isn’t my pillow. This isn’t my bed. My bed, where I fell asleep only a couple of hours ago after returning home from work. My bed, with its silk sheets and fluffy down comforter that smells like lavender. You always hated lavender, which is why I love it so much.

“ARE YOU HUNGRY!?” I shoot straight up and there you are, inches from my face, the vein in your forehead throbbing angrily as you stare at me with bloodshot eyes. No, no, no, no, no! This can’t be right! My breath catches as I push myself away from you and slam backwards into the wall, a wall that shouldn’t be there. You’re holding onto the plate of leftover meatloaf that neither of us ate on the last night I ever saw you.

My eyes dart around the room. Where my bedroom window should be is a stained white wall, the paint chipped and peppered with holes. The ceiling tiles are blemished with sickly yellow stains that seem to dance in the flickering lightbulb. My king-sized bed replaced by a stained, stiff mattress on a cold metal frame. How is this possible? I was free from you and your abuse. I got away and started over. I had a new place, a new name, a new life. How am I back here, cowering under your booze-filled rage? I try to scream, to tell you to stop, as I replay all the old fights in my head like I had done hundreds of times before. I choke on my words, barely letting out a strangled whimper. I kick at you, and the ceramic plate explodes into shards as it crashes on the tile, scattering meatloaf across the room. Enraged, you grab my throat and shove me back, the snarl on your lips spraying tiny rancid drops of saliva onto my face.

I fight you like I always did before. I kick and hit and spit and scream, but you overpower me, as you’ve always done. You envelop me in a bear hug, squeezing the life out of me. I fight against your crushing embrace. With my arms completely locked against my body, purging my lungs of air, I think, “I have to get out, I have to escape again.” With what feels like my last breath, I scream against your neck as your arms grow tighter around my chest. I fight and fight and fight, but you only squeeze tighter.

An alarm sounds in the distance. I hear a door creak open, then a rush of thundering footsteps. Voices overwhelm me, but I can’t see who they belong to. "She’s fighting again! Get the jacket!”

“Help! He won’t let me go!” I cry to the faceless voices I hear. I keep fighting as you twist my arms across my chest. I buck and scream, trying anything I can to get away.

“Hey, take it easy. Let’s calm down,” a voice says as I feel a sharp pinch in my arm.

“Please,” I slur, my mind growing dark and hazy. “Just let me go.”

The voices swirl above me as I sink deeper into the bliss of unconsciousness. My heart slows its rampage within my chest and my muscles slowly relax. As my breathing becomes normal, I open my eyes and see the late afternoon light shining through my open window. The lavender scent from my bed sheets wafts through the air and a deep sigh of relief overtakes me. It was just a dream, a nightmare.

I hear birds chirping outside my window, and with a relieved sob, I turn to take in the fresh evening air. I inhale deeply as the breeze softly stirs my sheer curtains. I shudder at the memory of being in the clutches of the nightmare I thought I had escaped, and hope for the hundredth time that it never plagues my sleep again.

As I gaze out the window, I notice a man walking along the sidewalk. He looks familiar, but I can’t place his face. He slowly turns his head towards my window and time stands still. The breeze freezes in the air, pausing my curtains in a permanent stillness. The birds stop chirping mid-song and the stale air thickens. But the man is still turning, his eyes almost on mine. My heart clutches in panic and a bead of sweat trickles down my temple. I squeeze my eyes shut as we make eye contact, and as I do, a faint voice behind me whispers, “Looks like the sedatives are wearing off.” Then, louder, “Are you hungry? Hey, are you hungry?”

My eyes snap open to see the familiar but unknown face peering down at me. I am back in the stained bed with rough starchy sheets, my arms strapped to my chest in a tight jacket. The light flickers above me as my gaze takes in the man’s white coat with a name badge hanging from his pocket, the word “Asylum” barely visible under his picture. I can’t comprehend what is happening.

“Look, you need to eat. I can’t have you fight me every time I come in here.”

I am paralyzed with fear, my mouth wide open in a silent scream. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of my mouth, but my hands are confined to my chest, helpless to wipe it away. I must have slipped back into the nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut again, hoping to wake up at home. When I open them, the face… your face… you… are still there, glaring down at me angrily. You slam the plate against the metal tray next to my bed.

“Fine. It can sit here until breakfast. Maybe then you’ll be hungry.”

You stand and twist away from me, shutting off the light as you walk through the thick steel door. The hinges squeal before the door slams shut, the metal lock jolting into place. There is no more evening sunset, no soft breeze, or chirping birds. The only light comes from a fluorescent bulb that shines through the small wire glass window in the door. The last thing I hear is your footsteps walking away.

The silence is deafening as reality begins to set in. This is home.