Another blow knocks me to the ground—his entire body. He pins me with his weight, using his hands to trap me beneath him. He’s impervious to every blow I land. Kick after kick after kick. But he never retaliates.
He just shouts. Something my brain refuses to decipher. I don’t want to hear him.
So I scream, aggravating my own eardrums. Like this, he can’t reach me, not even when he wraps his hands around my throat and squeezes. Robbed of air, I choke. I wheeze.
And when he finally lets me go, I sob, shutting my eyes against his presence. He’s still speaking. Still threatening. Still growling.
But I hear nothing. Just my own racing heartbeat and a jagged fragment of memory, repeating on a loop:Elena. Elena. Happy birthday, Elena…
Footsteps rattle the floor. Advancing? No, retreating.
He’s gone—from the room at least. But, like any devastating illness, he lingers inside my head, and I’ll go insane trying to keep him out.