Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 36

There was a hissing in my ear. 

Disoriented, it took me a second to identify the source. It was in my left ear, not directly against it but close enough that I could feel a rush of air against my skin. As what I had been dreaming of faded into forgotten fragments my mind would dispose, I realized it wasn't just hissing. It was words. 

"We're back at your house, Mickey." 

When I was in a sleeping state, my life fell out of context. I knew I was Mickey but what that meant was malleable. I could be a version of myself that lived in a home on the beach of Puerto Rico or a version of myself who could only run in slow motion for some reason. What happened the day prior didn't exist in dreamland. Everything that made up who I was, my memories and desires, they were remixed into something that was only parallel to reality.  

Every time I woke up, I was yanked from that world. The whiplash was usually manageable. There was a few seconds of confusion until the pieces fell into place. Then I was back to me, back to reality, back to being afraid. 

I couldn't remember what exactly I had been dreaming about in Vincent's car but whatever it was, it was good. It was warm and felt like the sun's rays were stroking my skin. It was a relief. A burden had been taken off of me. When Vincent's voice called me awake, it was as if the heavy load I had been carrying had been dropped into me again. It had been dropped directly onto my chest and it was making it hard to breathe. 

We were parked down the street instead of in front of my house. I was grateful for it. If I saw it looming over me with the two windows like eyes and the door like a mouth, I would have completely lost it. 

I felt as if I needed a transition period. It was too much to go from open roads that smelt of damp air to a house filled with strangers I was supposed to know. I needed the GPS's warning that we were five minutes away. I needed those five minutes to prepare. I couldn't be thrown back into the dark wooden panels and screachy floors so suddenly. 

"You're home," Vincent repeated, probably in an attempt to relieve the confusion plastered across my features. 

It was my turn to say something. I could say thank you for the ride or thank you for letting me sleep or talk to you soon or anything. Anything. I just had to say something. 

What came out was a whimper. 

I cleared my throat, desperate to cover it up but my throat was closing in on itself. I gasped for air and then felt myself shaking. I was shaking like it was freezing but the car was warm. 

I didn't want Vincent to see me like this. I had to go. Leave. I had to leave but I didn't want to go inside my house. Deciding where to go was too much. It was rendering me immobilized. I was frozen. 

I tried to inhale deeply and slowly but the way my breath shook made me want to cry. I would have cried but that would have made it even harder to breathe. 

"Are you okay?" 

Vincent hit the overhead light. We were abruptly cast in harsh shadows. I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended it was because of the light but I was desperately holding back tears. 

"Yeah," I finally replied, my voice three pitches too high. I fumbled for the door handle, trying to get the words I'm just tired out but they died on my dry tongue. 

I felt something slide down my wrist and onto my hand. 

It was a trail of red. 

I screamed and before I could open the car door, Vincent locked it shut. 

I was hyperventilating. I wiped the back of my hand on my pants feverishly. Had it dripped down from the roof of the car? No, I didn't think there was anything there. Had it been known the handle of the door? On the seat?