☯ Darling ☯

[I roll the window down

And then begin to breathe in

The darkest country road

And the strong scent of evergreen

From the passenger seat as you are driving me home ♫ ]

The wind came rushing through the window, attacking my once warm body. The cool, crisp air formed goosebumps on my pale skin. My lips were icicles, clinging to my blushing face, their frozen corners turning upwards into a toothy grin. I had the world at my fingertips, I finally wasn't afraid anymore.

It had been a couple of months since the incident. I'd never quite forget the pools of blood the circulated around the doctor's foot as he hacked through it. Or the dead body that was casually strewn across the floor, haunting my every movement. Never would I forget that traumatising game of life and death or the way the odds were against us. I'd never forget the ticking clock, the cigarette, the glances of terror from him across the room. The stink would never leave my bones, nor would the tension or my cruel murder of a cruel man.

No, it was something that'd always linger with me.

But I survived. Thanks to my rescuer.

After Lawrence had gripped my bloody shirt as we cried into each other and after he crawled out of that prehistoric bathroom without me I had passed out. It was most likely from the shock of the horrifying events that occurred in the past five minutes.

I don't know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up I wasn't there anymore. My joints were still stiff and my head was pounding, but I was in a completely different environment. I was in a clean, rose smelling hospital in a comfortable bed with IVs prodding my skin. The bullet Lawrence pierced my body with had been removed and the wound patched up. Suddenly everything was going to be okay.

Yet I didn't know who saved me, who redeemed me from certain death. I had gone home soon after that... But that's when the nightmares began. The blood-curdling screams in the middle of the night would wake my neighbours and attract them to call the police. The images that blurred in my dreams were things that made me jump out of bed so fast and grab the nearest knife in fear of them coming into reality. Eventually the cops told me I should get counselling, maybe some form of medication to ease my sleeping experience.

So, as much as I hated it, I seeked help in a complete stranger. They asked me to go into depth of my jigsaw experience and then of some reoccurring nightmares. They also asked me if I had any dreams lately, good ones that didn't make me ache all over. They discovered all my happy thoughts and dreams revolved ironically around the one person in particular who experienced the horror with me. Doctor Lawrence Gordon. The one who shot me, the one who wouldn't lie to me, the one I stared at from across the bathroom for hours praying we'd get out alive. My counsellor asked me if I'd contacted him since and I glumly shook my head. I didn't know how, or where to search for him. The hospital said he'd be taking leave for a couple of months just to calm himself down and they told me his details were confidential.

After a couple of weeks my counsellor surprised me, they had discovered what Lawrence's mobile number was. They told me upon meeting a loved one at the hospital, she found a tray of business cards and luckily one of them had Lawrence's name and number smeared across it.

That was my happiest day since the trap. I could finally talk to someone who knew what I was going through, who might be able to help me.

That night I called him, I was nervous and I didn't want to come off as needy. He had answered with a somber 'hello' and I gulped.

'Doctor Gordon, right?'

'Adam?' He had recognised my voice straight away. I thought maybe the trauma would've made him forget what I sounded like, but he knew. Oh he knew. I ended up in tears after he said my name and he tried to calm me down. I confessed my feelings of fear and hopelessness and all my nightmares and how I was getting therapy. He went on to tell me he and his wife divorced, that he wasn't allowed near his daughter anymore and was diagnosed with depression.