James jolted awake in his bed. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him it was nearly 6 AM. He was covered with sweat and struggled to catch his breath. His throat burned, as though he had been coughing in his sleep, and his legs hurt.
How many years had it been since he had the exact same dream? Not long after the dream began happening, his doctor had insisted on James taking Xanax to calm his nerves. When he went to the dentist, they had told him that he had grinded his teeth down as much as people who were in their 60’s and 70’s. It was a sick point of pride. At least he could say, with confidence, that he was more skilled at something than his peers.
Through his early 20’s, the dream would be a nearly weekly recurrence. Bedtime became a panicked occurrence, as he never knew exactly when it would strike. James had tried various sleeping pills, in some vain effort to keep himself asleep through the night.
Shortly before turning 30, the dreams abruptly stopped their consistent barrage. After years of changing doctors, pills, and therapists, they finally had ended their torment. The last time he could remember it being a part of his nightly repertoire was a few years prior.
Still, even when he was having this dream on a nightly basis, it hadn’t felt as powerful as it had tonight. The last time he could remember it having this much of an impact on him was when it had first struck him in his childhood.
James had felt like he finally fell into his life. While he had never felt his work was his forte, he got compliments from others about how dedicated he was and how, in spite of everything, he always turned out the best results possible. Even after COVID and the move to working from home, he felt like he had not missed a step. Things finally felt stable in his life.
Why now?
Was it because of how stable things had become for him? Was it his subconscious reminding him that, no matter how much progress he hoped to have in life, that this part of his mind would always be with him?
He felt his bedsheets were soaked with sweat. The August night had not been especially warm, yet his body felt like it had heated to a million degrees. Throwing the sheets off him, James rushed to his apartment’s bathroom. His body felt like it had been in a car crash, aching joints each step along the way.
The wall clock read 6 AM. Thankfully, it was still early and James had no need to be in his work office. James had been one of the lucky few to keep working from home. The company had used actual common sense, something sorely lacking in the corporate world. If a job could be done from home, and there was no immediate need to work directly with coworkers, why force people in? His job had been so solitary that, since 2020, his work cubicle regularly gathered dust.
Even if he took a two hour shower, he’d still be early.
James turned the knob on the shower. The metal beneath his hands felt like ice. Yet, as his hand wrapped around the knob, he also noticed a sharp pain in his hand. It felt like a dagger had been stabbed through the palm of his hand. Was it possible for metal knobs like this to splinter and leave bits of metal in them?
Turning over his hand, he immediately noticed how red it was. James moved his other hand to inspect, but found that the other felt a similar sharp pain. He feared that when he turned the other over, it would be a crimson mirror of its counterpart. Slowly turning his hand over, his fear was proven correct.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed small drops of blood in the middle of the palms. Had he gripped his hands so tight that his nails had dug into his flesh? He knew the air in his apartment could be dry. Had they dried out to the point of fully cracking apart? James imagined his hands shattering under the slightest pressure, like a delicate vase.
His gaze was locked on his hands. In the background of his mind, the sound of water running became white noise. Blood, red and deep. Hadn’t he thrown his hands in front of himself at the very end of that nightmare? How many times had he done the exact same actions, only to have zero bodily response upon waking?
The mantra returned his mind.
Why now?
James felt the specks of water from the showerhead as he stood, still affixed in place. A small spot in his mind worried about getting water all over the bathroom floor. There were enough small cracks in the floor that it would risk dripping through. Maybe he’d lose his security deposit. Worse, maybe the entire building would be weakened just enough and it would collapse beneath him.
Who cared? Everything was wrong. He had abandoned that nightmare long ago, and now it was back. Worse, somehow it was hurting him outside of his dream.
Hurt. His mind was thrown back into the world around him. His hands hurt like hell. He needed to get them cleaned and covered.
Water still running from the shower, James put his hands underneath the cold water to wash them clean. The water felt freezing, as though he’d die from hypothermia if he went in the shower. Once his hands were clean, he turned the knob slightly to add a little more warmth.
Turning to the sink, James got onto his knees to open the cabinet beneath his sink. He hooked his wrists around the handles to pull them open. A few years prior, he cut his hand while cooking. The bandages he had at the time were small, only really useful for tiny cuts. This cut, though, had been wide. He realized he should at least have a roll of bandages and some cotton. It was the middle of COVID, so he decided to order it online.
The cut had healed so quickly that by the time it arrived, the cut had almost completely healed.
Still, right now he was happy he had done so. Putting everything on the sink counter, he stood and prepared for the new pain about to come. He reached into the bag of cotton, pulling out a reddened and damp clump. James unwound two strips of bandage, ripping them apart from the roll with his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do right now was search for scissors.
Bending over the sink, James popped open the bottle of peroxide with his thumb. He put his right hand over the sink and used his fingertips of his left hand to grab the bottle. Taking a deep breath, he tilted the bottle over his hand. The burning was immediate and he noticed the demon liquid bubbling over his hand. A scream was caught in his throat. The only thing keeping him from letting out every swear word he had ever learned was the thin walls to his neighbors.
James returned the bottle to the countertop and quickly pushed the cotton into his hand. He wrapped the bandage tightly around his hand. His eyes were pinched shut, but James knew he’d need to find the roll of medical tape to keep the bandage in place. He’d do it later.
He needed this done now.
Repeating the process for his left hand, he thought of new combinations of swear words. His mind threw the words at a wall, hoping any of them would stick.
Keeping the bandages in place with his thumbs, James kneeled back down to the cabinet and found the tape. Gingerly, he taped each bandage, hoping to never have to repeat the process again.
James kept his head down, hoping to catch his breath. While he did have some work that was important to get done, he decided he needed to take the day off. Maybe his therapist could see him. Hell, at this point he just wanted to get out of his apartment.
When he looked up, though, he saw something peculiar. It seemed, for just a moment, that his reflection was out of sync with his body. A short delay. Maybe a millisecond. But enough to notice.
James shut his eyes and reopened them. His reflection had caught back up to him. He must have had something in his eyes. Maybe a bit of sleepy eye crust. He had just seen wrong.
He comforted himself with this thought as he finally took his clothes off and prepared to get in the shower.
He had earned that small reward, hadn’t he?
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