I wake up instantly, sitting up. My chest rises and falls in ragged breaths. My pyjamas cling uncomfortably to my body, damp with sweat, and the air in the room feels thick and heavy. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that it had only been a dream.
I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe.
But still, my heart refuses to slow down. It felt real.. Too real.
I slowly get up from my bed, walking towards my bathroom with a hand running down my tired face. My steps are sloppy and I barely manage to stumble my way to the sink, gripping the counter like it's a lifeline. I splash some water on my face.
"Get a grip Eleanore..." I mutter to myself, lightly smacking my cheeks a couple of times.
I move through my morning the way I always do, guided by habit rather than thought. I brush my hair until it lies flat and familiar, a tight bun. My signature style. Then, I apply my makeup, careful and precise. I pull on my clothes, buttoning and smoothing. By the time I'm dressed, I look the same as I always do... even if something inside me still hasn't woken up.
I make sure I put enough foundation to cover my dark eyebags and walk towards the office I work in.
It had been 2 years since the nightmare had ended. 2 years since I had shot him. 2 years since his body layed lifeless on the ground, in front of me with that demonic smile plastered on his face...
Suddenly, my phone rang.