“Dear God,
Don’t forsake me.”
“You piece of shit! How dare you talk back to me!” A punch tumbles me to the floor, numbing my muscles. I can’t muster the strength to lift my arms to defend myself, let alone to speak.
“You’re just like that bitch of a mother,” a bottle cracks onto my skull, “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance….” He towers over me, his hands encircle my neck, pressing his palms with tremendous force against my windpipe. His face distorted into an animalistic beast’s; ferocious, bloodshot eyes, rapid breathing, a grueling growl echoing, and saliva drooling down his mouth. My vision is beginning to fade, my mind is swimming, it’s drowning me as I gasp for oxygen, only to be met with a final slam against the cold tiles. But oddly enough, it feels warm. My head feels warm, like I’m being enveloped in something thick. What is it?
The man hobbles to a stand. His hands were trembling to cover his beastly form. He mumbles something before he rushes out of the room. Oh well, it doesn’t matter now. I touch the tingling warmth, a reddish tint coating my fingers. Oh, it’s blood…. For once in my life, I beg, whatever force is out there, have mercy on me…..
“Ey…. hey… Hey, wake up.” I open my eyes to see a woman with long dark hair brushing my face. Her hand was steadily cupping my cheek.
“What is it?”
“You were groaning in a cold sweat. Did you dream about him again?”
“Yeah,” I lean against the headboard, “I dreamt that he clobbered me with a bottle and tried to strangle me.”
The woman sat still in silence.
“It’s nothing, Jaya, really.”
“Juliette, I’m really starting to get worried. It’s ‘nothing’ if you’ve had consecutive dreams of the same incident over and over again.”
Her hands were gripping the satin sheets. “Be honest with me, what happened when you went back home last week?”
“…….”
“…….”
A tear drips against her hand, then, a few more trickle down. I look up to see Jaya, her jaw clenching as her voice threatened to spill a sob.
“Please, Juillette, say something.”
“…..,” I shift to the side, facing her properly head-on. “My grandma, his mother, is dead. She was the last person I had left, and naturally, he showed up at the burial. Blamed me for her death, for my mom leaving him, and swore that I was next.”
“I..I’m so sorry,” she croaked.
“No, don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry for making you worry,” a tear streaks down my cheek.
She pulls me in an embrace, gently cradling the back of my head.
“I’m sorry…”
If God is real, she’s my miracle.
