There was a loud crack of the crowbar and Jason screamed, feeling the breaking of his rib bones. He could hear maniacal laugher and the smell of the damp warehouse flooded his nostrils. He watched as the crowbar was raised above his head again, his whole body was tense, waiting. It came down with a sharp crack and Jason could feel the pain reverberating through his entire body.
He screamed, jumping up in bed and flailing around the knife he kept under his pillow. He could feel a wetness streaming down his face and he tried to steady his breathing. You're safe, you're alone. No one is coming for you. You are alive.
He curled into a ball, clutching the knife to his chest and trying to stop his ragged breathing. You're safe, you're alone. No one is coming for you. You are alive.
Several minutes passed and he began to slow his breathing. He still was white-knuckling the knife as he sat up and ran a shaky, sweaty hand through his hair. He felt cold. He grabbed a pair of sweats and got up, walking to the kitchen. No way he was sleeping after that.
He poured himself a shaky drink, placing the knife down on the counter in front of him. After drinking all of it in two swallows, he elected to just drink straight from the bottle instead. He grabbed the knife from the table and his box of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer, and took the bottle out on the balcony. Shutting the door behind him, he sat down on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him.
He took another swig of the bottle, letting the cold December air freeze his bare chest. He laced his fingers together, feeling their coldness and trying to warm himself up. You are alive.
He took another swig from the bottle, hoping it would numb him to the point of not thinking anymore. Most nights when this happened he would stay out here until morning, or he would get so drunk he would just pass out outside. Pulling a cigarette out, he lit it, warming his fingers in the orange glow of the flame.
He inhaled a deep breath, filling his lungs. Exhaling, he watched the smoke rise up and curl in the air. He took another swig, letting the amber liquid warm his insides. He could feel it hitting him slowly as he took another long drag of the cigarette. Exhaling, he tried not to think about anything at all.
He took a few more swigs until he put his knees to his chest, trying to warm himself up. He finished off the cigarette, putting it in the ashtray that he left out here. He buried his face in his knees, letting the alcohol haze relax his tense muscles. You are alive.