"Stop! Please! Just stop!" I tried to scream, but I couldn't hear myself. Nothing came out. I was being hit. Over and over again. I couldn't see, but it hurt. My head pounded from the continual beating. I just wanted it to stop. When I thought I wouldn't be able to take any more, the knife dug into my hand. I screamed out in pain. This time I heard myself. With a trembling breath, I was awake.
I sat up, shaking, out of breath, and wet with tears. With vibrating hands, I reached for the damp cloth that was sitting on my nightstand. I held it up to my head, hoping to soak up some perspiration. That's when I started crying again. I'm not sure why, it's fuzzy now. I guess everything just hit me at once. I hadn't been crying for very long when my door opened, and Katrina rushed in.
"Buck! Buck, are you alright?" She asked, gripping my shoulder.
"W-where. Where is he?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Skint! He was here!" I gasped for breath.
"Buck- "
"He was here! He stabbed my hand!" I sobbed, showing her my scarred, but not recently cut palm.
"Buck. Buck listen to me. You're safe. Mr. Skint isn't here. That happened years ago. You're all right!"
"But it still hurts! My hand hurts!"
"Let me see," she sighed, taking my hand in hers. "See. Buck look at it. There's a little scar but nothing else. It was just a dream." She was right. I knew she was right. But I felt like she was wrong. I buried my face in Katrina's shoulder, then was attacked by a new round of confusing sobs. As Katrina stroked my hair, she whispered through a mournful voice, "You're safe. You're safe. Hey, Eugene and I need to talk to you tomorrow."
