25 It Was Good Knowing You (1/2)

I sometimes wonder if others wake up like me, shaking, gasping for breath as I try to return to my current reality. Being trapped in my past in the dreams that plague me created a ghastly vagueness between reality and imagination, yet there was nothing imaginary about what I was seeing. A psychiatrist once told me that I was not reliving my trauma but just exaggerating it in my dreams, that I was placing people I didn't know, that sleeping and routine was the only way I could feel better. He didn't realize that every word I said was reality; he couldn't comprehend that something so uncanny was possible in our banal lives. My life was anything but banal, I had forgotten the meaning of the word in practice, what is banality when every physical act you commit is a chore, a hardship that you must overcome. How is banality a way of life when I have to look over my shoulders and struggle to understand the problems of others? I had lost apathy: how was it possible to feel more pain that I had? Who had watched as people got butchered to death in front of them? How does one recover from that? They don't. They just survive.

I found that I was wrapped into a burrito. I felt panic seep through my bones as I felt the sheet restrain me. Silence greeted me. I took a shuddered breath as I tried to calm down.

'All was okay, nothing is going to happen to me,' I told myself. After about a couple hundred repetitions, I started to believe myself.

I slid out of the bed and moved towards the kitchen and got myself a glass of water. My phone rang in the other room as I stretched my limbs. I was sluggish as I moved to pick it up. Mr. Butler's voice greeted me from the other side.

”Miss Lewis, I feel abandoned,” I heard him say. I was stunned for words.

Abandoned? What had I done to make him feel that way?

But was that mirth I heard in his voice?

I remembered him leading me with his hands wrapped around mine, the warmth of his body making me feel safe when I was out of control, when I was ready to give into the monster. I felt great respect and gratitude for his efforts.

”Is there something wrong, Mr. Butler?” I asked, knowing better than to trust my instincts at the moment.

”Nothing, really. I have been texting and calling you for the past one and a half day to no avail,” he sounded like he was pouting. I felt a small smile spread across my lips as I listened to his voice. A shroud of brightness enveloped me.

”I just woke up,” I let him know.

There was silence on the other side.

”I am glad you got some sleep.” He paused again. ”I have sent you something, it is in the mailbox. Make sure to take it in when you feel like going out.” It seemed like he was holding something back.

”Did you come by, Mr. Butler?” I heard a cough from him.

”Was there something you needed?” I asked softly. He must have knocked on the door and rang the doorbell but not caught my attention. He must have realized I was either sleeping or didn't want to see anyone. Thank god he had not called the cops and broken the door down.

”Yes, the investigation is over, the arrest warrant came out, he was analyzed by a psychologist and questioned. The recording is in your mailbox.” I paused.

”I don't want to listen to them, Mr. Butler. I don't think I should involve myself in this any longer.” My body had grown cold. I felt suffocated that he wanted my further involvement.

”I understand.”

”Do you need me to come over?” I asked.

”No, please take rest. I will be in contact if I need more translations done. Will that be okay, Miss Lewis?”

'Yes.'

”I-” I stopped to think.

'I don't want his tests. I don't want his poetic words of madness... I don't want the graphic pictures to go with his words. I don't want any of them.'