Voices – Page 8
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Jen said. She was sitting on the long wooden counter that ran the length of the wall. Her legs kicked the air in what seemed as much nervous twitches as anything intentional. She was smoking a cigarette, and looking at the floor.
“But I did,” John said. She had locked the door behind him, after he entered, and he was leaning against it. The bathroom was dilapidated, but at least it didn’t smell. Jen had piled some old rags in a corner, and he assumed she used them as a bed. There was a path between them and the door. The rest of the floor was caked with dust and grime.
“How did you find me?” Jen asked him.
“I heard you screaming.”
“I don’t scream. What are you talking about?”
“Not out loud. I heard your voice in my head. I live five miles from here, and I heard you from that far. Jesus Christ, Jen, it was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Jen’s shoulders twitched as a shudder worked through her. She took a drag from her cigarette and looked up at John. “The dreams are bad,” she said.
John lit a cigarette of his own, said nothing.
“What do you want from me, Storm?” Jen asked him.
“Never to hear that screaming in my head again,” John replied without hesitation. “But that’s not really what this is about. This isn’t about me anymore Jen. It’s about you. How can I help you?”
Jen looked away. “You can’t. John, you could’ve been stabbed or some shit. This is so stupid. Now I’m going to have to take you back out.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. Jen, you need help.”
“I need a drink,” Jen said. She looked back at John and there were tears in her big, blue eyes.
“You need to fucking talk about these dreams, Jen. You can’t keep them bottled up inside you. They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”
She nodded. Two tears escaped her eyes and traced their way down her cheeks, following the clear paths that had already been made there through the smudges by her earlier crying.
“What does he do to you, Jen?”
Her lip trembled, and when she spoke, it was with a hoarse, croaking voice that sounded like it must be painful. “It’s not just what he does to me. That’s just the start. What’s really driving me crazy isn’t what he does to me, what he did to me.” she said.
John waited for elaboration.
Her eyes were far away, brimming with horror and hate. Finally she said, “It’s what I did to him.”
Jen put her hands over her eyes and wept.
