Chapter 95

Waking up in cold sweat, a pounding heart, and chills all over my body have been a regular occurrence that I don’t fight it anymore. My subconscious has stopped fighting it, so I let myself be consumed by the nightmare over and over and over.

‘I won’t remember this anyway.’ I think subconsciously, because I never do, even if my body remembers the tremors and the ache in my chest.

The thrashing is the worst. It’s probably why I wake up with at least half a dozen new bruises every day, from hitting it on the bedframe or the nightstand. The screaming is second because then, I wake up with a sore throat and hoarse voice. The crying is pretty bad too when I have to wake up with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

But I’m used to it.

Which is why this time it’s different. Because, in the pitch black of my room, the exact same as it had been in my nightmare, phantom hands are circling my torso as I scream for dear life.

I thrash and kick, anything to get rid of the foreign feeling, screaming