Day 72 - Monday
I guess this will be my last entry for a while. The bank will open soon, so I'm heading there as soon as I finish this, and then I’m going to start driving. North, I think. Where it’s colder. I always did like it cold.
I would have liked to say good bye to Alex.
But it’s too late for that.
I woke up last night, just a few minutes after I had gone to bed. There were no noises. The lights were all on. All the doors were still closed. If he was there, he wasn’t doing anything, and I fell back asleep fine.
I wonder if his power is somehow waning. Maybe just defying him weakens him.
The next time I woke up, I don’t know how long it had been. When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see a thing. There was a thickness to the air, like it had turned to fog, or smoke, and my lungs felt sticky. I felt my diaphragm convulse as I tried to cough, but the air stuck in my lungs and I could only get out the barest amount of breath. It continued as I started to sit up, but something felt wrong, like the rest of my body wasn’t sure how to respond. I felt trapped in my own head. All I could do was look around and will my body to move as it lay there, useless.
I started to worry I was paralyzed, but I could still feel my legs, my arms, like that sensation just when they fall asleep, just before the pins and needles start, when they’re just heavy and almost numb.
Then there was pressure on my arm. I looked over, and there was
That face. That god that face.
I almost threw up, if my body was capable of it. He just watched, bent over my bed, one hand resting on my arm, the other reaching
My face. He just touched my forehead, like he was checking my temperature, then ran his hand, cold and wet and sticky and so
Sharp. Like being cut and then frozen as he ran his hand down my face to my neck and I could feel him slice across my neck. He just watched my eyes without moving, that vacuum that hollow empty face. I could almost feel my blood gush hot down my throat and then freeze against his hand.
I sat bolt upright, and it was over. The lights were on. I did throw up then, barely made it to the bathroom in time. I looked in the mirror where he had touched me.
Down my cheek and across my neck was a continuous line of pale skin, like the blood hadn’t returned to the area yet, and when I checked this morning it was still there.
He can’t get to me when I’m this close to escaping. I won’t let him. He may think he's marked me, but this is just a survivor's scar.
I don’t know if there’s anyone out there, reading this. If you are, though, just know that I won, in the end, and it’s going to be a long victory.
I hope I don’t drive off and forget something. I always do that.