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TITLE: Piercing Eyes- Chapter One
By Andria Cook
12/04/05
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Please no. Not again. Not this again. DíAhna Southerland tossed and turned restlessly in the big bed. Heís coming. I have to hide. I have to get out. I canít take it another time. Someone, please wake up. Please stop him. Please. Donít just sit there! Donít you see him? God, please help me!

From under the covers she peered out at the big work boots slowly approaching her bed. He moved closer to her. She could hear his heavy breathing and smell the alcohol from his breath. And then, the black glove. He was reaching for her! She tried to scream, tried to move, but she couldnít. She couldnít think. Couldnít speak. Everything was going black. Angel save me!
DíAhna bolted up in bed, trying to slow the shallow breaths that were stabbing through her chest. Itís a dream, just a dream. Donít be so silly.

Feeling shaken to the core of her soul, she got out of bed. Her skin felt clammy as the fan blew cool air over her sweaty skin. She wrapped herself in a thick cotton robe, tying it tightly around her waist. She went to the window of her bedroom, and slid the lock to the left, and then back into its secure locked position to the right. She slowly inched her way to the closet. She reached out a shaky hand to the cold brass knob and turned it to the left. In one quick motion she threw the door open and jumped back. She inched forward and flipped the switch on and checked to ensure that nobody was there. Empty. She mentally went down her checklist.

Room by room she investigated in the same thorough investigation she did every night. She turned the light on to every room and investigated it. She checked under each bed, and behind each door. She unlocked the locks on every window, and then relocked each one. She opened the door to every closet, turned on the lights and checked in the back corners to make sure her house was safe. She just had to make sure. She had to be safe.

He hasnít come back in years. Why would he come back now? She scolded herself for being ridiculous, and for giving in to the dreams again.

She made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Long, slow sips of cool water were interrupted by forced breathing. Deep breaths were accompanied by sharp exhales. Then she decided to settle into the studio for the night.

Like she did most nights, she curled up in a corner of the small couch, and wrote song lyrics by the dim light of the reading lamp. After hours of frustrating rewrites, she migrated to the keyboard and pounded away a melody to accompany her perfected lyrical creations. She played the tune until she felt her eyes getting increasingly heavy. After shutting off her keyboard, and putting her papers away, she settled back onto the small couch, and covered herself with several blankets. During yoga class she had learned how to relax herself through a series of breathing techniques and visualizations. She closed her eyes and forced herself through the techniques.

Her muscles ached, and she longed for hot water to pound away at the tension in her shoulders. However, she knew what would happen if she were to get in the shower at this point. Images of him would creep in again. The risk of another episode was not worth whatever relief she might get from a momentís relaxation.
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