by MaryAnn Evans

Created on: December 10, 2011

Forgotten: Chapter One

His face is nothing more than a blur, as his fist smashes into my jaw. The force of the blow causes me to stumble backwards and I find myself falling in slow motion. When my body eventually makes contact with cold concrete, he’s standing over me, feet either side of my body. I still can’t get his features to come into focus. His mouth is moving, but no sound reaches my ears. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m breathing, I would swear I were underwater. His movements are languid as he grasps the front of my shirt with both hands, lifting my upper body and bringing his face close to mine. Still, he remains an indistinct haze. I try to concentrate on the motion of his lips, as they begin to move again, but still the words allude me.

This time, it is the back of his hand that strikes the side of my face and he instantly releases his grip, letting me drop onto the hard surface beneath me. Sliding my hands to the level of my shoulders, I push myself up, but I only get as far as my knees before I feel the heavy boot make swift contact with my lower ribs and abdomen. The air leaves my lungs in one sharp exhalation and I find myself face down once again.

I know that I am heaving for breath, because I can see the slight fog each gasp is creating in the air in front of me, but I can hear nothing. Nothing, not my desperate pants for oxygen nor his words, which I can feel in the warm breath on my neck, as he pushes my left cheek into the icy cold surface. His hand at the back of my head twists a handful of hair, yanking my face away from the concrete and forcing my neck back at an excruciating angle. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation of what I’m sure is to come. However, instead of feeling the rush of air as my face is forced suddenly back to the floor, I feel a gentle, almost tentative, kiss bestowed on my right cheek.

My eyes fling open in confusion and I stare into the darkness briefly, before realising that I am wrestling with the bed sheet. My breath is coming in short heaves and, as I run a hand across my forehead, I learn that I’m covered in a clammy sweat that’s causing the oversized t-shirt I’m wearing to cling oppressively to my skin. Forcing myself to take deep breaths through my nose, I let my eyes drift shut again. However, I’m confronted with a rush of unwanted images, so quickly wrench the heavy lids open. Running my hands through damp hair, I glance to the left, where my bedside clock reads 3:30.

Accepting sleep as a lost cause, I untangle myself from the sheet and swing my legs over the side of the mattress.

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