Nightmare (Patreon)

I gasped for air as I woke up, panting and sweaty. Another nightmare. Always the same one. I'm in the school gym, alone for some reason. It's eerie in the way all public places feel when deserted. The windows near the ceiling are dark, indicating it is evening, or night. I already know he is there. I can smell him. It's not that he smells awful, but I can recognize his scent, his sweat. I've read you can't smell anything in dreams, but that's obviously not true. Not for me at least.

It doesn't matter what I do next. Sit still, run for the locker room, run to the equipment room. At some point he will rush me, catch me and wrestle me down. Every type of evasion, every kind of counter, all for naught. I don't recognize him from outside the dream, but his looks are seared in my mind. There isn't anything really special about him. Average looks, brown hair in a Bieber swirl, college level muscled, wearing a black singlet with COBRAS in front. But it is always him. I hate him. At the beginning it happened quickly, a choke hold from the back.  Then I could delay it by evasion. Lately I've been fighting back, grappled and struggled. Still ends the same. Eventually I am trapped in a hold, and once he dominates me completely he will shift into a choke hold, and I will wake up.

So far I have woken up, but I'm afraid one of these nights I won't. It feels so real.

I'm afraid to fall asleep. I've looked through all the reasons for nightmares. Sleep deprivation, trauma, stress, anxiety, drugs of both kinds, fatty food, curses. I don't take any drugs, I don't think I'm eating anything I shouldn't, and I have no idea how to check for curses. As for sleep deprivation and anxiety, you bet. How could I not have that when I wake up almost dead several times a week. I've been reading up on wrestling techniques online, watching instruction videos, watching competitions. I guess that is why our fights lasts ever longer.

The fluorescent lights bathe the room in its clinical light, regardless of what time it is outside the room. The wooden floor is shiny from lacquer and the constant sanding from sneakers, leather balls, and sweaty bodies crashing into them. I must have fallen asleep again. Or is this a new night? I don't know. I'm so tired. I don't try to run. I just stand in the middle of the floor, waiting for him. I know he is here. I can smell him.

He doesn't rush towards me, but saunters, face neutral. I ready myself, and see him tense up, preparing to attack as well. But this time I attack first, using a feint I've seen somewhere. He falls for it. I don't even bother with the game. Fuck the rules. I just want a win in my own mind. To best him at least once. His knees hit the floor hard as I stand behind him, keeping his neck in my arm. For all the times I've had myself squeezed into darkness, I've never thought of how you actually do it. It probably takes longer than it should, perhaps even is dangerous, but I keep pressure as his body goes limp.

I gasp for air as I wake up, panting and both knees hurting. I don't need a mirror to look at my face. I don't have to inspect my body, or feel my hair or my muscles or my singlet. I already know. I can smell him.