Janie and The Gray: Part 19
Break. Part nineteen of a dystopian science-fantasy serial.
He mumbled incoherently but didn't wake. I grabbed his thigh and gave it a little shake. "Ryan, wake up."
"I had to, she wouldn't stop. I had to, I had to, I had to." His words were fragile. Child-like. Pleading.
"They're going to find out," he said. It was like a different person's voice — venomous, menacing, and accusatory. My skin prickled with chills.
"Ryan," I raised my voice and slapped his leg. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up. Ryan —"
In one frenzied motion, he collapsed the recliner, launched upward, and grabbed me with both hands around my neck. His hands clamped down like steel vices. I couldn't scream. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't peel his fingers off my throat. I started punching him in the side of the head, over and over. He pushed me backwards until we hit a wall. He stared at me — through me — with unfocused eyes. He flinched and blinked with every strike, but his grip persisted. I was lightheaded and on the edge of consciousness. Of death. Do something, Janie.
I kneed him between the legs as hard as I could. At the impact, he came to — a look of horror on his face.