Disgust and Desire (ch. 9)

Chapter 9

Photo by Ronny Rondon on Unsplash

9.

Someone—Laura wasn’t sure who—was chasing her. She was on the stone sidewalk along 5^th Ave. It was late at night. Very quiet, save for the light sounds of cars passing. An occasional honk. She ran, wearing three-inch heels, sweaty, panicking, terrified, seeing only a dark vague blob in the shadows behind her. She tried to scream but couldn’t.

She turned and, still running, saw the blob taking shape. A man: Tall, wearing a sharp black suit, hair parted to one side, a deadly grin. Then she realized. Dylan. She ran faster. Dylan did, too. He was gaining. She frantically looked around for a taxi or a person or an escape route. There was nothing. No one. No help.

As he got closer, he pulled out a machete; moonbeams gleamed off the shiny silver blade. She tried to scream again but couldn’t.

Just as he was about to lunge for her with the machete, another blob appeared from out of the bushes. She smelled the shape. Saw a book in the man’s hand, and a balled fist. His green eyes were intense and somehow burning brightly against the night.

Dylan lunged for her. The man leapt at Dylan. A scream of terror. A crashing noise from the collision of two hard bodies.

“Ohhhhh!” Laura shouted out loud, sitting up in bed. She scanned around her, eyes wide, heart thumping. Jesus H. Christ. It’d been a dream. A nightmare. Dylan: Chasing her. With a machete. The…homeless guy: Saving her. What would Freud say? What about Jung? She rubbed her palms against her face, pulling her hair back.