All of a sudden I jolt up.  Waking up with cold sweat dripping down my face and panting like a dog.  I look all around my room to double check that I’m actually in my apartment and not the basement.  I’m hyperventilating.  I fetch for my Xanax sitting on my dresser next to my bed and shakily open up the cap and pop a pill to calm myself down.  A bad habit I picked up to calm my anxiety after my mother’s death when I was 15.  It’s been the same nightmare ever since I can remember.  I find myself in my childhood basement where I wait for my mother to kill me.  But lately they’ve been increasing.  I’ve had to take time off of work because of it.  I take a sigh of relief and lay back down, my heart starting to go at normal speed again.  I look at my alarm clock to check the time and date.  8:20 A.M. March 15th, 2016.

        I slowly get out of bed.  The apartment really needs a spring cleaning.  It’s kind of dirty with dust here and there, bills that are past due on my desk with last week’s pizza and clothes on the floor.  I make my way towards my large window and open the blinds.  I look out the window and I see nothing has changed.  I live in New York City so, naturally it is bustling and noisy.

        I turn off my music then turn on the TV and start my shower.  I get in and feel the cold water hit my face like a ton of tiny knives.  Thankfully, I paid for the hot water back.  But the water was only sub-par.  As I enjoy my lukewarm shower I overhear the anchor say something that catches my attention.

        “…a woman was found earlier last night by the Brooklyn bridge near the Hudson by NYPD.  NYPD what blood type citizen she was or any other info, but sources close to WNYK-11 say that there was no blood on the scene…”

         “You should’ve saved  me Alex..”

        It sounds like my mom’s voice again, but not as shrill and mean as before.  It sounds almost like a whimper. But it can’t be because I’m wide awake.

        Or at least I think I am.

        “Who’s there?”  I ask as a reach for something to protect myself with.  I only find a brush.

        I quickly turn around to see if anybody is behind me.  To see if that woman’s horrible face will appear again and nothing.  Just the grimy tiles of my shower and my old shower curtain.  I do live with junkies.  It was probably one of them pulling some kind of prank or my anxiety.  I slap myself really hard to see if I’m in a dream.  It hurts so I know I’m not but I have a huge hand mark on my face now.