A shrill ringing cut through the air, forcing the Other to relinquish his (it’s) control.
Out of time.
A lucky escape.
What the fuck am I doing?
I stepped back, removing my hands from his throat like I’d just been burnt.
As with a rising sense of horror and panic, I found myself existing again.
There were people all around us, how could they not have seen, not have understood?
Without a word, the Other’s intended victim walked away.
did he not see the danger in me?
This time it was not a game.
I wasn’t there.
And they meant to kill.
As the world carried on oblivious, I remained routed to the spot, as I fought to contain the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.
As the students around me wandered off to their respective classes, as I should have been too, I knew I had mere moments to make a choice, one that would undoubtedly alter the course of my life.
My first thought was that I should tell someone about this. I had no idea if the Other would return for round two.
That first thought was dismissed almost before it had even finished forming.
conscience subdued by self preservation.
Truth be told I was afraid.
Afraid of not being believed, even more than being labelled mad by those around me.
So I forced the feelings away, I needed to be calm, needed to be rational.
I needed to carry on like everyone else, like nothing happened, like it was just a couple of teenagers arsing about, like a part of me hadn’t been hell bent on strangling someone.
And that’s exactly what I did.
It has been several years since that day, the Other hasn’t yet tried anything like that again, I’m hoping it stays that way. I’d like to say it’s gone, but who knows? Sometimes when I’m approaching the edge of sleep, I swear I here his (it’s) voice, in the back of my mind.
I wonder just where I’d be now if that day, I’d instead found the courage to do what I suspect many will feel was the morally correct choice and admitted to the experience, instead of leaving it to fester.