Chinese Water Torture

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Suddenly I’m awake. The room is black. Silent. Still. The white glow of the alarm clock dimmed to gray, barely brighter than a lit match. Even my breathing halted, as if someone hit the pause button; nothing moved. Everything hung in a weightless suspension, untouchable and in that moment, unshaken. Until all at once everything turns back on, full volume.

Drip.

I knew I should have left my migraine pills on the nightstand. It’s too late to think about that now; that or anything really. Pounding, throbbing, aching, and spinning my head feels combustible. Both hands shoot up toward the pain in my skull as a writhe in the bed. Sheets and blankets tangle and wrap around me as my body contorts. My head!

Drip.

Suddenly the floor is beneath me, cold, frozen, stinging on my flesh. For a brief second it provides slight relief from the excruciating thrashing of my brain. I’ve got to get out of here. Some small spurt of adrenaline pushes me to my feet. My first thought is how to stop this noise, and obviously my migraine.

Drip.

The door frame to the bathroom offers some stability as I stumble toward the shower. I must have left the bath on. Fumbling for the light switch becomes a frantic act in the darkness. How could something so routine suddenly be so difficult? I’ve done this a million times before. Finally! I flip the switch to the overhead light.

Drip.

The bathtub is empty. Not only that, it is bone dry. How is this possible? The drip sounds as if it is coming from inside my head! Every second that passes feels like an hour of torture. Where are those pills? I throw the medicine cabinet open, and fumble through the bottles. An big orange one, a small blue one, a small orange one, a fatter orange one; where are those pills?

Drip.

In a fit of pain my hand jets through the bottles, spilling the whole lot onto the counter and into the sink below. FUCK! My eyes scan bottle by bottle looking for the white plastic bottle with a red label.

Drip.

Go faster! My mind is shouting at my hands, who have suddenly become lethargic. Almost just as abruptly as it began, everything slowed to a crawl. As if I am fighting underwater, all of my energy goes into simple movements, and noises become muffled and hard to discern.

Drip.

I am aware there are people in my apartment. Why are they rushing? Why can’t I move? HELP! My mouth forms the words but nothing comes out. At least, I don’t think anything came out. HELP!! I try again and no one flinches, no one can hear me. My head pounds, sending me to the ground where my head falls just out of the bathroom.

Drip.

My vision starts to blur but I can see the people around my bed. Some words are barely audible.

Drip.

“…noise complaint,” one whispers. So I wasn’t the only one who heard the noise? Then they must know I am in pain! They are here to save me!

Drip.

“official time…” one says, glancing at his watch before taking a picture.

Drip.

“Homocide?” another questions as he jots some notes before stepping away from the head of the bed where I catch the only clear view I have had all night.

Drip.

“Time of the noise complaint coincides with the time it took her to bleed out.”

Drip.

“…won’t know until the Medical Examiner arrives but she could have suffered massive cerebral hemorrhaging.

Drip.

“…excruciating death…”

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.