"Bingo." His voice rings in my mind like a cruel whisper.
I freeze, my pulse quickening. Ellie sets the box of tissues down on the table and stares at me with wide, concerned eyes.
"You're scaring me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I want to say something to ease her nerves, but I'm transfixed by the steady thrum of the vein in her neck. It's hypnotic, pulling me in with a force I can barely fight.
I push back my chair, forcing myself to stand. "I'm sorry," I mumble, retreating a step. "I don't mean to. It's… it's the nightmares. They've been getting worse."
Her eyes soften, though the worry lingers. "You should get some rest. I'll look into a therapist for you this week. You can't keep going on like this."
I nod mechanically, turning toward my room. "Thanks. I think I just need some sleep."
She says nothing else, but I hear her sigh and I feel her eyes on me as I head to my room.
Once I'm inside, I shut the door firmly and lean against it, trying to steady my breathing. "How are you in my head?" I hiss, directing my words to the emptiness.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence, and I almost convince myself I imagined it. Then, a low chuckle ripples through my mind. "It's an interesting place to be, to be honest."
I grit my teeth. "How are you doing that?"
"Doing what?" His tone is maddeningly casual, like he's enjoying this game.
"Talking in my head. Stop it."
"You don't have to talk aloud," he says smoothly. "I can hear your thoughts, you know."
"Get out of my head!" I snap, my voice rising.
"I will," he drawls, "but only if you come out."
I clench my fists, pacing the room. "Not a chance."
"You can't hide forever," he says, his voice turning softer, almost coaxing. "This is your new life now. Embrace it."
I glare at the wall, as if my anger can reach him. "Do you have any idea what happened the last time I stepped outside at night?"
"It's just me out here this time," he replies smoothly. "No one else."
"No," I say firmly, crossing my arms.
There's a pause before his voice darkens. "You're starving yourself. You think you're strong, but you're not. Not like this."
"I don't care."
"You should."
I stop pacing and whirl toward the door. "Why didn't you just go to hell when you died, huh? Maybe I'll still have the hope of a life by now!" The words suddenly come out of me. I didn't intend them, but I can't take them back either.
The silence that follows is deafening.
A knock comes at my door, and Ellie's voice follows. "Are you okay in there? Who are you talking to?"
I laugh dryly, rubbing my temples. "No one, just the demon in my head."
When she doesn't reply, I glance at the door, but I don't move. His presence is gone. I feel the absence like a hole in my chest.
I collapse onto my bed, my head spinning. The quiet stretches on, oppressive and consuming. I hate myself for it, but I miss the sound of his voice.
Eventually, I get up and open my window. The breeze rushes in, cool and fresh. I scan the street below, hoping for some sign of him—a flash of golden eyes, the faintest shadow.
Nothing.
The guilt is there, heavy and unwelcome, but I shove it down. I force myself to close the window and climb back into bed.
*****
When I wake, the sun is already high in the sky, filtering through my curtains in pale, washed-out rays. I groan, my bones stretching as I sit up.
The living room feels strangely still when I step out. Ellie is on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She looks up as I approach.
"Morning," she says. "Or afternoon, I guess."
I force a small smile. "Hey."
She sets her phone down. She's quiet for a moment and then I hear her heart beat picking up.
"Are you okay?"
She shrugs and looks towards the door. "Yeah...I guess."
I turn to look towards the door as well, turning back to her confused.
"Mrs Saunder's dog, Buttercup?" She says after a long moment.
I blink, my stomach twisting. "What about her?"
"She's dead," she says, her voice soft. "They found the body on the stairs towards the main doors yesterday."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "Was she… run over?"
She frowns, shaking her head. "Who would run a dog over and leave the body on the stairs of an apartment building?"
My heart pounds in my chest, but I force my expression to stay neutral. "That's awful," I manage to say.
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't press. "By the way, there was a man here earlier," she adds slowly. "He said he was looking for you. Brown hair, honey eyes, heavy accent."
Achilles.
"He left that." She gestures to the coffee table where a small note and a withered rose sit.
I pick up the rose first, running my fingers over the brittle petals. "It's dead."
"That's how it came," she says, watching me closely. "Weird, right?"
I nod absently, grabbing the note. Without another word, I retreat to my room.
The handwriting on the note is elegant, almost taunting: Every beautiful thing fades away when you take away the one thing that keeps it alive.
"How poetic," I mutter, tossing it onto my desk.
The rest of the day drags. I eat, but it's not enough. My throat feels dry, and my head throbs relentlessly. By the time the sun begins to set, I'm shaking.
Ellie pokes her head into my room, concern etched on her face. "I'm heading to my parents' house for my mom's birthday. You gonna be okay here alone?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
She lingers in the doorway, her gaze heavy. "If you need anything—"
"I'll be fine," I cut in. "Go. Have fun."
She hesitates, then finally leaves. The sound of the front door clicking shut echoes through the empty apartment.
Night falls, and my body feels like it's betraying me. My hands tremble, my vision blurs, and the dryness in my throat becomes unbearable.
It feels like I haven't eaten in weeks.
I drift in and out of consciousness, the world tilting and spinning around me.
When I wake, it's to a cold touch against my cheek, so gentle it almost feels like a dream.
The faint scent of cinnamon fills the air, sweet and intoxicating. I try to speak, but no words come.
The cold touch lingers, and I slip back into the void.