The Wailing Woman

44. Four Haunting Days Pt. 2

TW: Self-harm and suicidal thoughts. 

I didn't wake up until the next day but I wish I didn't. Grimm is currently trying to get me to eat this so-called chicken soup. Inside the porcelain bowl, there are eight peas and four thin slices of carrots, and three pieces of shredded chicken. They all float in the piss-yellow puddle of broth. Any hunger I felt diminished.

We sit on the floor of my bedroom with a small wooden table sitting between us. But before he tries to force me to eat, his jaw ticks. "Is the little girl here, right now?" I briefly and vaguely told Grimm about seeing my younger self since he kept asking from the moment I woke up. I wish I didn't tell him because he looks nervous and a nervous Grimm was not good. I nod my head.

"Have you heard of the term poltergeist?" He taps one finger on the wooden table while the other hand rubs his jaw. I don't respond. "Poltergeists are strong entities built from human emotions. Negative emotions, more like so. They're created when someone becomes fully charged with negativity and usually you can't see them. But since you're a witch, she probably fed off your energy, amplified it, and separated herself from you. It's why you have a visible poltergeist and only you can see her. It also explains why your magic is uncontrollable, she adds to your chaos." 

His gaze holds a serious expression. "Poltergeists wreak havoc on the living. They like to torment the living by creating noise, throwing objects, and misplacing objects around the house. This is a game to them. They like to see how far they can go before a person goes insane."

Ah, well, she sounds like fun.

"Why is my poltergeist in the form of my seven-year-old self?" I ask.

Grimm stops tapping his finger. "If one ever comes face to face with their poltergeist they will be looking at what they fear the most. In your case, you fear your younger self." He tilts his head to the side as he tries to decipher the reason why I am afraid of my younger self, but they're too many reasons. Grimm seems to think the same as he pushes the bowl forward, "Enough about that, I'll help you get rid of it but first, you need to eat."

I met his gaze, raising a brow. "You want me to eat that?" He sighs heavily. "You're sick."

"Yes, I'm sick, not tasteless." I retorted. "Would you eat this? No, you wouldn't because you don't have a bland tongue." Grimm briefly closes his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose but I catch his mouth twitching upwards. Then I find myself wanting to see one of his wicked smirks. But he refuses himself any enjoyment.

"You need to eat something. Tell me, what you want to eat. I'll bring it. Anything you want." Grimm's voice goes low at the end as it lingers with desperation.

They're so many things I wanted in this life, but what I have learned about wanting things is that you can never have no matter how hard you try. Although it's been interesting lately talking to the dead and having made a few friendships, I wasn't made to live a life. I think it's time for me to go home. I need to go home.

This world does not want me to live and neither do I.

I cleared my throat and met Grimm's gaze. "There is this Mexican restaurant about five blocks away from here. They sell this dish called 'caldo de res.' It's my favorite soup." He nods his head. "I'll tell Hans—"

"I thought you said you would bring it?" I frowned. Grimm looks at me, debating whether he should stay or go. I encouraged him a little, "I would prefer it if you were the one who brought it to me." It wasn't a complete lie, anything that came from him I know I would like it ten times more. He lowers his head as the corner of his lips slightly lifts, and I did the same. Now, who is the one hiding?