Chapter Two Saturday, 5:43 am
Elijah wakes up, drenched in sweat, his breathing labored as he pants the nightmares away. His heart pounds in his chest, the fear and terror of his nightmare still gripping him tightly. As he tries to calm himself down, he sits up abruptly, his body tense with anxiety.
He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling the sweat trickling down his face. He can feel the dampness on his t-shirt and sheets, and the coldness of the fan on him sends shivers down his spine. His eyes dart around the room, trying to orient himself and reassure himself that he's awake, and there's no one in this room whispering awful things to him.
He takes a few deep breaths, but the taste of his own sweat lingers in his mouth, reminding him of the nightmare. He flicks his tongue over his lips, trying to get rid of the taste, but it only makes him feel worse. The foul taste triggers his gag reflex, and he feels like he might throw up. He leans over the edge of the bed, hoping to ease the nausea, but nothing comes up. The taste, more than just sweat, is not budged by sleep.
The room feels stuffy and suffocating, and the darkness only adds to his unease. He turns on the lamp beside his bed, and the soft glow illuminates the room. As he glances around, his eyes fall on the clock on his nightstand. It reads 5:43 am.
He rubs his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He can feel his heart rate slowing down, but the sense of dread lingers, and he can't shake off the feeling that something terrible is going to happen.
Paranoia and rage surge through his body, giving life to his muscles. He leaps out of bed and rushes to the kitchen, his limbs moving on their own. His hands yank open the door of the refrigerator. On the top shelf, he sees the pizza box that Carmen brought over last night. It's torn in half and crammed inside.
The thought hits him like a bolt of lightning, sudden and loud and foreign: Did he poison it? The idea doesn't belong to him, and yet he can't shake it. Are they trying to hurt me? His mind races with possibilities, all of them terrifying.
Elijah's eyes dart to the hallway, where Hudson's room is just around the corner. He wonders if he would be able to hear Hudson coming. The weight of his own thoughts is suffocating, and the fear creeping up his spine feels like an eight legged creature.
Slowly, he slides the pizza box from the fridge and opens it. The pizza looks...innocent enough. Deflated of its fresh glory but still edible and fitting to be a charming breakfast for the average college student. Maybe the next one. He shoves it back into the fridge.
The dim yellow bulb emanating from the fridge casts an eerie glow over Elijah's worried face. The worry and the paranoia are on full display, the fear in his eyes palpable. His eyes scan the fridge contents, flitting up and down, side to side as they absorb as many details as they receive.
Nothing looks off.
He opens one of the beers in the fridge and lifts the glass to his nose for a whiff. A mix of piss and stale whole wheat bread assaults his nose. Smells like beer. Besides that, the only two things in the fridge he has access to is a carton of orange juice and a glass jar of pickles. He pulls both out from their sanctuary and performs the same sniff test.
Nothing smells off.
What is going on? What is causing this persistent taste in his mouth? What is causing this...misery? The questions race through Elijah's mind as he tries to make sense of the situation. He can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, that someone is out to get him. The fear gnaws at his gut, he feels on the verge of a mental breakdown.
