Lyssa couldn't breathe.
Her skin flushed, sheets tangling her limbs into an awkward, sweaty position, eyes and fingers twitching as she thrashed against her polyester prison.
Lyssa whimpered, fear making her panic as she found she was trapped up in her sheets. She wanted to scream, but no matter how hard she tried, she could only get a hoarse whisper. (Who was here with her? Who was watching?)
Lyssa thrased and struggled, panic rising with each second she was still under the hot sheets. Her head felt like lead, and sweat dripped down her neck.
She startled herself awake. (There were eyes on her, eyes on her.) Lyssa gasped, heaved, sweat through her clothes. Her head pounded, and she looked around in the dark. Cool air dried the sweat on her neck, drove a shiver down her spine. (They were still here, but the shadows hid the eyes in the wall.)
Lyssa couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Her heart pounded, hair stood on end. She shook.
(In another world, the same lifetime, Jake recoiled from her feverish skin.)
She slid off her bed, stripped of her clothes. Changed quietly, opened her sheets to air them out. Lyssa stole quietly down the hall, a ghost in pajamas.
She sat on the stairs, drifting off once the terror died down.
After a few restless, chilling moments, Lyssa slipped into a feverish sleep.
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RETCHES MY WORK IS SO
Anyway this chapter is short because I can't really describe this much
YOU ARE READING
Ghosting
General FictionˈɡōstiNG/ noun the appearance of a ghost or secondary image on a television or other display screen. That's what Jake does. He ghosts Lyssa. Her life is his movie, and he's the unseen protagonist. But she can't see him.
