Say You Hate Me

late night visitor

I couldn't sleep.

Somewhere in the midst of my mental stressing, 10pm had turned into 2am and darkness had swallowed me whole. But even when I shut my eyes and willed myself to sleep, all I could think about was maths. I had a test worth half of my grade tomorrow and the nerves were eating me alive. Every second that ticked by was just another calculation or formula and yet I still didn't feel prepared.

Nick had attempted to help Aaron and I revise for the best part of a day and every chunk of vital information had just flown in one ear and out the other. Resisting the urge to use my fingers to count, I invented a new calculation to solve in my brain.

And then I heard a creak.

The rustic floorboards screeched and whined in agony as somebody padded across the room. My movements stilled and my breathing halted. Clamping my eyes shut, I shuffled beneath the protection of my blanket.

Every step caused an eruption of fear in my body and every noise sent my mind spiralling. The mountain of maths in my brain had been eagerly replaced by an army of nightmarish possibilities. I was catastrophizing. Common sense had plummeted out of my skull and all I could think of was the worst case scenarios. A serial killer had broken into our dorm to kill me. A kidnapper had climbed through our window to steal me. A murderer was lurking in the shadows of the room to drug me, kill me and then cut off my limbs and sell them on the black market.

I have a vivid imagination.

Suppressing a shudder, I attempted to make out the dancing silhouettes through the material.

I had shopping plans with Val, Lia and Lucas this weekend. I had an important maths test tomorrow. I have a planned FaceTime with Nila in two days. There's no room in my schedule for being decapitated by a butcher who broke out of prison.

The sound of the door thumping shut startled me back to the present time. Brushing my hands across the length of my body, I mentally checked that I still had every limb and had no injuries.

After two minutes of blindly searching for wounds and another two of reciting mental reaffirmations, I peaked my head above the covers. Blinking back the darkness, I noticed that the intruder was gone.

And so was Grayson.

Sweet Jesus, the serial killer managed to snatch a 6,3 muscled man without making a sound. There should be a fucking reward for that achievement.

Sitting up straight, I rifled through my memory for anything I learnt from my years of skimming murder-mystery novels. Unfortunately, Nancy Drew had no useful advice for the situation I found myself in.

Scanning the room for any clues, I spotted the loose grey sweats that Grayson wore to sleep, folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

Had the murderer undressed him?

Tearing my fearful gaze away, I realised that Grayson's drawers were left ajar and his sneakers were missing. Confusion swarmed my brain; what kind of perverted murderer had silently forced Grayson to change outfits before kidnapping him?

Something tapped against the window and I flung myself backwards. My head collided with the headboard of my bed and pain ricocheted through my skull. Ignoring the agonising burn in my head, I forced myself to pretend to be asleep. Peeping on eye open only to slam it shut again as soon as another noise sounded, I allowed fraudulent snores to slip through my lips.

Cringing at my snoring, I reopened my eyes and sat up again.

My gaze flicked to the window and only then did I notice the tree branch fluttering in the breeze and tapping against the window. Mentally scolding myself for my stupidity, I hauled my body out of bed and pottered across the room.