Prescribed: A Succubus

Chapter Twelve

The world around me is hazy, the only thing in front of me I can see is green, all I can see is her. She holds my hand, our fingers laced. I imagine this is what heaven feels like but her eyes look at me, those black iris taking me in. She whispers to me that she's scared, and then all at once she disappears. Once again I'm left alone in my own head, the feeling of other hands, of other bodies pressurized in my skin. They feel cold, rubbing against me trying to make me feel something else other than empty.

I've never wanted to get lost in a forest before but I wonder at this moment when I lay down and let them have me if getting lost in one will lead me back to you? Will lead me back to the door up those stairs. Maybe I'm just a dreamer, maybe it's too soon but I just want to be held like someone cares.

I wake up in a panic, a cold sweat running down my back as I sit up to try and catch my breath. My mind races as I take in the dim room, being lit by a lamp on the desk.

Where am I? I freeze as I hear someone outside the room, humming as they move. I hear the undeniable mistake of a chair rocking back and forth on the ground, the floor creaking under the user's weight.

Well, I'm not tied up at the very least but my body is still exhausted as I get up from the bed. I go over to the window first and open it, instead of being met with the outside all I see is a black void. Sticking my arm out of it only makes it disappear. What the fuck is this?

I went into the tree and now I'm here? A room I don't know with some person outside that I also don't know. I look around the room closely and my eyes focus on the desk. I come closer and on it is a violin in the middle of being painted.

Oh, it hits me. Oh. My hands slowly come down to pick it up. Oh. The flowers painted on it are expertly done in the middle of drying for another layer to be set later. I turn it over in my hands to see a little character drawn on the back. Oh no, my tears fall on the violin, I move it away so as to not smear the paint. That's my Dads little character, these are his flowers.

I never got this violin, but I know it. I had told my parents about seeing a violin used as a flower pot and how I couldn't get it out of my head. If this violin is in here that means. I look around the room slowly taking in the details I had brushed over before. The embodied bed sheet, the music notes hanging from the ceiling, the corner of the room where instruments are held and this desk with my name carved under the mat. This is my room. My Mom had mentioned how my Dad had taken to painting in my room after I left. He said it had better lighting, I knew he was lying.

I wipe away my tears, placing the violin down gently before going to the door. If this is my house then the one humming has to be my Mom. I open the door slowly, looking down the hallway to the living room where she sits. Rocking back and forth as she reads a book, a blanket over her lap.

"Mom?" It comes out softly, unsure.

She looked up at me startled, throwing down what she was reading. "You're awake, come we need to talk."

I come into the living room, pulling up a chair between the side table as I watch her every movement, she looks just like her, she has the dimples I never got, the small grays in her hair and when she smiles before she talks I see the tooth that was knocked out in her early teens.

"Wow you actually look so much like me." She says, I really do look like her.

"Are you actually my Mom?" All these figments are starting to freak me out.

She smiles bitterly at me, "I guess we shouldn't pretend, no your mom is still dead. I am but a copy of her, what the tree knows about her. She made a contract with a fae when you were a baby. The contract saved you, and because one life was helped, another had to be sabotaged. That is just the balance of these things."