If You Seek Amee | Zarry

4.💋

... Oh, oh
Tell me, have you seen her?
'Cause I'm so, oh I can't get her off of my brain

💋

That night, Harry stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. The face looking back at him was familiar—clean-shaven, glasses perched on his nose, soft brown hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked exhausted from a day of studying, ready for bed. But as he gazed into his own eyes, he saw something else. Something darker, lurking just beneath the surface.

Ames was there, just below the skin.

Harry gripped the sink, his knuckles white. "You're not real," he whispered to the reflection, his voice trembling. "You're not me."

But the reflection stared back, unblinking, as if to mock him.

Suddenly, the room felt too small and suffocating. He stumbled back, his heart racing. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows in the corners of the room growing longer, darker. He could feel Ames—his presence, his energy. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that if he fell, he would fall forever.

Harry backed out of the bathroom, his hands shook as he pulled open his bedroom door, intending to escape the oppressive feeling that had overtaken him. But as he moved toward the living room, his eyes fell on Ames' door at the end of the hall.

It was open.

Just a crack, but enough to see the red light spilling out into the hallway. Enough to remind him of the world Ames lived in—a world Harry had tried to ignore for too long.

He walked toward it, his steps slow and hesitant. His mind screamed at him to turn back, to retreat into the safety of his own room, but something else—something darker—drew him forward. When he reached the door, he pushed it open, and the full sight of Ames' room hit him like a wave.

The closet door was ajar, revealing a row of costumes—tight, glittering outfits, leather harnesses, masks. On the dresser, there was a half-empty bottle of liquor, a rolled-up bill next to a small pile of powder.

Harry swallowed hard, his stomach churning. He stepped inside, feeling like an intruder in his own home.

But then his eyes landed on the mirror above the dresser, and he froze.

In the mirror, he saw himself—but it wasn't Harry. The reflection looking back at him was Ames, dressed in one of his usual outrageous outfits, his eyes lined with dark makeup, a smirk playing on his lips. Harry stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest. The reflection didn't move, didn't change—it was Ames, staring back at him, as if waiting for something.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clutching his head. "You're not real. You're not me!"

But the voice in his head was no longer his own.

Yes, I am.

The words echoed in his mind, a low, sultry whisper that sent chills down his spine. He opened his eyes, but the reflection had returned to normal—it was just him, just Harry, standing in the middle of the room. But the feeling remained—the feeling that Ames was there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to take over.

💋

Harry's next therapy session was different from the rest. Harry was fidgety, unable to sit still, his eyes darting nervously around Dr. Ellis-Ross' office. She noticed immediately, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Harry," she began gently, "something happened, didn't it?"

Harry nodded. "I... I saw him. In the mirror."