Poison Rose

CH 64- My hair is gone

Sven sat on his couch, the silence of his apartment feeling more like a blanket with thorns than a comfort. Shadows twisted on the walls as the dim light from the lamp flickered slightly. But it was the whispers that made his heart race—soft, insistent phrases that seemed to drift in and out of his mind.

"You are going to die." He kept hearing that.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to shake off the chill that had settled in his bones. And then, just when he thought he might calm down, he heard it: a soft but persistent knocking at the window.

*Thud, thud, thud.* His heart jumped in his chest. "It's just the wind," he told himself, though the tremor in his voice revealed his uncertainty.

Against his better judgment, he got up and approached the window. He peeked through the window, but there was only darkness outside. Nothing but an empty street stared back at him.

Just as he was about to feel calm, someone knocked at the door. With trembling steps, he went to the door and peeked through the peephole, but there was no one. He took a deep breath, unlocked it, and cracked it open just enough to get a view of outside—nothing but an empty hall.

He was about to close the door when a thought flickered in his mind. He couldn't stay here any longer. He needed to get out. Maybe Ms. DeCosta, his girlfriend, could help him.

He quickly grabbed his jacket and keys then, bolted from the apartment, the whispers growing softer with each step he took away from his front door.

After arriving at his girlfriend's apartment, a wave of relief washed over Sven like a tide, comforting him in a way he desperately needed.

Finally, he wouldn't have to face those haunting thoughts alone. He knocked on her door, and to his surprise, it swung open effortlessly—almost as if it had been left unlocked.

"Emma, are you there?" he called out, stepping inside. The apartment was shrouded in darkness, with only faint hints of light piercing through the gloom, hinting that she hadn't returned yet.

He closed the door behind him and flicked on the light switch. The sight of the familiar walls was a great relief.

And the most important part, he did not hear those daunting whispers anymore.

He passed through the living room and headed to the kitchen; he was thirsty. For days, he could not eat or drink water properly.

He pulled a bottle from the fridge and grabbed a glass from the cabinet, the mundane action grounding him, if only for a moment.

After filling the glass, he drank quickly, gulping the cold water with audible slurps, trying to drown the anxiety in his mind.

He set the empty glass in the sink and sank onto the couch. He couldn't resist the cosy cushions that surrounded him, making him want to sleep.

He draped his arms over his eyes and let himself drift.

But then came the drop—an isolated plink that fell on his arm. Another drop fell, and then another, slow at first but progressively more relentless. Soon, it was like a small stream was cascading onto his arms.

Instantly, Sven jolted awake, his heart racing as he wiped his hand across his sleeve.

Frantic, he pushed his arm up to inspect it, and terror gripped him as he noticed the drops were not the clear liquid he had anticipated. Panic surged within him, and he slowly lifted his head up to the ceiling.

Sven's breath caught in his throat, a tight grip of fear leaving him paralyzed. He couldn't scream or move; even blinking felt like a monumental task. His body lay awkwardly on the couch, and his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.