The king of everything

Chapter Eleven- Hope's Concern

The next few days were a blur. I went to classes, kept up with assignments, and tried to keep the fear at bay, but the unease never left me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the demon's glowing red eyes, felt the oppressive weight of its presence lingering in the shadows. My mom's call had shaken me, but it also planted a seed of hope—a reminder that I wasn't entirely lost. Still, it was hard to shake the feeling that I was slowly being pulled into something darker.

Hope noticed before anyone else.

We were sitting in class one afternoon, the professor droning on about some historical event I couldn't focus on. I was in the back row, my eyes trained on the notebook in front of me, but I wasn't writing. My mind was elsewhere, wandering between the strange events of the past few nights and the growing sense of dread that followed me everywhere.

"Hey," Hope whispered, nudging my arm lightly. "You okay?"

I glanced at her, startled. She had been sitting next to me, taking notes like she always did, but her eyes were fixed on me, concern etched into her face. Her soft brown eyes, usually filled with brightness, now held a hint of worry that I hadn't seen before.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

She didn't look convinced. "You've been off lately."

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "You know, school stress. It's nothing."

Hope didn't buy it. She turned slightly in her chair, lowering her voice so we wouldn't catch the professor's attention. "Aaron, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I can tell when something's wrong. You're not yourself. You've been... distant."

Her words hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. She was right—I wasn't myself. I had been pulling away from everything and everyone, wrapped up in the strange, terrifying world that had invaded my mind. But how could I explain that to her? How could I tell her about the demon, the nightmares, the suffocating fear that gripped me at night?

"I'm fine, really," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to myself. "It's just been a rough week."

Hope tilted her head, studying me, and for a moment, I thought she might drop it. But instead, she sighed softly, her hand brushing against mine in a small, comforting gesture.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said gently. "But I'm here. If you need someone, I'm here."

Her kindness, her patience, cut through the fog in my mind. I had been so consumed by fear and paranoia that I had forgotten what it felt like to have someone who genuinely cared. I looked into her eyes, the warmth and sincerity there easing some of the tension I had been carrying for days.

"Thanks, Hope," I muttered, my voice low. "That means a lot."

The professor's voice droned on in the background, but I wasn't listening. My mind was caught between the storm of thoughts swirling inside and the strange sense of calm that Hope's presence brought. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I wasn't completely drowning.

When the class ended, Hope stood up, gathering her books, but she didn't rush out of the room like the others. Instead, she lingered, her eyes flicking toward me as I slowly packed up my things.

"Hey, do you want to grab some coffee?" she asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of something deeper—like she wasn't just asking about coffee. "We could talk. Or not talk, if you don't feel like it."

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no, to retreat back to the dorm and bury myself in books, hoping that the shadows wouldn't follow me there. But the other part—the part that was desperate for some sense of normalcy—was tempted to say yes.

"Yeah," I found myself saying before I could second-guess it. "Coffee sounds good."

Her smile was soft but bright, and for a moment, the shadows that had been hanging over me didn't feel so heavy. We walked to a small café just off campus, the early afternoon sun warming the cool autumn air. The streets were busy with students, their chatter filling the spaces between us, but it felt distant, like we were in our own little bubble.

Once inside, we ordered our drinks and found a quiet corner near the window. I watched as Hope stirred her coffee, her eyes occasionally glancing up at me, still filled with concern.

"So," she said after a few moments of silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I stared into my cup, my fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly. Did I want to talk about it? Could I even explain what was happening without sounding insane?

"I don't even know where to start," I admitted, my voice barely above