Bloody Mary // J. Hale

Pillow Talk

Jasper Hale.

Jenna couldn't make sense of him, no matter how hard she tried. From the moment she first saw him, she assumed he suffered from some quiet, secret kind of anxiety. He kept to himself, his shoulders tense, his gaze never quite meeting anyone else's. She'd noticed how he even seemed distant with his own family, an observation she'd made while watching him from across the cafeteria. She'd felt a pang of sympathy then, maybe even a connection. They were both outsiders, in their own ways.

But he became someone different when he drove her home that afternoon. The air in the car grew thick and uneasy, and Jenna sensed something brewing beneath his surface—a sharpness, a restlessness she hadn't expected. His questions came faster than she could answer, and his eyes never left her, scanning her face like he was searching for something she couldn't see. It was unsettling, to say the least. Maybe it wasn't anxiety at all but something else entirely.

Back in her room, Jenna let herself collapse onto her bed, staring up at the faint, warm glow of her fairy lights strung along the ceiling. Even Jasper, she thought bitterly. Even Jasper thinks I'm crazy. The weight of that realization settled in her chest like a stone, a sharp reminder of how utterly alone she felt. It wasn't fair—none of it was.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, replaying the day's events. Her head throbbed, as it always did after an "episode." She growled in frustration, grabbing a pillow and hurling it across the room. It hit her duct-taped window just as rain began to patter against the glass, an echo of the way her thoughts ricocheted painfully inside her mind.

Why did she have to be a freak? She squeezed her eyes shut, as though that might somehow contain the feelings clawing their way out. She'd tried everything—everything her doctors had thrown at her, every new medication, each promising to still the hallucinations. And yet, they came back, stronger and stranger each time, shadowed things lurking just beyond reach.

She couldn't tell anyone. Not her parents, not anyone. She wouldn't go back to that place. Jenna had promised herself that, over and over. She was finally home, finally free—or as close to it as she'd ever been. She gripped her blanket tightly, forcing her breathing to slow, willing herself not to let the tears spill.

She'd hold on, whatever it took. She had to.

She remembered it all too well—the coldness that seeped into her bones, a creeping chill that left her rigid and wary. Her vision clouded, the world around her blurring as shadowy shapes started to emerge. She had trusted that her meds would keep these... visions at bay, protect her from the apparitions that haunted her edges of reality. But as she stood at the top of the school's steps, watching Bella Swan move toward her rusty old truck, it began again.

At first, she thought the figure was another student. But no one at school would wear a dress like that—something worn, faded, strangely out of place. The woman hovered near Bella, her spectral figure pacing restlessly as Bella checked her tires, her expression tense. Jenna's breath caught. She knew, even then, that Bella wasn't seeing her. This wasn't someone real. It was another of them, one of her ghosts, screaming in silence, her mouth wide with words that Bella couldn't hear.

Then, the woman froze, and in an instant, her piercing, pale eyes locked onto Jenna.

Jenna felt herself go still, terror pinning her to the spot. Those bright white eyes held a kind of desperate warning, and as she stared, a new feeling washed over her, a shudder of recognition. Something ancient, familiar, buried deep in her bones.

"Why won't ya'll listen to me? We're all gonna die if we don't leave now!" The words hit Jenna's mind like an echo from another life, rippling through her as if they'd come from her own throat.