Forbidden Mania | 18+

11.

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𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓴𝓪'𝓼 𝓟𝓸𝓿~

The darkness was endless, thick and suffocating. I stood in the middle of it, trapped, every instinct telling me to run, but I had nowhere to go. Shadows swirled around me, closing in like walls, and in the silence, I heard a faint, dragging sound. My heart raced, a hollow echo that seemed to fill the space around me.

And then, from the blackness, he emerged.

A stranger with an arm bent at an unnatural angle, blood dripping slowly from his fingers. His face was shrouded in shadows, but his presence was terrifyingly real. He was wounded, badly, yet he moved with a strange, deliberate intent, one step at a time, as though pain didn't matter to him at all.

I backed away, my legs trembling as I tried to keep distance between us, but he only came closer. The more I retreated, the faster he seemed to approach, his broken arm hanging uselessly at his side, while his eyes, dark, cold, and unyielding locked onto mine.

My voice wouldn’t come. I wanted to scream, to call out for help, but my throat was tight, strangled by fear. His footsteps echoed, a sinister beat growing louder with each step he took. His breath was shallow, raspy, and it filled the silence like a sinister melody. He lifted his good hand, reaching out, fingers stretched toward me, and as he drew closer, I felt his icy presence pressing against my skin.

My feet were rooted to the ground. The shadows around me were suffocating, wrapping me in a grip I couldn't escape. I closed my eyes, hoping to wake up, hoping it would all end.

But then I felt it, his touch, cold as death, brushing against my cheek, and I gasped, my eyes snapping open, only to find his twisted smile inches from my face.

With a scream, I jolted awake, my body drenched in sweat, heart pounding against my chest. The room was quiet, and soft morning light seeped through the curtains, yet I could still feel his icy touch lingering on my skin.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, trying to tell myself it was just a nightmare. But even as I sat there, trembling in the safety of my own room, I could still see his haunting eyes, lingering like shadows at the edge of my mind.

I sat in bed, still clutching my chest, trying to convince myself that it was just a nightmare, that it wasn't real.

My hands trembled as I inhaled slowly, telling myself, "It's over, Mishka. It was just a dream."

After what felt like ages, I finally pushed myself up, wiping away the cold sweat from my forehead. My heartbeat had slowed, but the eerie feeling lingered, a whispering shadow in the back of my mind.

I wrapped my arms around myself, grounding myself in reality. The nightmare's hold was fading, but the fear lingered like a chill I couldn't shake.

I walked to the bathroom, hoping the cold water on my face would help me forget. But as I stepped inside, my gaze fell on a small heap by the sink. The kurti I had worn on the day of the accident. It lay crumpled, stained with deep, rusted red patches. Blood. My stomach churned.

I remembered him, the stranger with the injured arm who had saved me. His blood. The nightmare flashed back, uninvited, his broken arm, his twisted smile. A chill shot through me, and I felt frozen again, trapped in my own bathroom by this horrific reminder.

"No." I whispered, gripping the edge of the sink for support. The thought of his blood on my clothes, in my space, it felt wrong, invasive. I felt panicked, as if keeping it here would somehow tether me to that nightmare forever.