Chapter 18

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Winds bustling, babes cry, yet doth forth I go. Not can I see him, but know I he's there. Not can I feel him, but know I where he touches me. Danger spooks beyond tree limbs, And feel I, oh heaven feared, dagger slit my middle in half...

I jump out of the not-so-real-reality that captured my body. Eyes sleepy, I rub my head before attempting to turn on my lamp.

It's 3:30 in the morning and stars lite up my pale pink window covers.

With light on, I think to just lay down and the medicine will work in itself.

I turn my head and that when I see him, slightly suffocating as my breath hitches in my throat, stilled in fear.

Knife in hand, there he sits. He twirls it around his diligent fingers, watching as the blade, with chance, sends a wip of reflected light outward.

"Peters..." I whisper.

He stops abruptly at the words. Black abysses choke my sight as they switch to stare upon me. Smirking, he flips the handle of the knife to contact with his palm.

So effortless was that....and what he plans to do with it.

"Ahh, McKenzie, McKenzie, McKenzie. Long time no see. Miss me?" Iced are his words.

He jerks his occupied hand at me, causing me to shiver against the head board.

"Oh, Harper, I taught you to be tougher than that...what's gotten into you?"

I crawl farther back into the headboard as he uplifts out of his chair.

"Is it that boy?" He adds, squinting his eyes.

"What boy?" I answer.

Turning, he laughs and paces past my bed and the flips his motion, going back towards the chair.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" He yells, pointing the knife directly at my throat.

Attempting to swallow, I over-shake my head to signify my feigning loyalty.

"No. Never."

Taking his hands into view, he speaks.

"I never had to worry about you. Until now. Never have I had someone so young tell the biggest lies. You've made a new name for yourself, girl."

"What do you mean?" My voice elevated in fear.

"I know you were there! And I know what you did...or didn't do. And I know you've been seeing that Harry bastard. Probably even gave yourself to him in more ways than one."

I frantically move stray strands out of my face.

"You're wrong."

Long strides point him in my direction, the blade a neighbor to my cheek.

"About which one, because I know it can't be both," The dagger exposes my newly washed neck. "Sloppy, sloppy work. But don't worry, the blood won't stain."

He grabs my neck, screaming. In an instant, I feel the sting of the blade slash my skin disappear and the stitches that pull my torso are no where to be found. I look around to see a desolate room. The night caps the otherwise prominent pieces of furniture. No blood seeps into the white linen covers that devour my legs. No peters. Touching my neck, stab wounds are non existent and I gradually learn to exhale again.

Sweat leaves its mark on my brow and I think,

A dream? Inside of dream?

And thanks to the many pills I pop, this, I know, will not be the last.

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