The head can be cruel (APH America x hallucinating reader)

Please come..

With a sigh, you gently laid the notebook on your thrift-store desk. College is stressful, this much is true for anyone, especially one mentally ill. You had trouble sleeping at night, anxiety ruling your mind and dictating your actions. So, though in the back of your mind a little comforting voice told you not to, several times a night you would slowly rise from the comforts of your bed, baseball bat in hand (it had permanent residence by the side of your bed for moments like these) you would make your way through every cubic inch of your one bedroom apartment. Recently, when noticing that your grades began to drop, you confided in a psychiatrist who then prescribed you a sleep medication. You weren't warned of the side effects though.

The hallucinations had been occurring for maybe 5 weeks now. Most of the time, they were things you knew not to be possible, and so you would focus on your breathing, clasping the sleeping mask on your bedside table and adjusting it so it sat comfortably on the back of your head and drifting to sleep.

On few occasions, however, they had become so vivid you dared not expose your hands or face from the refuge of the limp quilt you used at night.

Tonight, you had been studying for your upcoming final. You avidly took notes in this class in particular, for it was easily the most difficult of your courses. Writing quickly as possible, a lot of these notes weren't even legible, and with trying to keep up with the professor, had they been readable they wouldn't make sense anyways. Your office chair squeaked you moved from your position to set the notebook down. The chair smelled of mildew and it was, to your dismay, quite obvious the previous owners had owned a cat (or maybe even several). Fingers delicately ran though locks of (h/c) hair, brushing your dangling bangs away from your obscured vision. You looked at your hands and let out a sigh deeper than before. Dry blood resided at the tip of your finger nail, or what was left of it. There was no use to trim your nails, apparently they just taste delicious to your nerves. When there was no nail left to chew, the surrounding skin would be absentmindedly gnawed.

Almost instinctually, you picked up your cellphone after the several hour long study session. You didn't feel like talking anyone, though you craved attention. It's quite strange the way your brain works when emotionally exhausted. Your thumbs scrolled through hundreds of unnecessary photos in your camera roll, which you noted to delete later. You closely inspected the recent photo of you and your boyfriend, Alfred, and found yourself at long last smiling today. Though he was loud and obnoxious, you had dug your way to his sweet and vulnerable side. He was really just a big, childish, teddy bear. There was no one like him.

Distracting you from your thoughts came a crash from the apartment below and an agitated growl made its way to your lips. The couple downstairs had recently engaged in a series of arguments, which seemed to only occur in the later hours of the day, unfortunately for you and other neighboring residents of the building. Checking the time, you decided you would just take your sleeping medication a little earlier than usual, after all, you haven't slept in two days. You would just sleep longer, no harm, right..?

Wrong.

3:07 A.M and here you were staring hopelessly at your doorway. You had woken up but several minutes ago, though they were agonizingly long. A single tear rolled slowly down your cheek, taking its sweet time down warm flesh before passing over your lips, leaving its mark with the taste of salt lingering in your mouth.

There, under the doorframe, though you knew him not to be real, was a man. Staring. With no blinks, his soulless eyes dug holes into your confidence and sense of comfort.

You wanted to close your eyes. You really truly did, but didn't dare remove your sights from the hallucination. Without realizing you had your breath held, a single hand whipped out from under your soft quilt and grasped your phone, then retreating back under the cover, ripping the charging block from the power socket. Not being able to withstand the imaginary tension, you swiftly dropped the quilt over your head, finally feeling allowed to release the long held breath. Trembling (s/c) fingers pressed the power button and made their way to the 'messages' icon on your home screen, gently tapping your most recent conversation- ''Alfie ❤️🤠''.