weapons † hs [two]

2. hallucinations

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my king:

"Lay down," the voices compelled the words out of my mouth in a curt, deadpanned tone. "Now."

She started to move, following orders when they had me add with a chuckle, "Oh, and legs apart."

The faceless blur of a woman in front of me obeyed, my hooded eyes watching, pleased, as she quietly laid her body down on the deep red sheets of the bed, the only thing visible in the dark room.

My hands positioned behind my bare back, just above the waist line of my black briefs, I smirked, spinning on the heels of my feet, calmly approaching the dresser that suddenly appeared in front of the bed, so many opinions in my mind suggesting what I should do to her.

The top drawer I opened contained four beautiful, identical knives, each lined up straight and sitting pretty, attracting my malevolent eyes.

I ran the edge of my finger carelessly on the blade of one of them, picking it up and spinning back around, glancing from her, down to my reflection in the knife.

A certain blonde's face appears beside mine, poking up over my shoulder, blinking at me through the reflection.

Guilty, I snapped my head up to avoid her gaze with wide, shocked eyes, only to find no woman on the bed anymore, in fact the bed was gone as well, only a beyond of black nothingness ahead.

"You don't want to do this, Harry," the hallucination of Caroline warned from behind, a soothing warmth enveloping my body just at the sound of her voice.

Every voice that ordered me not to face her only made the real me want to do it more. Once I defied their pleas, a genuine smile of relief replaced that cold smirk from before, happiness washing over the evil at the sight of her bright presence, illuminating the space around her.

She mirrored my smile, knowing she's gotten through to me. I had rubbed at my eyes in disbelief, but she was really there.

I sprinted to her like a lost person who's been found, feeling the softness of her touch on me for a split second, until a high-pitched whistle takes me from recalling my dream last night at the exact moment I had awoken from it earlier, and my eyes shoot wide open, startled.

The pot of boiling water cries out of the pot once it's ready, taking me from my trance. I immediately take it off the stove to not disturb Caleb in case he's still sleeping, my tiredness following suit with my actions.

Today marks ninety-one days since I escaped prison and got away with it.

I hear the patter of his energetic steps when I pour the cup of tea for myself and decide to politely do so for him, being a thoughtful roommate— something Caroline taught me to be in my time spent with her.