Black Hour Glass | Calliope • MJ | DISCONTINUED!!!!

6. Way to Go, Calliope

I couldn't breathe. So much blood. So many voices. My vision had become blurred, but from their identifiable features I could still make out Michael and Caleb, both drowning in their own blood. I whined, feeling myself trying to crawl my way to them my words wanting to be more than thoughts in my brain.

Get to them.

Stop the bleeding.

Those big brown eyes stared into mine as my hands dug into the dirt. The scene was changing, giving me scenario after scenario. A villainous laughed pierced my ears, causing my head to press into the ground and my hands to cover my ears, feeling the moisture of the blood that covered my own hands.

The realization made the world stop spinning, my vision cleared, and the ringing in my ears ceased. I looked down at my hands coated in the red substance, swallowing the fearsome cry that threatened to make it's grave debut from my mouth as I looked at both my dead lover and brother.

I killed them? That realization hit me like a ton of bricks straight to my stomach. I killed them.

My body was the spoke's person for a sauna because I woke up drenched in my own sweat. My hair was sticking to my neck and forehead and the t-shirt I wore was damp. I snatched the covers off of my body, swinging my feet to the side of the bed, the only thing filling the silence of the room was my heavy breathing.

I reached over, flicking on the light and then looking at the chair that I had in the corner of my room, expecting to see Michael there. He'd been here for a month now and developed a knack for making himself comfortable in my home at the most inopportune times.

I got up from the bed, opening my bedroom door and noticed my dimly lit living room. I kept my blinds and curtains drawn (in my bedroom) to give me better sleep through the day, but made my blinds in the living room easy to raise when I wanted to look out over the city. I walked down the hallway, stopping at the end as I watched Michael stare at the city, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mug.

"What?" He said and I saw his mouth creep into a smile. "You're not going to ask what I'm doing here?"

"I stopped asking that a week ago. It never really matters," I said and made my way to the kitchen, but Michael stayed put. "You'll always come and go as you please."

I grabbed the bottle of water from the fridge and then went to sit at my table, crossing my legs. "But what are you doing here? Well, why, at least. Here to install another Jackson original? Torture me? Tease me? Remind me why I love you, but also remind me why I hate you? What is on the agenda for the day?"

He finally turned around, looking a tad bit hurt and for a second it made me feel for him, but then I realized this was Michael I was dealing with. If anything he was preparing to play me like violin and my stupid ass always let him.

"Why Calliope that sounds like harassment," he gasped and I rolled my eyes. "But no. I didn't come here on my own will. I came here because you called."

My eyebrows rose as I didn't recall picking up a phone to call him. Ever. "What do you mean I called? I've been sleep for the past," I looked over at the clock on the microwave, "three hours."

"You called me in your sleep Calliope."

"So now you're telepathic and can hear my thoughts while I'm sleeping? Can you jump in my dreams too?"

"Alright Calliope," he said dryly, stopping me from continuing. "I set up a camera," he maintained his calm even though I jumped out of my seat in protest. "To watch for danger purposes and not my own benefit. You were calling my name and I thought something was wrong, so I came right over, but then I realized you were just having a nightmare."