Unstoppable

The Thirty-First

It was around 11:00PM, Wednesday when I got home. My phone was in my pocket when I got there, un-cracked and safe, so I plugged it in and called it a night.
No need to think about what you've done, Adam. Just... Just get some fucking sleep. You've earned it
My eyes hit the edge of the bed, my face hit the pillows, and my body hit the mattress. I went out like a light.

My eyes felt like jelly: solid, yet a liquid-like feeling under it. The pupils were still diluted under my eyes, and when I opened them, I felt a sense of derealisation, as if I was watching my life unfold through someone else's eyes.
Clearly not a romantic comedy, but I'm sure someone's laughing at it.
My eyes blinked again, trying to remove the goo that had been trapped between them. It felt like the most joyless task I've done in a while, and I attend school around five days a week, so believe me, I know what joylessness is.
"Fuck..." I muttered aloud, rolling over, before the creature's voice came back into my head:
"You should stop swearing, it doesn't make you look tough."
It took around ten to twenty minutes for me to actually get out of bed. For some unknown reason, my body just decided that, on it's own, it didn't want to do fuck all. I could hear knocking around at the bottom of my house, and I already knew exactly who it was.
Callum really couldn't be any louder, could he? How the fuck does he even get in here? Does he live anywhere else? What's going on..?
Taking a step out of bed and shaking my forcibly still limbs, I was greeted with another sound: rustling. A suppressed rustling though, the sort of sound you hear through a wall.
My parents bedroom... if Callum is asleep, then who's that downstairs..?
Checking the numbers again, I had 12:25, Thursday greet me, anointing my surprise for the factor of not having to go to school at all. Still, my brain focused itself.
I can't go to school if I'm in pieces, regenerating on the floor.
Looking around for something to smack the person next to me with, I realised that nothing in my room was easy enough to take out without creating any noise, or without any hassle. It would take up too much time.
Knife. Kitchen. Wait.. who's to say that the person downstairs isn't the intruder? I don't know whether Callum is in the room next to me or downstairs. I could call out, but I've just given myself away if that's the case.
After a few more pondering seconds, I decided that my fists would have to do. Besides, I'm not throwing anything around in a sacred tomb like that.

Stepping outside, I turned the way I needed to, and gently edged open the door, allowing the light to gently crease the darkness in a neat and precise slash. It didn't illuminate anything I wasn't used to, despite my lack of heading in here until very recently.
I swear, I've been in here more times in the past few days then I would in a year.
Edging the door open a little more, I was greeted with the sight of the bedsheets being used. My mind whirred, and my brain followed, creating a mishmash of an idea.
Pull the sheets. If it's Callum, leave it. If it's someone else, smother them. Defensive.
As I crept forward, I noticed that the breathing was a lot lighter than how he breathed. Spending a lot of time in the same house, you get used to how someone works, and this wasn't him.
Kill them.
Pulling the sheet back slightly, I managed to find a cluster of brunette-style, curled hair that covered the person's face. Stepping back a few times and blinking hard, I suddenly realised that this was indeed real.
Who. The fuck. Is this.
At this point, I didn't even care, so braving myself, I grabbed the person's shoulder, and turned them over. It was a blur for the first few second as the hair cascaded out of the way before settling next to her, but I didn't really need to see. I was checking my suspicions were correct. I knew who it was:
Charlotte.

I have so many questions. Too many questions.
I stood there, completely dumbfounded, unable to comprehend how she found this place, before she sniffed, gently opened her eyes, and then widened them at my appearance.
"What the fuck?!" She said, jumping up and rolling back slightly, almost falling out of the bed. I backed up a few spaces and asked her:
"How the fuck did you find this place?!"
"Why the fuck were you watching me in my sleep?!" She retorted, clearly not answering any questions.
"You... you made noise. I had no idea you'd be here, so I put two and two together and thought you were an intruder." I responded with a fairly neutral tone.
"Why... Why would an 'intruder' sleep in a bedroom?" She seemed to be dumbfounded by my logic.
I'm not even surprised. I barely use my brain anymore. I should be dead and I'm not. That's a good start.
"I.. I really don't know. I'm sorry Charlotte, it's been a long fucking week. You clearly don't want to talk, so come find me when you do." I cut off the conversation before it could go any further and I or her could get any angrier.
Sounding like a married fuckin couple.

Storming down the stairs, I rushed forward into the kitchen, confronting Callum as he was making himself breakfast.
"You are aware that Charlotte is currently half-asleep upstairs in my parents room, correct?" I told him, trying to keep calm.
It might not be his fault. He could be completely fine!
"Of course I am." Callum responded with true calmness. "I'm the one who brought her here."
Scratch that. What the fuck....
"And why did you do that?" I asked him, again adopting the tone of neutrality I'd become used to.
"Because, Adam, now that you've fucking brutally murdered yet another human being, she has nowhere to go." Callum answered, a slight bit of anger working through his voice.
"What do you mean? I'm sure Poppy wasn't her mother. She must have parents, right?" When Callum didn't respond, my tone's pitch changed into something slightly more nervous.
"Right?!"
"Charlotte's parents were... Taken. They were taken from her, from a very young age. She lived on the streets for a while before we took her in. By that, I mean Poppy. She was kept in that room for hours at a time, for miserable pay."
Callum began to explain.
"It was shit, but it paid." I heard another voice anoint itself behind me.
"I'm sure I can explain my side, if you'd pour me a drink." Charlotte sat at the table, pressed her elbows together, blinked heavily, then leaned back.
"Well? What about that drink?" Callum said, nudging me with a smile.
It's going to be a looong day, isn't it?