Hocus Pocus (rewritten)

Cha. 6. Hang high to satisfy (⚠️)

After a week... you went cold turkey.

Not a spec found on "your" clothes. Not a clue found on what animal ripped into you. And not a trace to link anyone to any of this.

It's like a ghost is just fucking with you at this point. Teasing the fact it's untouchable and leaving the puzzle pieces just out of reach, beyond any logical sense.
How can someone leave no trace?

Anyway. Since the police have been useless. You tried re-doing your steps.

Over and over.

It feels like you're going insane. Being lead round and round this road like a never-ending cul-de-sac of hell, all while something dangles hope and false clues in front of your face to keep you running.

Then came the crippling fear.
Thoughts you've never had before burrowed into your skull and started to pick away at your brain. You can feel them scratch behind your eyes and in your ears late at night.
The thoughts sting too, injecting you with anxiety with each prick of realisation.

Some being...
Nobody in Tullamore cares anymore.
And it's terrifying...
That this is the norm...
That mothers knocking door-to-door is the norm, that police searches are the norm, that missing posters that pile thick on street posts is the norm.

But the most chilling thing by far hasn't been the police, hasn't been the posters... it's been has been your memory.

When you finally feel you're getting somewhere... it just floats off.

Yeah... you're pretty much as close to overcoming this as a fish is, with no tail, trying to swim up a waterfall.
————————————————————-

You're sprawled out on your bed, your broken arm laying comfortably on your tummy as you mindlessly stare up at the ceiling.
Somber music plays into your ears from your cheap headphones as you count how many mould spots are on the ceiling, whenever you'd lose count you'd start over.
'One. two. three. four. five-'
Sometimes you'd test yourself.
'Onetwothreefourfivesixseven-'

Rain skitters against your window, drizzling down it, blurring the outside world and creating a daunting personal bubble for yourself.
It's all giving you that downcast melancholy feeling overall.

There's a blizzard in your bubble... and it's not going away.

This feeling... it's sadness but it won't go away. It's sticking to you like a conjoined twin, it feels alive and it's growing off you like a parasite.

You've never really been... depressed?
At least, you don't remember being depressed... Why did you see a therapist then?... ugh! Your head feels like oil running through your fingers.

Unfortunately, you're home alone tonight: Jasper went out to the pub to celebrate a friend's birthday. And fair enough honestly. He's been babying you for the entire week but in a nice way, putting on a Disney movie every night and "protecting you from the world".
To explain, Jasper isn't the most threatening human ever but he's been super protective.
Even telling some poor guy to 'piss off honey, you would be feckin' blessed if she breathed in your general direction' when some guy bumped into you. Embarrassment intensifies.
Jasper could honestly sass anyone to death. You're thankful for him though, even through the roaring embarrassment that comes along with him.

He deserves tonight, after hauling your sorry ass around and trying to cheer you up, he probably needs to get hammered.

You sigh and turn to your desk, bringing a cold pillow into your chest as you roll onto your side.
The only light in the room is your lava lamp: dimly illuminating your messy room as the globs of goo slowly bubble and swirl around in the glass.