Hide and Seek

Chapter 33

Trust is like a flyer. People give it out, only to have it squashed and tossed in the nearest non-

recyclable bin.

*NARRATOR'S POV*

Louis has never ventured up into the attic when it wasn't exactly necessary. Actually, he's only

ever been up there once before despite this flat being his own.

Now, he stood in a state of tense paralysis in the living room staring at the door that's just opened a

crack before dragging itself back against the swollen wood panels of the floor. The sound was

unsavoury and moaning, like a person shrieking.

His skin didn't sweat, he was too scared for that. He's stumbled across the pangs of heart-stopping

terror enough - in his books - now that he's able to predict it without need for present symptoms.

He originally planned to approach the rectangular object, shut it soundly and retreat to the living

room but there were other plans in store for him.

When his hand wrapped around the golden, rust-encrusted doorknob the entire doorway shook.

Once with a heavy vibration that left his ears ringing and fingers digging into the pockets of his

sweat shirt. It hadn't hurt, it just happened to motivate his guts - the literal, physical kind - to rise

through his oesophagus.

With a hand clamped over his mouth, Louis dashed down the hall and into the bathroom. He

made it to the toilet in time before hurriedly lifting the toilet seat and throwing up all that he'd eaten

from last night. His forehead was now damp with excreted salt water, his back drenched in sweat

as well and his head felt too light like a tennis ball rolling around in a hall filled with an infinite

amount of nothing.

He presses his warm forehead that felt like it was on the edge of combustion, against the cold

porcelain tiles on the wall while taking slow breaths. He could hear the slight wheezing sound that

crept up everytime he inhaled. He never had asthma or any form of traumatic medical attacks so

he couldn't explain why what happened in the hall got him so worked up.

Aspirin. He'd get the Aspirin from the cabinet above the sink and leave the flat because he

couldn't - and won't - risk having a confrontation with another detailed phenomena that would just

make him sick again. Or worse. There was always worse.

He stands unsteadily, his legs feeling like Jell-O instead of the football platinum apparatus he

usually had. He gripped the edge of the basin, taking slow breaths and only focusing on what he

needed to do. Small, robotic functions that kept his mind and body occupied. He appreciated the

distraction until it came to closing the cabinet's mirror door after taking the correct dose of

headache-relief tablets.

Standing behind him was a face he recognised, but only for a beat. It smirked and when he spun