My scalp prickled, my hands clawed at the floor, at the air, at the walls—anything to free myself from this hell.
Professor Daniels knelt beside me, calm and firm. His face looked clinical and slightly angered. “Shiloh. Listen to me. You’re not alone. You’re going to get through this. You know what this is. Identify it. Allow yourself to learn a lesson and fight.”
I laughed. Hollow, and all too shattering.
“Alone,” I whispered. “I’m always alone.”
I still saw Carrington’s lips and Xanthy’s grin, swirling, twisting, pressing against me, reshaping the cadavers around me, reshaping the classroom, reshaping my very fucking mind to the point I couldn’t depict what was real. My chest constricted, my heart hammering like a war drum in my ears. Every breath was an accusation from my soul, and every pulse of my blood was a betrayal.
I could barely stand. I wanted to vanish, to crawl under the tiles and disappear forever. I wanted to run back to the haunted house and fix what I had destroyed. But the classroom remained.
Professors. Classmates. Tools. Tables.
The cold, bright, and judgmental reality that wasn’t fading.
Another text.
Another dagger.
Buzzing, screaming in my pocket.
I yanked off my gloves and read the message.
X: “Shiloh…we need to finalize the flowers tonight. Don’t forget me. I can’t wait to be your wife. I love you, future husband, I love you!”
I screamed this time, letting the sound rip through my chest, raw and jagged. My body trembled. My hands flailed. I felt Carrington mocking me, his sobbing echoing with every heartbeat. Xanthy pressed closer to me, impossibly close, in every movement and every reflection.
I can’t escape.
I collapsed completely onto the tile, my arms curled around my head, shaking and sobbing, returning to the position that kept us safe as infants. The world was a blur. I felt dead while he was alive.
Carrington alive.
Xanthy alive.
My spilled vodka mixed with my tears and sweat.
Mason grabbed me, pulling me upright, trying to block me from the view of the others. “Shy, is this vodka?” He shook his head and cleaned the puddled mess with a cloth. ”Go home, man. Go to your girl and get some sleep or something.”
I shook violently. “No! I can’t…can’t…he’s…she’s…they’re all?—”
“Shiloh, listen,” Daniels said firmly, coming over to my position. “You’re excused. I will see this as a mistake and not put it on your record, but if this happens again, it will seal your future. Are we clear?”
I closed my eyes, trembling. I tried to find myself. Tried to separate memory from hallucination, reality from obsession. Tried to survive the chaos I’d made.
But the ghosts remained.
Carrington.
Xanthy.
They haunted my every thought, every heartbeat, every slice of flesh I touched.
And I knew…no matter how many med school classes I survived, no matter how many vodka-fueled hallucinations I endured, no matter how much I tried to escape, the haunted house of my mind would never let me go.
Carrington would remain in my mind, siphoning my light until I was nothing. I knew it the minute I left him.
And I know it now.
