The Sinners We Love |18+

[25] eigengrau

Joseph - the reporter who ran a newspaper line

Anthony - the special agent

Michael - the sheriff

Dahlia/unknown woman - the woman who tried to kill Charlotte

Hotel - Trivago

Her body trembled.

Even in the deep slumber, it was as if she wanted to run from the mess she had made. Her half-awaken mind had finally decided to come back to life and for this trance to end. Her fingers stirred, lightly touched and then gripped the soft fabric that engulfed her docile form. The scent was familiar— like paints and perfumes. Like her.

Even amidst the hardships of breathing, familiarity seemed to soothe her. Small breaths were sharp inhales, and she greedily filled her lungs with the tar black air. Was it black or were her eyes closed?

Charlotte couldn't tell the difference.

Her lashes fought to flutter open, and after a moment or so, they won at the expense of a nerve under her left eye springing in pain. Charlotte had known migraine for years, took the mindless pills to pass nights with gritted teeth. But tonight she was knowing pain all over again.

Toes curled digging into the sheets, something she did every morning. The similar warmth spreading its seeds inside her body, easing her bones but a sudden terror ran to her heart.

Familiarity felt threatening. But why was that?

Now that her vision cleared and zeroed down to the familiar image of the ceiling she had grown used to for few years, another shot of familiar pain shot through. Her fingers ran up to her body, smoothness of a silk dress adorned, reaching up to her knees.

Her body was heavy and almost failed every attempt to straighten up. But her breathing was coming down, calming itself.

"a nightmare," She breathed out. Relieved. But her heart still thumped.

What a weird thing to dream about.

Her elbows dipped into the mattress, supporting her body, and somewhere along the insanity of her life, she managed to sit up straight.

A layer of meager bile wet her dry tongue. It was a habit or perhaps a muscle memory to move to her left and grab the glass of water, which always remained filled. Something Emma had made her practice until eventually, it became a habit; to have a glass full of water always.

Dragging her body she went to reach for the glass, when a loud rage of wind struck, silently filling the room with cold air. The glass window on the left rattled, a layer of thick fog painting the scene blur.

That reminded her— it was a stormy night.

What a weird thing to dream about only to see it in reality.

Without breaking her gaze from the window, her fingers wrapped around the glass; cold.

That's when she felt it.

The unbearable pain. On her left palm.

The trance broke and her gaze shot down. Undoubtedly. A white gauze pad wrapped the stinging area.

Oh, but why did it hurt?

Because she had ripped it open to hold onto the knob— to save her own life.

A nightmare. Just it wasn't an amalgamation of her mind. It was simple reality.

Familiarity coursed through her veins and terror replaced uncertainty. With the understanding, came the realization of the looming presence. The glass slipped, tattering and her neck craned to her right. It was an instinct or maybe Charlotte had been deceiving herself for the last few minutes.