utopia ᵃᵐᵉʳⁱᶜᵃⁿ ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

[ 04 ] nameless meetings

Victor stared at himself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. A pretty face stared back, a face unworthy of his pain.

His elbows rested on the sink as he placed his head in his hands. He gripped his hair.

The distressed boy sat on the edge of the bathtub, his eyes never leaving the mirror. People had real problems — his sister self harming, again, his mother and father arguing, the affair and the miscarriage — the pain they felt often laid upon him, causing his own mental distress. The eldest child knew too much about their problems.

Maisie tapped her fingers against the doorframe. "It's okay to want to be saved." She told him, leaning against the doorframe. 

Victor looked at the girl, startled. "How did you get in here?" He snapped, eyes landing harshly on her.

Maisie laughed lightly at him. "If you don't want to be found, don't leave doors open." She told him, placing the tips off her cold fingers against the door and patting it.

Victor shifted, turning his gaze from her and back to the mirror. He was uncomfortable under her look, it felt as though she was reading his soul.

Maisie took in his broken appearance, the way he shifted and huddled his body together. "Be careful, there are some dark people around here." The girl said. She turned her back and left making her way 'out'.

Maisie turned herself invisible amongst the living eye the second she had turned the corner. Who new idea was to try and protect the broken family from the trauma that comes with this house.

She made her way down to the basement, finding the boy she was looking for. Maisie grabbed Tate's jumper collar and slammed him against the wall.

Tate was startled, blinking at her as he registered what was going on. "Maisie?" He breathed out. "Are we talking now?"

Maisie let out a dry laugh, shaking her head.

Tate and Maisie had been best friends — he believed she was cool, the kind of person people wanted to be friends with due to her kindness but also the kind people bullied for being what they deemed a 'loser' and lonely.

Maisie had liked Tate (platonically) up until her dying day when she had been redecorating her room. Her cream walls had been painted white with feature wall painted sage green the day before and she had been adding final details — like the golden fairy lights she had been wrapping around her white metal head board and the other gold decals and art work she had brought that matched her theme of sage green, white and gold.

She remembered that she had just finished wrapping the fairy lights and was lying on her bed, her arms aching. Maisie remembered looking up in confusion as a man in a black latex kink suit stood looking down at her. She remembered meeting the familiar eyes, feeling both fear and ease fight inside her body. She remembered trying to place who's eyes they were whilst also panicking.

Panicking had tainted her life. Maisie was never the one to fight or the one to run, she was the one who froze.

Her body had fallen stiff as the latex man leaned down, wrapping his hands around her throat, trapping the scream that she wanted to leave her lips but due to her deer in headlights state she was stuck in silence, tears falling down her face as she began to feel her face tingle as it felt as though it was swelling up — she remembered being scared that there was to much blood in her head that her face was going to burst.

She remembered dying the second she realised who's eyes they were — Tate Langdon's, aka her best friend at the time.

"Leave the Harmons alone, they have enough to deal with, without your need to kill."

With that, Maisie let go of his collar and walked away to find her uncles or maybe one of the many children that ran around the house worthy of hell. 

A few hours had passed and Maisie had found that she was back to being bored of being dead — so much more so then being alive. Maybe that was because she couldn't sleep with ease, not since the incident, not since being trapped in the notorious Murder House.

She found herself wandering the place trying to find something to do in the ghostly home.

Time was longer amongst the dead, she was somewhat aware that technically she would always be stuck in two thousand and ten and that time would move with out her, and apart of her refused to believe it.

Maisie had had so much going for her. She had been young, beautiful and healthy yet she was dead and traumatised.

Three am, the devils hour, and sleep refused to give her comfort.

She walked and walked trying to drain of what ever kept her so tense, in all honesty it was likely the run in with Tate Langdon only a couple of days ago that threw her off.

Maisie avoided her ex-best friend and murderer like her life depended on it, and yet she had gone and found him — to warn him, but nonetheless it had made her have to relieve suppressed memories.

She walked and walked until she found her old room, occupied by the broken boy she had briefly met.

Maisie walked into the room. It was probably creepy, but when in a need of a distraction she became lost of the care that stopped her doing such stuff.

The room was cold — it was always cold, that we probably it's biggest flaw. The room still had its white and sage green walls.

Maisie walked to the sleeping boy, grabbing the duvet and placed it over him upon him shivering.

She didn't stay after that, her curiosity had eased and her mind had began to silence enough for her to go and find her uncles.