"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god."
"I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple...
My name is Jane Ivers. I shouldn't be writing this, but I'm doing this to document-to look back on someday, if i ever forget myself, if I ever let myself believe I made this all up. This journal I use to escape my insanity could potentially incriminate me, but oh well. It all started Monday, September twelfth.
A coincidence. It has to be. It has to be.
I stand in front of the crime scene, staring at the dead body. The body of the same boy I dreamt about only hours ago. The body pierced exactly how I imagined it.
I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not insane. But I swarmed my mind for whether or not I took my antipsychotics last night. I didn't do this, I swear I didn't. And even though I know I didn't do this I can't help but doubt. I'm playing a man who has played the world, and i'm winning. It makes any mistake I make ten times more destructive. And I refuse to give them the satisfaction of using my own mind against me. My mind, though destructive, is a brilliant thing.
The illusion of truth effect; when you're told something so often you start to believe it. When someone tells you you're crazy so often, you start to believe it. It's embedded into my being, my soul, and it plagues me.
No one knows of my complex disorder other than my doctor herself, but then again, she practically raised me. To hear that the person who studied understanding the human brain for a decade can't understand yours, put things into perspective.
Police sirens wail in the back, and for a second, I find it funny. Schools are usually popular for their academics, sports teams, etc. They aren't supposed to be famous for murder.
September twenty. Angel Rith leans against his locker, talking to his friend. It doesn't last long, because he starts coughing seconds later. He apologizes through his fits of coughing and when I can hear him audibly inhale, I realize he's choking. I make a move to help him, to use my knowledge of cpr that seemed useless until now, but the second I reach out to help, his body hits the floor. This is when I wake up.
I really need to stop reading horror before bed, I think, and go about my day. I have a second period with Angel, so when I see him I mention the dream. He brushes it off, telling me dream me must really hate him.
Everything is normal until the 4th period when I start to lose my mind. Everyones crowded around something- someone, and I decided to take a peak. Dejavu is the first thing I think when I see a paramedic drag Angel to the ambulance. My voice is dry and barely above a whisper when I turn and ask my friend Xander what had happened. But I feared I already knew. Hearing the confirmation just made it more real. He choked, Jane.
Coincidence, I say. I think.
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In which the hero and villain fall in love. This is a paranormal romance, please do not continue if you can't handle a little (a lot) of murder. This not your ordinary romance, it's a twisted, fucked up love story, so continue at your own risk.
