She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
Something is wrong with this town. I can feel it; this darkness, this untamed chaos. Terrifyingly, I'm drawn to it. Like an addiction, I can't get enough. Something about the fear is welcoming. Whether it's my inability to allow myself to be happy, or the familiarity of an unsteady life, I'm unsure.
At night, when I'm left alone, I lose time. Sometimes minutes, more times hours. A blackout in which I'm awake but enter a dream state. A humanoid monster, sickly thin with pale gray, saggy skin and a five-pointed mouth that opens and closes like a Dilophosaurus from hell plagues my dreams. I run from it, never fast enough to gain any space between us but just enough to not get caught in its flapping jaws.
At this point, I can't differentiate dreams from reality.
I've begun unconsciously drawing the monster from my dreams on my arms and everything I own.
I don't realize I've been mindlessly scribbling on the desk until Senora Montoya steps towards me, rolled-up paper in hand. She bends at the waist and flattens my homework out in front of me.
"Y/N, I expect better from you than petty pranks," she scolds. I squint up at her, noting her unforgiving stare. I follow her eyes to where they're trained: directly on my paper. The worksheet is completed, but the words are upside down. The writing is scratched in bleeding black ink.
The wind is knocked out of me and my body goes cold. I clench my and dig my nails into my palms. My head spins, and my heart pounds. Little red droplets trickle onto the stark white paper, seeping into the fiber and mixing with the ink. My trembling hand wipes blood from under my nose, coating my finger in the bright red substance. I glance to my right. Jonathan's mouth hangs loose like it's barely connected to his jaw. I stand abruptly, the screech of the metal legs of my chair being scraped against the vinyl floor earning me a handful of glares. One of the pair of eyes bore holes into my cranium. I give Steve a nasty look in response to his concerned one.
I pinch my nose and sprint out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher's threats to give me detention. Footsteps clammer behind me. I try to count how many feet I think there are, but my ears are ringing too much to get a good idea. I slam my body against the ladies' restroom door, rushing to turn on the sink. I bend over the porcelain bowl, blood spilling from my nose.
Someone knocks on the door. "Y/N? Everything good in there?" Johnathan's usually low and temperate voice has an edge to it.
"Yeah," I gag, blood spilling into my mouth. I spit, splattering the mirror with red polka dots.
