Hysterical Much?

Chapter 1

I fumble with my keys, trying to open the door to Roger and I's shared apartment. We moved in shortly after we had graduated. Ever since the whole incident with Morgan happened, I haven't talked to my family much. Especially by my mother.

It started when she would hide the knives. And keep the matches and every other weapon out of sight. She would stay far away from me if we were sitting in a room together, and she kept her gun locked away in her safe, and kept her closet locked.

She told me that she would pay for my education, but she was going to move to Maine, with her new boyfriend, she says it's just temporary, and she would be back soon, she just had to convince her boyfriend to move to Maryland.

I got into the University of Baltimore law program. After the whole court scene, I realized that was what I wanted to do, stand up for any poor girl stuck in my situation. It's been hard lately though, trying to afford an apartment, and going through school.

Roger was in school for dentistry, and his parents have been more than generous with supporting us, but it's just been a lot of pressure lately. I never told my dad, about what happened. I would visit him, but he never knew, I didn't want him to treat me the way that mom does. So whenever I visit, I never bring it up.

I successfully open the door to the apartment and shut it tight behind me, making sure to lock it. You could never be too careful with who was out there. I walk to my desk at the back corner, next to the gigantic glass window, overlooking the busy streets of Baltimore. I liked the view when I studied, but it could be distracting at sometimes.

The apartment was really only two rooms. When you first walk in, to your left was a small kitchen with an island. Then the living room which is where most time was spent. There was a fireplace, and the walls were made out of brick, the building is an older one.

Then the bedroom was enclosed with two french doors, and a bathroom and a small walk-in closet attached to the room. I sit at my desk and start to open my books and try to study. Finals were soon, which meant summer was soon, which meant summer jobs, which meant paying off debts.

It was my third year of law school, which meant I had two more years left before I could actually start to work and make good money. After learning about the sixth amendment for what felt like forever, I heard a door open. It must have been Roger coming back from his weekly show at the jazz bar, where he makes good money in tips.

I turn to see the front door is still locked and stuck tight. Like how I left it. I got up and looked to see the french doors to the bedroom were open. I could only swear they were closed before. I shake it off and get back to studying. I felt a light tap on my shoulder and I flinched. I whip my head around to who was there. But it was no one. I blame it on stress and take a break.

After flipping through the channels, I finally settle on my favorite movie that was playing, Twister. I soon forget about what I saw, but something catches my attention. I thought I saw a person standing on the balcony. I look over and for a split second, it looked like Bryce. He had a hand on the sliding door. Like he was trying to get in. Once again.

I froze, I could feel tingles on through my body. It was like I felt the drug again. Then he's gone. He didn't walk away or vanish, he was just gone. I let out a sigh of relief. I get up to make sure that the sliding door was sealed shut. I then shut the blinds, drawing them shut tight. I then resort to the one thing that brought me to a calm level.

I sat at the piano, next to the fireplace. It was a gift from my father for my 18th birthday. I start to feel calm as my fingers glide along the smooth piano keys. I lose track of time hearing the front door open. I look around and see Roger stumble in. Leaning against the door to close it.

"Hi." Is all I say returning to the couch to finish the movie? Roger soon makes his way and sits down next to me on the couch, kicking his shoes off. What a boy.

"So, how was school?" Roger asks wrapping an arm around me, as he focuses on the t.v.

"It was good, I got another assignment do by Monday," I say. Roger than focuses on my face.

"That sucks, you had that last weekend too." He says.

"Well, this one is more interesting!" I say getting up and going to my bag to grab something.

"What?" Roger says as he turns around leaning over the back of the couch to face me.

"We get to watch a 3-hour marathon of unsolved mysteries!" I say skipping back to the couch. Roger smiles as I put them into the DVD player.

"No better way to spend my Friday night," He says as we watch the first unsolved mystery of Lizzie Borden.

                                                                 ........................................

I toss and turn in bed as the rain hits against the window. I'm not sure why, but I just couldn't sleep. Roger, on the other hand, was dead asleep, the room filling with his light snores. Between that and the rain, I hear creaking in the living room. I can't see much but the outline of furniture in the living room, the French doors were wide open.

I glance back up at the alarm clock. The green numbers flash 2:47. I turn and face the window. But the creaking becomes more clear. I sit up only to be met with a silhouette at the end of my bed. It's a smaller shorter woman. The lightning flash reveals her. The long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a devilish grin on her face.

I scream as a sign for someone to help. I can't move, it's like I'm paralyzed, I stayed sitting up, only being able to move my eyes, and I feel Roger shoot out of bed, soon realizing that I had screamed. He rushes to my side, but I can't move.

"What, what is it?" Roger asks. His voice sounds raspy like he had just woken up. I finally snap out of the trance to face him. I only see the outline of his face, flashing with every strike of lightning.

I saw her. Morgan. In my room, and I heard her laugh, but it was distorted, and I could barely get my words out because I still felt her presence.

Not like a ghost, but a trapped soul that lives in my mind.