[✔] sciamachy // m. fairchild

xiv

❦

As she walked down the hallway, Y/n noticed many of the pictures watch her. Their dull, creepy eyes following her dainty figure. Their eyes soon started leaking the same inky, black liquid that Y/n had seen happen to Miles. The black smudged all over the pictures, completely covering them in black. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Y/n willed herself to turn away from the paintings and continue the little distance to Miles' room.

From her spot out in the hallway, Y/n could hear furious banging and hysterical laughing. Hesitantly, she put her hand on the doorknob, ready to enter the room. However, as soon as her hand made contact with the metal, the sounds from inside the room stopped abruptly. Gulping, she turned the knob, opening the door.

There sat a disheveled Miles, his hands gripped around his drum sticks, his drums beaten and bruised from the amount of "playing" Miles had done. His bookshel was just a shelf, all the books scattered across the floor. his bulletin board was empty, all the pictures shredded on the ground. The picture that Miles had of him and Quint was shattered, face down as to not show the two boys smiling as if having the time of their lives. Finally, Miles' mattress had been torn. It looked as if someone had taken a knife and dragged it in lines down the length of the mattress, creating a claw-marked effect.

"Miles?" Y/n whispered, slowly closing the door behind her. Despite the messy room, Miles looked the worse. His hair was curlier and knottier than usual. She could only assume he'd ran his hands through his hair non-stop. Miles' sweater was holed and tattered, hanging off his one shoulder revealing his frail frame and his collarbone. His jeans were ripped at the knees like normal, but were faded in scratch marks up and down the thigh. Lastly, Miles wasn't even wearing shoes or socks. His toes were curled up under and into his bare feet, seeking warmth.

Miles started laughing again, giggling even. A sound that was unnatural coming from his mouth. Suddenly, he dropped his drum sticks, running over and grabbing the sides of Y/n's face with his hands. He shoved her head back, hitting her head on the wood door, an evident sound of collision heard throughout the room.

"Miles! Miles, it's me." Y/n whispered, reaching up and putting her hands on top of Miles' that held her face. "It's me. It's me." She repeated over and over, entangling her fingers with Miles'. Y/n stood on her tippy-toes as Miles held her face up more, causing her to struggle to breathe. Miles simply looked at her face, his eyes flickering between her eyes as if searching for a sign that it was really her. Y/n could understand this. When she had been possessed by the darkness, her memories were muddled, she couldn't tell who was who or how she knew them. She just saw a face, one she didn't recognize.

Miles felt as if he knew this girl. She looked like someone he knew, but he couldn't remember. He only remember Quint. His entire brain was Quint, Quint, Quint. All their memories together. Quint teaching Miles how to ride a horse. Quint taking Miles out to the bar when Miles was home from school. Miles remembered always coming home late and seeing Mrs. Grose give him disapproving glares, crossing her arms as she watched him ascend the stairs up to his room where he would surely wake up nauseated and dizzy. Miles also distinctly remembered when he woke up, sitting down for breakfast next to Flora. Her eyes would be red and puffy and she sniffled every so often, catching the attention Miles.

"What's wrong?" He'd asked, placing a hand on Flora's. She looked at him with her red eyes, her bottom lip jutted, pouting at him. But the look wasn't one of a puppy dog. It was one of a seriously worried mother–one that Miles' mom would've given him if she found out that MIles had gone out underage drinking.

"Where were you last night?" She would whisper, tearing her hand from Miles', returning to her now soggy cereal. 

"I was out with Quint." Miles would vaguely say, staring down at his breakfast, no longer hungry.

"You know I don't like him. He's no good for you." Flora had said, hopping off her stool and walking out of the kitchen. Miles had felt his heart sink at those words. Even he himself knew Quint wasn't good for him–Miles had just wanted to fit in. He felt cool and mature when he was out drinking, surrounded by all those grown people. He just wanted to prove he was mature enough to take care of himself and Flora. Nowadays, he knew how dumb that was, thinking that drinking was going to get him anywhere. It only made him less mature. And now he knew just how awful Peter Quint was. And how right Flora had been the entire time.

"Miles, it's me. Please let me go." The girl had whispered yet again. Something in Miles' heart leaped at the sight of the girl. She was pretty, but he already knew that. He already thought that. 

Y/n struggled in his grasp, her face paling as she continued to struggled to breath. She had an idea, but it was a risky move. Yet, something in her prodded at her, almost telling her that it was the right action. So, with a nervous gulp, Y/n leaned forward.

She felt Miles jump and his hands loosen when she closed the space between them. His lips were chapped against Y/n's own, yet they were warm and comforting. Miles dropped his hands by his side, letting Y/n relax her feet and no longer stand on her tippy-toes. The action of her relaxing caused her to pull away from Miles. Although the kiss was short, she felt her face heat up at the thought of them having just kissed. 

Miles felt something in him click. As if this was the life he was meant to be living. Not this horribly possessed one. He felt his body relax as if a weight had been lifted off his body. He looked at the girl and he suddenly knew who she was. This was Y/n, his Y/n, the only whom he loved. He loved her and she'd just kissed him. Smiling, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. She didn't hesitate to hug him back.

"It's so good to have you back. Trully." She whispered into his shoulder, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. However, the moment was cut short when Y/n pulled away. "But we really must be going, we have to get out of here. Or Quint might torment you again." She explained, putter her hand on Miles' cheek. He leaned into the touch, an action that Y/n recognized as a symptom of having been affection starved as a kid. 

"I can't." Miles whispered, his eyes boring into Y/n's. "He won't let me." Y/n shook her head, holding his face in her hands. Miles' eyes brimmed with tears, a sight that made Y/n's heart lurch.

"Please...," She begged, putting her forehead against Miles'.

"I'm sorry...," He whispered. "I'm sorry for everything I've done to you and Kate."

"Please come with me. Please, for me. For Flora." Y/n pleaded. Miles nodded his head slowly. Without saying anything, Y/n grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers. She pulled him out of the room, the hallway darker than every. And with both their hearts full, they started their way down the hall. During the trip, Miles whispered something, something that Y/n hadn't caught in that moment–she was too eager to get out of the house.

"I love you."

[words : 1342

there's only going to be one more chapter after this one, the story is almost over :'(]