He didn't stop cursing.
Even on the floor.
Even with his arm bent wrong beneath him.
Even with pain tearing his voice apart.
"You—"
A cough.
A ragged inhale.
"You little piece of shit—"
His voice cracked, but the hatred didn't.
"Look at you."
Another strained breath.
"You think this makes you—something?"
A broken laugh.
"Worthless… you hear me?"
I didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't react.
But something inside me stayed too still.
Like it was waiting.
Like it was listening.
Footsteps cut through the moment.
Fast.
Controlled.
My mother.
She didn't hesitate.
Didn't look at me first.
She went straight to him.
"Don't move."
Firm.
Sharp.
Then she was already kneeling beside him.
Checking his arm.
Assessing.
A sharp intake of breath.
"You need a hospital."
He laughed through the pain.
"Of course I do—" he spat.
Another cough.
His eyes snapped back to me.
Still burning.
Still full of venom.
"You did this—"
His voice broke.
Then twisted.
"You hear me?"
I said nothing.
My mother stood.
Already deciding.
"Enough."
Her voice was different now.
Controlled.
But colder.
She grabbed her bag.
Then him—carefully, but firmly.
"We're going."
He resisted slightly.
But he was in no position to fight anything anymore.
Even so—
he kept looking at me.
Even as she helped him toward the door—
his voice followed.
"You're not done—"
A sharp breath.
"I'm not done with you—"
The door opened.
The house shifted.
Then—
they were gone.
Silence came back.
But this time—
it wasn't the same silence as before.
This one stayed.
Pressed.
Heavy.
I stood there.
In the hallway.
Hands still.
Mind louder than anything else.
A faint sound came from the other room.
A plate shifting.
Metal against wood.
My brother.
I didn't go to him.
Didn't check.
Just stood there—
listening.
Then—
my mother's voice came from the doorway.
"You're staying here."
A pause.
"Take a bath."
Her eyes met mine.
Not soft.
Not angry.
Just… searching.
"What has gotten into you?"
I didn't answer.
"Fighting?"
Her voice tightened slightly.
"I don't know you anymore."
That one landed.
Not like before.
But deeper.
Quieter.
And more dangerous.
Because it stayed.
She exhaled slowly.
"We'll talk about this later."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"Take care of your brother."
Her gaze shifted slightly.
"There's mac and cheese in the fridge."
A small nod.
"He likes it warm."
Then she was gone.
The door closed.
And the house—
settled.
I stood there for a moment longer.
Still.
Listening.
But the silence didn't speak anymore.
It didn't press.
It didn't answer.
It just… existed.
And for the first time—
that scared me more.
Not the shouting.
Not the way his arm bent wrong.
Not even the silence that followed after they left.
This.
The absence of it.
The quiet that didn't press back.
That didn't whisper.
That didn't watch.
It felt… wrong.
Like a room that should have had someone in it—
but didn't.
I stayed there longer than I should have.
In the hallway.
Listening to nothing.
Waiting for something that didn't come.
Then I moved.
Not quickly.Not hesitantly either.
Just… dragging myself forward.
Like I was watching through a narrow opening.Trapped behind my own eyes, somewhere deep inside,watching the world shift—the world on one side,and me,somewhere distant on the other.
Like my body had already decided, and I was only catching up to it.
The stairs creaked under my weight, each step louder than it should have been, stretching into the emptiness of the house. The kind of sound that made it feel like I wasn't alone—even when I knew I was.
Upstairs felt different.
Colder.
Or maybe that was just me.
I reached the bathroom door and paused, my hand resting against the wood for a second longer than necessary. The grain pressed faintly into my palm, grounding. Real.
I pushed it open.
Inside, everything was the same.
Too the same.
Toothbrush where I left it. Towel hanging slightly off-center. Mirror reflecting a version of the room that hadn't changed… even if something else had.
I stepped in.
Closed the door behind me.
The click of the lock sounded sharper than usual.
Final.
I turned the water on.
At first, just a thin stream—
then more.
Then hotter.
Steam began to rise slowly, curling into the air like something waking up, something filling the space inch by inch. The mirror started to blur at the edges, the room softening, losing its sharpness.
I stood there, watching it happen.
Letting the sound of the water take over.
Letting it drown out everything else.
Because for a moment—
just a moment—
I needed something louder than my own thoughts.
The mirror fogged almost instantly.
I stared at my hands.
They didn't feel like mine anymore.
Mine.
But only… borrowed.
I turned the water hotter than usual.
Let it run over my hands.
Over my skin.
Scrubbing at it—not just the skin,but everything that had happened before this.
Like it could be removedif I didn't stop.
And then—
I saw it.
Faint at first.
Then clearer.
Red.
Diluting.
Running down the drain.
I watched it disappear.
But it didn't feel like it was gone.
Only… hidden.
I stepped fully into the shower.
Let the water hit me.
Again.
Again.
Trying.
Scrubbing harder than necessary.
Too hard,
Like I could remove something deeper than skin—trying to erase memory like dirt—because if I didn't wash it off properly, it would stain.
My breathing stayed controlled.
But my thoughts didn't.
They circled.
Replaying.
Repeating.
What the fuck is going on with me.
But then—
a memory surfaced.
Uninvited, overlaying each other, no longer separate.
Kellan.
The hallway.
My stepfather.
The stairway.
I saw it.
The way they both fell.
Too perfectly.
Too clean.
Too—
intentional.
Both bodies hitting the ground.
The weight of it all compressing too fast. A sharp snap of consequence.
My breath caught slightly.
My hands trembled.
Just once.
Then steadied.
No voice.
No pressure.
No presence.
Just me.
Alone.
And that felt wrong.
I stepped out.
Steam clung to everything.
The mirror fogged.
Except—
a small patch.
Clear.
Not where my face was.
Lower.
Like something had wiped it—
from the outside.
I stared at it.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Then—
slowly—
it faded.
Fog reclaiming the glass.
Like it had never been there.
Later.
Dry.
Dressed.
Sitting at the edge of my bed.
The house quiet again.
My brother in the other room.
Still.
Too still.
My phone buzzed.
I looked at it.
A message.
Adrian:
yo
you really okay?
A pause.
Another message came in before I replied.
Adrian:
what really happened?
I stared at the screen.
Then typed.
Me:
I'm fine.
Almost instantly—
Adrian:
you always say that
A beat.
Then—
Adrian:
anyway, you know i am always here if you want to talk.
I didn't respond immediately.
My eyes stayed on the words.
But my mind wasn't there anymore.
It drifted.
Back.
To the house.
To the hallway.
To the moment.
To the fall.
To the silence that followed.
And then—
without warning—
the thought came back.
Faint.
Unsettling.
What if it wasn't an accident?
My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
Then released.
I set it down.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like something might break if I moved too fast.
The room felt smaller.
Not physically.
But… perceptually.
Something in me tightened, like it already knew what was coming next.
I stood.
Walked to the desk.
Opened the laptop.
Paused.
Just for a second.
Then typed:
"hearing voices"
Search results loaded.
Fast.
Too fast.
Pages filled the screen.
Auditory hallucinations
Losing grip on reality
Signs of psychosis
My eyes moved over the words.
Searching.
Not just reading.
Looking for something—
anything—
that would explain—
The cursor moved.
On its own.
I froze.
Didn't touch the mouse.
Didn't breathe.
The screen scrolled.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then—
it stopped.
A link.
Different from the others.
Older.
Unfamiliar.
The cursor hovered.
A beat.
Then—
it clicked.
The page opened.
Black text.
White background.
Simple.
Almost empty.
At the top:
"The Devil: Not a Voice. Not a Stranger."
My throat tightened.
I read....