She could still see the nightmares. Every time she shut her eyelids, stared at the reflection within the water, or even just attempted to lick the whipped cream off of her Starbuck's coffee. This was the sixth month. The sixth month after they had all escaped from a prison of the soul and mind, and here they all were, recovering as best as they could.

Meg was tired of it and decided to finally try and kick the fucking nightmares in the ass.

Here she was now, in her bedroom, staring at the foam on the top of her Starbucks cup. The smell of the espresso and caramel was reaching her nose, causing her tastebuds to beg for a sip, even though she already had five. This was her addiction, even while Claudette was now growing weed, even while Dwight was paying everything for some bliss and more fell apart.

Very gently, she put her forehead against her cup and softly cried, feeling her shoulders tremble. The realization that everyone was no longer functioning after this hell hole was almost worse than death. They were psychologically damaged and they almost never spoke now except about their introverted ideas. Two sentences, maybe even five if they were lucky. Now they only talked to their clinical doctors and psychiatrists.

Without warning, Meg stood up and threw her cup at the wall, watching the warm liquid spill all over the white wallpaper. A mixture of feelings were boiling up in her gut as she sobbed into her hands.

"What do you want from us!?" she screamed, throwing her head back to glare at her ceiling. "Go away! Leave us alone! You fucking freak! We don't need you, we hate you!" She grabbed her pillows, her lamp and every running trophy she had, throwing them all around and at the walls. One of the golden trophies crashed into the window, breaking easily under her force of anger and grief. "We don't need you! GO AWAY!"

She could hear her mother running up the stairs to her room as she sobbed, clawing at the visions behind her eyes and in the back of her head. She could see the blood running from the walls, spilling over the floor and the chainsaw echoing in the distance; the beartraps littered everywhere and the dangling hooks that could catch under your jaw; the bonesaw and the nurse's wail while the wraith's bells rang like your funeral.

Suddenly, Meg could hear nothing. Not the sound of her own voice, not the calls of her mother, nor the complaints of the apartment neighbors.

Nothing. All noise had deceased, leaving Meg feeling numb and slowly opening her eyes, feeling the sting of where her nails had caught her cornea. She could feel the organ pieces beneath her nails as she slowly looked up, hiccuping from her sobs.

Do you truly wish for freedom?

She jumped and immediately became defensive, spinning around and balling up her fists. The voice spoke with fluid malice but with gentle undertones that caused her skin to crawl.

If you do…then just say it. That you're no longer wishing to be a part of the living.

Meg shuddered. It was such a blessing to imagine, where she would die. She didn't even care about the number of people at her casket. Just the eternal sleep, far, far away from this hell that she had been subjected to. She could roam her own home, her own dreams and imagination—

She would be a monster.

These thoughts were clawing their way through her brain, telling her that everything would be fine. But she wouldn't. None of them would be. She'd end up dead, and mindless, subjected to the everyday orders of the Entity that caressed her mind with words of murder and bloodthirst.

A killer is what she would become.

Meg shook her head, putting her hands up over her ears. "NO! I'll never be like them! Not like you, not like a fucking serial killer…! I'm going to kill you!"

Her eyes shot open. The white ceiling above her was a blank canvas, letting her memories and thoughts pour onto it like black ink over an empty sheet. The quiet pulsation of the nearby heart monitor wasn't steady, and was instead jumping around, mimicking the feeling in her chest as a nurse came in, worried.

"Miss Thomas? You're awake? Are you okay?" Meg didn't even look at her as she questioned her well-being. However, she did speak, her voice a rasp.

"Give me my phone, could you? I need… I need to text some friends."

"I'm sorry but—"

Meg turned her head sharply to look at the nurse, her blue eyes sharper than steel. "Did I stutter?" A pleased feeling came over her as she was given her phone, which she immediately began to use to text the group.

Don't accept the deal with the voice in your head. I know we're tired of fighting, but I know we can do it.

She sent the message, and not two minutes later, Nea sent a message.

Thanks, Meg. I really needed that. It won't stop talking to me.

yea me 2

She almost couldn't help but snort at Dwight's response before she posted once more.

Let's keep fighting. Just for a little longer.

"Just for a little longer…"