I lay flat on my back, staring at the off white of the paint on the ceiling. I had been awoken harshly after the dream I had left me gasping for air. The dreams and the voice had become more frequent the longer that I stayed in town. But when I trailed away, even over night, the dreams and his voice didn't follow me. Naturally, no one seems to believe me. They chalk it up to mental illness, a psychotic break. Camilla firmly believes that the grief from my brother's passing is finally catching up with me. That the emotions that I refused to deal with are finally working their way to the surface.
She, along with her group of new found friends, have been endlessly encouraging me to seek "help". All, but one, ignoring my insistence that there is nothing wrong with me. They hide their concern behind thinly veiled questions like "How are you today?" Or "how did you sleep?". No matter what answer I give, they never seem to be satisfied. Which still seems to surprise me. Especially the days when Camilla alludes to the fact that this "break in my psyche" could also be caused by the fact that my memory is photographic. I can't forget a thing that I've seen or read, and my recall is nearly always perfect.
But they don't know what he says to me when I hear him. They don't know what he calls me. They can't hear the anguish in his voice. It's not like the voice is telling me to strip naked and run through the street screaming that there are squirrels in my blood. He's begging me to come find him, to release him from his prison.
If I told them, I don't think they'd believe me. Every day they attempt to pressure me into seeing someone, and every day I come closer to complying. To being put on medication only to prove to them that it doesn't work, that something supernatural is happening to me. I'm not talking demonic possession, I'm hardly religious. I'm also not talking vampires, well vampires in the Dracula sense, because I'm no virgin (whoops). But something unnatural is going on, even though I am well within the age for schizophrenia to manifest itself.
"And how are you today Hazel?" Camilla asks me, once again her concern thinly hidden behind a chipper voice. I glance at her figure standing in the doorway.
"I'm fine, no voice yet so far today." I tell her earnestly.
"Are you hungry?" She offers and I shake my head.
"I don't do breakfast." I respond and I can practically feel her scowl.
"You also didn't do dinner last night. Am I going to have to have someone hod you down while I stuff food down your throat?" She threatens and I shrug.
"You can try." I state nonchalantly as I swing my torso into a sitting position.
"I just haven't been feeling the idea of food lately."I offer with a light shrug.
"You understand that that isn't healthy, right?" She asks and I nod vigorously.
"Is there anything truly healthy about me right now? Remember, I hear voices." I mooch-whisper as I erupt onto my feet.
"You have me worried." She states with crossed arms.
"You're not my mother." I remind her. "I had one of those."
"And she did a piss poor job with you." She chides and I shrug.
"Believe me, I remember." I state with a mischievous smirk.
"That's the understatement of the year. What don't you remember?" She asks jokingly.
"Why I agreed to leave New Orléans for this place." I fire back with a lopsided grin.
"Because the men here are much more civilized?" She offers and I stifle a chuckle.
"I have yet to see that from anyone other than those Mikaelson boys you seem to be fond of. Especially, what's his name... Niklaus!" I announce and slap my hands together.
"I am not fond of Klaus." Camilla defends immediately.
"Ok sure you aren't, except I can practically hear you ripping his clothes off in your mind." I say as we emerge into the living room. There's a sharp rap on the front door and I peek through the frosted glass.
"Speak of the devil." I mutter and then toss a smirk at Camilla over my shoulder as I yank the door open.
"Klaus, did you know that Camilla enjoys un..."I begin before a pillow hits the side of my head and nearly topples me.
"Ignore her Klaus, she didn't get much sleep. She tends to get delirious and loses her verbal filter when she's sleep deprived." Camilla offers as I right myself.
"As I was saying. Camilla likes to undress you with her mind. Trust me, I've known her long enough to know her facial expressions." I blurt out before she can stop me. She stares at me horrified and I just grin at her triumphantly.
"I can't believe you just said that."
"I can't believe you haven't tried denying it." I say and then turn back to Klaus. "I don't actually know if that's what's going on inside her head, but its funny making her blush." I state and she smacks my arm surprisingly hard.
"What the hell Camilla!?" I explode as I grab my upper arm. "Jesus Christ you didn't have to try to break my arm." Camilla looks at me with a face of sheer panic as I stomp off, Klaus steps close to her and whispers something quietly. I slam the bathroom door, locking it, before I yank up my sleeve. I can see a deep purple bruise beginning to form and its tender to the touch. Anger wells inside me, not at Camilla because I deserved it, but at the bruise that is on my arm. The lights above the mirror flicker ominously before going out entirely. I hear Camilla let out a startled yelp, indicating that the power has gone out throughout the house. I heave a deep sigh before swinging open the bathroom door.
"I got it!" I announce loudly as I head towards the basement. I stand at the top of the stairs and pause for a moment.
"Hazel." A harsh whisper emits from my left and I whip my head around frantically, causing me to lose my balance. I tumble down the stairs in a series of incredibly loud thuds. I land on my left side, no air in my lungs whatsoever as the icy cement presses into my exposed skin. I can hear the rush of two pairs of feet at they comes to the top of the basement stairs. I let out a pitiful groan as I force myself into a sitting position.
"Hazel, you should definitely not move." Camilla tells me as I try to wave her off.
"You should listen to her." Klaus states and I refrain from rolling my eyes.
"I should definitely pay closer attention when I'm on stairs, is what I really should do." I tell the duo as I try to bring myself to my feet. I put pressure on my left hand to stand up and my wrist gives way and I crumple into a heap on the basement floor.
"That is not a good sign." I mutter into the dusty cement.
"Well no shit Sherlock." Camilla mutters.
"Thank you for your input Watson.." I respond quickly as I bring myself to a sitting position.
"I, the infamous Sherlock Holmes,"I announce with a vibrato, "have decided that I have a broken wrist."
"Your anger also shut off the freaking power."
"False. There's no way. I'd have to be some kind of witch to do that." I respond sarcastically and am only met with silence.