It had only been a week.
Only a week since Michael moved in and invaded your home.
And every day since then you've had a nightmare. It's not always the same nightmare, the details would change, but it always ended the same, with you feeling utterly hopeless and completely terrified.
This nightmare started with you running. Your breath came out in desperate, ragged gasps, you've never been much of an athlete, you knew this, but still, you tried your hardest, knowing what you will find if you didn't get there in time.
It was pitch black around you, the darkness seeming to smother you. The blackness around you reached out with cold, chilling fingers that wanted to wrap around your throat.
Somehow, in the midst of the darkness, you knew where you were going.
This was all painfully familiar, and it scared you.
Your legs cried out at you to stop, which was strange, because certainly there wasn't supposed to be any physical pain in your dreams, right?
You digressed, opting to continue running, like your life depended on it.
Your mind, usually muddled with different thoughts, different perspectives, was solely on her.
You had to save her.
You didn't know where you were, or even how you got there. Something, however, told you that you had already been here before. The thought did not comfort you in the slightest.
A creeping sensation kept hitting you that you could fall at any moment – fall down a hole into the oblivion and just keep falling, forever.
Your feet echoed off of the ground, stony and uneven underneath you. The sounds bounced back to your ears too close, as if you were in an enclosed corridor, but you knew you weren't, for you could still move your hands outward and not hit a thing.
Thus is the complications of dreams.
Surprisingly, you didn't just stop and tell yourself that this was just a dream, because somewhere, you knew it already. Your rational mind told you to stop running and wake yourself up, but then, that would be giving up, and you didn't want to face what you would find if you didn't hurry up.
In a way, if you told yourself to wake up, it was like quitting. But then again, it was hard to wake up from a dream once you got so far into it. This was what your dreams were usually like – all-encompassing, hard to escape from, and utterly absorbing.
So you ran.
You ran and ran, your legs propelling you forward better than you'd ever imagine they'd hold up. Your sides were burning with the exertion, your head pounding, but still, you told yourself to keep going.
You fell, somehow, in your frenzied running, and skinned your legs along the cobbled stones in your dream. This caused pain to shoot up and down your knees. Your fingers scraped against your knees, feeling the warm blood against your palm. You winced at the unexpected stinging, because this was your subconscious, after all. Why would you be feeling pain?
You dismissed this and got up on wobbly legs, all your nerves were aflame now, but that didn't stop you from stumbling forward.
You didn't know how much longer you ran. It felt like hours, when in reality it was probably only minutes. Your exhausted body had no clue of the difference in time. Here, it all seemed the same, dragging on and on like some sick dirge, announcing your impending failure.
No, no, no. You would not fail again. You couldn't.
You pushed onward, and now you truly were in a corridor. The spacious atmosphere from before narrowed into a stairwell, stony and foreboding on the sides, and claustrophobia choked you.
A smell, pungent and cloying, filled your nostrils with the scent of rust and salt. It was a smell you knew all too well; normally you would think it was from the wound that was now inflicted on your knee, but there was too much, too much blood in the air that blocked the rest of your senses.
You panted and panted, trying to catch your breath but you couldn't. There were suddenly stairs now, appearing out of nowhere, and they led you down, down, down into this pit of what can only be referred to as hell.
Shaky, bloody fingers smoothed along the side of the corridor. They allowed you to feel your way down into the space where you knew what awaited.
Something, further down into the space caught your ear. Faint, but recognizable, a feminine voice shrieked.
Even though the sound was slight, it was almost magnified, due to your lack of vision, your other senses become more acute.
Once the screams reached your ears, you picked up the pace despite the persistent ache in your sore body.
The smell of blood intensified as you went further down, as did the screams. A cackling, maniacal laugh now accompanied it. The sound sent chills down your spine, and sweat dripped down your brow as you raced toward the sounds of chaos.
You pushed yourself faster; you desperately needed to get to the bottom of the endless stairwell. It was indescribable how much you wanted to get to the place where you had failed so many times before. The destination of destruction. The screams were now louder than you had ever heard them, the smell making you sick to your stomach.
Your feet clopped on the steps frantically.
And before you knew it, there it was.
In front of you, almost so abruptly that you smacked right into it, was a heavy, mahogany door. A window was on the front of it, bars upon the glass, but it was too small for anyone to possibly wish of climbing through.
You reached out with a trembling hand and pushed as hard as you could.
The screams, the screams. They wouldn't stop ringing in your ears.
You felt tears prick your eyes as you realized how late you were. And you were actually starting to have a sense of hope.
She laid, in the center of the cellar-like room, blood all around her frame. Her skin was snow white, and she was covered in crimson. Various cuts and bruises were all over her body, some deeper than others, but the result was all the same.
She rasped your name.
Your mother, Miriam, was dying.
You felt tears – tears of frustration, tears of sorrow, tears of failure, fell down your cheeks despite yourself.
You forgot the man that sat in the corner, watching your every move, and you raced over to her, cradling her bloodied form in your hands. Her throat had been cut as well, not a deep cut, but deep enough. Her blood spilled onto your arm as you held her head up. You saw that her wrists had also been slashed. You didn't even want to assess the rest of the damage, you were too beside yourself with grief.
Your fingers stroked her cheek and you buried your head in her hair as you pulled her dying form toward you. You moved your hand to her hair and caressed her locks as your tears soaked her dress.
The man in the corner laughed.
You didn't pay him mind though as your only focus was your mother, she gave a cough and flecks of blood splattered your shirt and her cheeks.
She grew cold in your arms, and you knew that you had failed yet again.
Sorrow overwhelmed you, and you placed her body down on the floor.
"You're never going to be strong enough," the man taunted. He wore a simple black coat and you couldn't make out his facial features, no matter how much you squinted you could never get a read on him.
You rose, spun around to face him, chest heaving. Your mother laid motionless in a growing pool of blood next to you. You clenched your fist, rage fueling you.
With a scream, you charged.
And then you woke up, sweating through your sheets.
Everything was quiet, save for the frantic breaths that escaped from your chest as you were violently pulled from sleep – again. Your throat felt as if it was being burned from the inside out and tears welled at the corners of your eyes. You noticed that your hands were white at the knuckles, gripping viciously at the blankets that covered you. You took several deep breaths to try and steady the pounding of your heart. You couldn't remember the last night you had slept well. That man haunted your dreams and you couldn't help but wonder sometimes if he was really in your head. This had to be connected to Michael. There was no other logical explanation. You only started having these nightmares since his arrival.
Often you would shake off these thoughts and remind yourself that you were strong enough to overcome this. It was simply another bump in the road for you, and over the course of your life, there had been many. Somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was different.
You shot up in bed, hair in wild disarray. Your eyes were as wide as saucers and you breathed heavily, heaving huge gulps of air in your lungs as if you were running out of oxygen. Your eyes flitted all over the dimly lit room for a moment before they averted their gaze.
Somehow, the shooting pangs of exhaustion have transferred from the awful dream to reality, and your legs actually felt tired, as well as the rest of you. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you were wiped out.
You kept your eyes down, watching the blanket instead of risking a look up. You didn't want those horrid images dancing around in your vision.
You leaned back into the pillows, not wanting to view the darkness of the bedroom. It reminded you too much of that corridor, of the panic, of the screams.
The sweat stuck to your body, and caused you to cool down somewhat. But your hands still quivered as they clenched the fabric of the sheets. Your heart still pounded hard, as if you were still running down that God forsaken cobblestone street.
You groaned and turned to bury your face in your pillow, but once you closed your eyes all you could see was her laying there, with her slit throat and blank eyes, staring up at you, almost screaming accusations at you.
You turned on your side, and brought the pillow to your chest, clutching it tightly as you clenched your eyes shut, as if to quell the demons that surrounded you.
Your breath was easier now, but still it was hard to draw the air into your chest.
You could almost hear her in your ear, harshly whispering, "Why didn't you save me?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." you murmured into the softness of the pillow, as if that would make it any better.
The silence deafened you. You could still feel her limp body in your arms – the life draining away. You shuddered and you couldn't wipe the image from your mind. Her face had been so pale, and the blood, the blood was everywhere – a dark shadow pooling on the ground beneath her. Even now you could almost smell the tangy scent of it in the air.
You could do nothing, except hope and pray that it never happened in real life, that this only would haunt you in your dreams.
But if something like that did happen to come around, you wouldn't let it play out like your nightmares usually did. By some weird, twisted strand of fate, if that happened. Then, well, you would do whatever it took to save her. No other option would be acceptable. You couldn't lose both of your parents.
You closed your eyes and swallowed, then scrubbed your fingers through your hair, trying to shake the chill.
Then when you looked back up and opened your eyes, there was Michael, sitting at the edge of the bed, on the empty space next to you.
"Another bad dream, sleepyhead?" Michael asked, his voice smooth and full of faux concern for you.
"What the fuck?" you blurted out and threw your pillow aside.
"Are you having an episode? Should I be worried about your mental state?" Michael asked bluntly, tilting his head to the side curiously.
"Fuck off," you spat. "You're not supposed to be in here."
"Ms. Mead told me to check up on you. You were groaning and grunting in your sleep, and I'm finding it rather difficult to fall asleep when I can hear you loud and clear through these thin walls," he explained.
You swallowed thickly before you answered, "It's because of you. I haven't had one good night's sleep since you started living here. Everything was fine before you showed up."
"Now that's a bit accusatory," Michael said. "That's what you always do, isn't it? You shift the blame on someone else when you're faced with unforeseen circumstances that you don't have the slightest clue to deal with. You have an overwhelming fear of the unknown. It's easier that way, for you, rather than look in the mirror and confront head on that you could be the one at fault."
"Stop talking to me like that, like you know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. You don't," you said harshly.
"Maybe if you'd just let me in, maybe I'd care to understand what it is you're feeling," Michael started, leaning forward and lifting your chin up with a finger to make you face him and meet his gaze.
"I don't need to share anything with you. You're an intruder in this house," you said, You narrowed your eyes and gritted your teeth in frustration.
"You don't trust anyone, do you? You think it's safer this way, that no one can hurt you if they can't reach you. Deep down, you're not even sure if you can trust yourself, the thoughts in your head sometimes go astray, wandering to this dark place of uncertainty you try so desperately to keep under control, and you're left with this dull ache in your heart that makes you empty, uncertain, lost," Michael continued, his voice was calm and collected, as if he was explaining a physics theory but with a hint of malice. His dark eyes lowered to your lips as he spoke.
"That's enough," you muttered and grasped his wrist tight in your hand, nearly squeezing it before you pushed it back against him.
"You've got such a short fuse, causes wrinkles you know," Michael stated, a smug smirk playing on his lips.
"Get out. I'm fine, you got your answer, now you can leave," you said, pointing at the door with a glare.
"Hmm," Michael made a low sound in the back of his throat, his eyes lingering on yours once more before he slid off the bed.
"And don't come back," you hissed before making yourself comfortable, pulling the blanket over yourself and hugging the pillow.
You heard him chuckle quietly to himself and then he left your room, closing the door behind him. You exhaled loudly and shut your eyes, angrily attempting another go at finding sleep.
You despised him.
Abhorred him, detested him, loathed him—whatever word best describes the horrid feeling filling up your stomach and the roar of noise in your ears. Describes the way your hands curl into fists and your entire being tenses up. Describes the feeling of wanting someone dead.
He was an absolute devil who didn't have one ounce of goodness in him, and you were positive that the entirety of his existence completely consisted of making everyone around him miserable. You wanted less than nothing to do with him – except that was impossible when you two were living under the same roof and he did pretty much everything in his power to thoroughly annoy you.
If you had to describe your relationship with him, the most accurate description you could find would be a 'hate/hate' relationship. Sure, you argued with people before, but nothing remotely akin to the level of tension you felt when you were with that damned intruder. That's what he was. He wormed his way into your safe place, became inseparable from your mother in a matter of days, and the longer he stayed here, the more you wanted him gone. This was your new life now, and you hated it.
Through your childhood, people came and went. You lost your father, you would try to make friends with your neighbors but most of the time they were scared as hell by your mother, people from school would come and go. There was one constant in your life, one that you wished was not there – Michael Langdon. And you just knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
He irritated you to no end. Michael would always start it. It was like there was a bubble around you and as soon as you crossed the threshold, he popped the bubble holding you back. Michael would throw a spiteful comment, and you couldn't help but bark one right back. Then Michael would so much as look at you wrong, and you would have him by the collar, snarling.
This living arrangement was most definitely not going to work out.
There was so many things that he would do that would drive you crazy, like he would take incredibly long showers, which had you banging on the door every morning because he left you nothing but cold water every time.
"If you don't get out of that shower in one more minute, so help me God, I will kick that fucking door down!" you shouted as your fist met the door repeatedly. You could hear him humming loudly to himself and acting as if he didn't hear you.
"Hey, would it kill you to have some patience? He can take as long as he needs to, stop throwing a fit about it! Wait your turn!"
And every time Miriam would snap at you, believing you were the problem and that you were the only reason you and Michael couldn't get along. He was always taking his side, putting his needs first, even if it was completely and utterly ridiculous. Such as the time when he said he couldn't make his bed because he was so tired and Miriam made you do it for him, or the time when you were watching television in the living room and Michael said that he couldn't focus studying the Satanic Bible because he could hear the TV from upstairs and it was distracting him. Time and time again, he seemed to strike every nerve in your body, somehow, someway.
Another one of the many things that added to your displeasure was when your best friend at college, Olivia, would come over to study with you and now because of Michael, you two no longer studied. Because she would only do one thing: drool over Michael and ask you a thousand questions about him even though you told her repeatedly that he wasn't worth the trouble.
"Oh what I would do for that man to dick me down," she would say, in a dreamy state. "I can't believe you haven't hopped on that!"
"He's a Satanist. He goes to a Satanic church, studies the Satanic Bible, actively prays to Satan, and my mom thinks he is the spawn of Satan. I'm sorry, did I not say that he's the Devil incarnate?" you said in a sassy tone.
"Yeah, so? I think I'd risk going to hell just to tap that," Olivia giggled.
Your door was a crack open and Michael knocked on the door, peering his head inside.
"Hey, Ms. Mead said Dinner's done," Michael told you.
"Okay," you answered without even looking at him.
"Thank you so much! We'll be right out!" Olivia smiled wide with the most obvious 'I'm so attracted to you' laugh ever.
Michael smiled at your friend before walking off and you could have sworn you saw him wink at her from the corner of your eye.
"Hail Satan," she whispered dreamily to herself, a hand on her cheek as she stared at the door long after he left.
"You are not staying for dinner," you said quickly, a glare on your face.
He took away your safe place, he had all of your mother's love and affection, and now he was turning your friend into some lovestruck idiot who would gladly burn in hell for him. He was ruining your life.
You confided in Miriam about the recurring nightmares you were having and it went as well as you assumed it would.
"What in Satan's name are you talking about? Are you trying to tell me you think you're getting nightmares because of Michael?" Miriam asked, trying to clarify what she was hearing.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I started getting them the day Michael started living here and ever since then, I haven't been able to sleep," you told her but the distressed look on her face did nothing to encourage you to continue.
"That's crazy talk! You have got to stop with this. I'm serious, it's getting out of hand. If you're getting nightmares, it's because you let God in your head," Miriam explained, pointing at her head. "And what did I tell you about that? Hm?"
"That God only feeds you lies and wants you to be blind to the truth," you quoted her.
"Exactly. You two have to find a way to coexist because I swear I'm about to start pulling my hair out," Miriam said, raising her voice.
"Mom, you don't understand. He makes it so difficult. He's constantly being a pain in my ass, he's rude, entitled, he thinks he can do whatever he wants and get away with it," you started listing everything from the top of your head but it felt like you had only scratched the surface.
"No, don't you start with me, young lady. He has been trying but every single time you shut him down and you make him feel unwelcome here. Enough is enough. I don't want to have to resort to drastic measures," Miriam scolded, making you feel all the more helpless.
You two were having a discussion in the kitchen and when Miriam walked off after the disagreement, you saw Michael sitting at the table with a smug smile on his face, looking directly at you with those devilishly charming eyes.
You rolled your eyes and scoffed before leaving the kitchen.
You were stuck with Michael. There was no way around it. He wasn't going anywhere.
It was a bright and sunny afternoon on a beautiful weekend day when you decided that you were going to the mall. You wanted to shop for clothes because you felt like your wardrobe was lacking and you wanted new things to wear.
"Mom, I'm going to the mall, I'll be back in a few hours or so," you told your mom who had been performing some kind of incantation with Michael in the living room. You threw your purse over your shoulder and grabbed your keys and cellphone.
At first she didn't answer you, she was much too busy chanting something but once you started unlocking the door, Miriam whipped her head toward you.
"Wait, where are you going?" Miriam asked.
"I'm going to the mall, be back later," you grumbled.
"You should take Michael with you, his wardrobe could use an upgrade. He didn't come here with much and maybe you two could bond," Miriam suggested, but you were sure she was more like telling you rather than asking.
"No, he can go himself," you refused, shaking your head in annoyance.
"Oh come on, don't be like that! Michael, would you like to go?" Miriam asked Michael.
"Yeah, I'd be up for that," Michael said, nodding his head in agreement.
"See? Then it's settled, Michael's coming with you," Miriam decided.
"Nope, not gonna happen, I don't think so," you maintained, but Miriam wasn't having it.
"You know what. We'll reach a compromise. I'll come along with, that way I can get Michael whatever he needs and I can make sure you don't cause any trouble, missy," Miriam said, pointing at you.
You sighed dramatically. Just great. It was a lose/lose situation for you.
The three of you headed out to the local mall, and every store that you stepped foot in, you were joined by Miriam and Michael. Miriam insisted that you knew all the best stores and that the mall wasn't really her scene so you had to lead the way. It was like you were with two people who hardly got out of the house, they followed you around everywhere. You picked some things out here and there, and you were grateful if you got so much as a few minutes away from them.
You walked further down the aisle in a clothing store and eyed the expensive garments hung up. There were form fitting dresses crafted with soft fabrics, robes decorated with silk material, winter coats with fur collars, but then something caught your eye that a mannequin was wearing.
It was a little black number with a frilled hem, long sleeves, and a wide V-neck. There was something about the dress that just called out to you and you just had to have it.
You told Miriam that you were going to try it on in the dressing room and Miriam said that she would be waiting in the store until you got back.
You meandered through the store to the fitting rooms located in the back and then entered the first empty stall, closing the door behind you.
You unbuttoned your blouse quickly and lifted it over your head, then tugged your jeans down, setting them upon the bench in front of you. You slipped the black dress on, pulling it down and letting the material fall to your knees. You did a little twirl, swaying side to side with a smile on your face, biting playfully at your lip. The dress was beautiful, you loved it. You tried to zip up the dress from the back but you were unable to reach it.
"Mom, can you come in here and zip me up real quick?" you called out loudly. "Mom?"
You started scrolling through your phone while you waited for your mother to come in, answering some of your texts from your friends.
You heard the door swing open and footsteps approaching you from behind, though your eyes were still focused on your phone.
"Zip this up, please," you said without looking up. You felt fingers immediately zip up your dress upon request.
"I must say, the black suits you, it really brings out your eyes," a voice said, that was definitely not your mother. "It's like you were born to wear that dress."
You lifted your head the moment you heard that voice, a quick breath catching in your lungs. You knew exactly who it belonged to. In the mirror you caught sight of those blue eyes and blonde curls.
Michael stood behind you, eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he stared back at your reflection in the mirror, his lips pulling to a smirk. There was a licentious expression on his features that made your cheeks flush despite yourself. He stepped closer, each movement precise and calculated.
You shook your head, as if to clear it.
"What are you doing here?" you asked with a glare.
"I wanted to see how it looked on you for myself, I thought you could use a second opinion," Michael answered, his tone laced with amusement. His eyes were fixated on your body, which were now unmistakably undressing you now, wandering up and down. They were full of shrouded mysteries and luminous beauty.
"I can assure you that wasn't needed," you scoffed.
"I'm not going to bite if that's what you're afraid of," Michael leaned in close, his lips next to your ear.
"I really wish you would just fuck off," you muttered under your breath and you were about to push him away from you, but then his hands went to your waist, pulling you to him. It startled you and so you pressed your hands against his chest to balance yourself, backing him up against the wall. It was a little too close for comfort.
For one agonizingly long moment you stared at each other, your cheeks blazing in embarrassment. You were pressed against him, leaving no space between your bodies. Your breasts were against his chest, hips so close to his groin. From your vantage point, you had an almost perfect view of his lips. They were lush and captivatingly kissable, especially when curled into a smile as they were now. Frankly, you detested him, but found yourself unable to deny his physical appeals. You couldn't help but feel that his pretty face held something ungodly within, something dastardly cruel and malicious.
It wouldn't take much. If you bent down just a bit, if he leaned up, he could capture your lips with his. You could tangle your fingers in his hair and then hook your legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.
He would taste like honey. The thought only made tension cord through you.
You tried to keep your gaze focused somewhere past his shoulder, away from temptation, you needed to keep yourself from doing something stupid. You were skirting the edge of appropriateness as it was. But then you started staring, his body was fit, muscular – so tempting. Your gaze lingered on his sculpted arms, wishing they would just take hold of you already.
Reason. Caution. Control. You could do this.
When you looked up again, Michael was studying you, head tilted like an inquisitive owl. Shifting your glance to his face, you knew that you had been caught admiring him.
"You know, seeing you up close, in this dress, I can see why they call you a temptress; a femme fatale," he said. He reached out and smoothed an errant lock of your hair back into place, his thumb brushing softly over the sensitive skin of your temple. You were now close enough to hear his breathing. It was hot and heavy.
Your breath caught. You watched his eyes become more and more clouded with desire. Your heart was pounding rapidly and a blush was covering you from your neck to your ears.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, a smirk forming on his mouth, awaiting a response from you. Your heart crept into your throat, chasing away any snarky comment you might have had for him. He noticed, his eyelids narrowed, his gaze especially dark. The tension between you two rose.
"Cat got your tongue?" Michael taunted in a whisper, low and husky, a dark chuckle escaping his lips.
Warmth swelled in the pit of your stomach, swirling around somewhat unpleasantly. Gradually, you became aware of the affect he was having on you, the heady feeling of being pressed against him.
"No, you're just an asshole," you whispered harshly and you took a shuddering breath as you spat out the words.
"Honestly, if you ask me, you're prettier with your mouth shut," Michael teased, that same damned smirk on his face.
The tips of his fingers started massaging little circles into the covered skin of your back, barely brushing against it before he exposed it by unzipping the zipper attached to your dress, and you fought back the throaty purr that threatened to come pouring from your lips. You could hear his hitched breaths, see the way his eyes searched you, gliding up the length of you until they settled on your lips. He leaned forward, a small movement and you angled your chin up, ready to meet the press of his mouth, waiting for him to close the distance.
Then he stopped. His hand tightened briefly along your thigh before retreating, his gaze shifting as he took a step back.
He leaned forward a few inches to murmur directly into your ear. "I thought you wanted me to fuck off."
You huffed and drew back quickly, creating more distance between you two, needing to stop the building pressure in your body. You felt vulnerable. You hated feeling vulnerable. You let him get too close.
"Yeah, get the fuck out. I have to change," you said, recollecting yourself and then you pushed him toward the door. Michael shrugged, a cocky smirk still gracing his features.
"Looks like you found your voice. Shame," he chuckled to himself before exiting the dressing room.
"Fuck you," you muttered.
You cursed under your breath and you were so embarrassed that you couldn't find it in you to face your reflection.
You were still trying to process what just happened when you heard Miriam call out from outside the room, "How long does it take to try on a damn dress? Buy it or don't! I'm ready to leave!"
"Okay! I'll be right out!" you answered, shaking your head.
You sighed to yourself as you slipped the dress off from your body, a pensive look on your face.
You still felt the possibility of his skin against your lips long after he left.