When I woke up, I didn't know how much time had passed. There were no windows in my room and no audible footsteps outside in the hall. My back arched with the rhythm of a stretch, and I moved onto my back to stare upwards at the swirling patterns of the ceiling's imperfections.
"I'm out of my mind," I murmured to my shadow. "This would have been beyond obsession in a mortal life." My shadow seemed to nod in mocking, and I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see it anymore. I hated to be mocked, even at times when it might be something I deserved.
I knew, though, I couldn't stay here all night. Someone would figure something out, and I didn't want to be found here with things the way they were. It was going to be strange enough if anyone saw me here. Then again, I could always use the excuse of picking up some of my things.
That's right, that damned voice in my head purred, you're picking up some of your things. Because it isn't as though he really wants you here anymore.
I was really starting to hate that voice.
Drawing myself upright I crossed the room to the mirror, investing precious moments in adjusting the slightly rumpled skirt of my dress and twisting wayward strands of hair back to their proper places. No tears, I thought to myself, and that gave a firm feeling of satisfaction. It was better to feel this way than the way I'd felt before. Better to feel closed off and capable than open and weakened.
I hated weakness. As much as I hated that voice.
Maybe more.
In the mirror I could see his shirt, still curled on itself where I had left it on the bed. It hadn't been a good idea to take that. I realized that now. All I was doing was inflicting more emotional and mental suffering on myself. More suffering that wasn't going to do any good. The logical thing to do in this case, I realized, was to move on. To get over it.
As though I had a choice. Last I recalled, I wasn't getting any choice in this whatsoever. It wasn't as though he'd asked me what I wanted.
You brought this on yourself, you know, the voice cooed again. You called the private investigator, you arranged to have the photos taken, and you're the reason..
Damn, I really hated that voice. But I was getting too tired to fight with it. By this point, it was so much easier to just listen and endure it, listen with the hope that maybe the logic would be drilled into my mind. My mind that was completely unwilling to respond to –
Knock, knock.
Oh, who the hell could that be? I didn't let the thought escape my lips, instead taking that moment to move one wild glance around the room. Catching up his shirt I looked around once more, finally settling for hiding it in the drawer of my vanity. That was as unlikely a hiding place as any.
But who was knocking? Who even knew I was here? I hadn't told anyone, and I hadn't seen anyone when I came in. It could be…but I crushed the thought to the back of my mind. Even that was too ridiculous a possibility to consider.
Shaking my head once at my own mentality I twisted the door handle, a faint bittersweet smile on my lips. I must have been completely…
Oh. Oh.
I had to be seeing things. My mind was playing tricks on me. It was the only explanation for what I was seeing before my eyes. Because it couldn't be…
"..Julian..?"