I jackknifed up into sitting position as my eyes searched for the source of the voice. You know how in the back of your mind you kind of know there wasn’t really someone there talking you and you were probably hearing things? Well imagine my surprise when I turned my head towards the window and saw a boy, his eyes skeptical and scrutinizing, staring back at me.
I had always imagined that I’d scream in this sort of situation, but I just sat there in total and complete shock, mouth agape, brain short-circuited, and watched the boy’s facial express change from questioning to amused.
“Filter feeding or something?” he asked, a smile trying to break the straight line of his lips. “If not then you might want to close your mouth before a bug flies in.”
Without even thinking I jumped off my bed, ran to the door, and tried not to slam it as I shut it in my haste. I whipped back around; the boy was still there. He raised an eyebrow and I sealed my eyes shut and shook my head a number of times, desperately hoping I was seeing and hearing things. To my dismay, when I peeled my eyes open, he was still there, sitting cross-legged in the windowsill and watching me like one would an animal at the zoo.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“That depends!” I snapped, a million and two thoughts whirring through my mind all at once. What I couldn’t seem wrap my head around was how similar he looked to —
That’s impossible, I managed to tell myself through the hundreds of other thoughts blaring at me and submitting my skull to unbelievable amounts of pressure. There’s no way. He’s just some random person off the street who just decided to pop in by climbing up a three-story building and sat down in my windowsill…yeah.
Hesitantly I looked at him. He looked back at me, his mysterious eyes clouded by shadows and glares from the twilight light scraping the tops of the buildings; his dark, almost black hair with such a deep crimson sheen it made blood look a shameful red in comparison gleamed in the little light, making it appear as though his hair was made of dying embers.
“Who are you?” I asked, dreading the answer. I kept reminding myself that there was no way that could ever happen. It would break every known law of reality.
“Who do you think?” he answered blatantly, as if I should know the answer to my own question, which I half did.
I sat motionless as a numb feeling spread through my chest like venom. My character. My dream.
“No,” I said quietly and slowly began to shake my head in denial. “No, there’s no way!”
He starred at me with disinterested, half open eyes.
“You don’t exist!”
As soon as those words left my mouth the boy began laughing. It was an audible laugh too. Coming from a solid, visible person sitting in my window and not looking the least bit transparent
“Be quiet!” I said with a stern voice, praying to God that my parents wouldn’t walk in and find this seemingly realistic figment of my imagination in my bedroom. Oh, the irony.
“Calm down,” he said as he stood up and the smile faded into a straight line again. The sound of his feet touching the floor rang in my mind. “They won’t hear me. They’ll just hear you freaking out and talking to yourself because you can’t seem to cope with reality.”
“How did you know…wait, no, what are you doing here? How are you even here?” As I spoke I kept hoping that any minute now I would wake up and it would all be over. You wouldn’t believe how incredibly hard it was to come to terms the fact that I was having a conversation with a character that appeared in almost every storyline I had ever written.
“It sucks, huh?” he continued, not even acknowledging I had asked him a question. “Having people think you’re crazy, or, ‘impaired’ in your case.” He walked around to the foot of my bed and plopped down in it, making himself as comfortable as can be as he stretched out.
That does it, I thought helplessly, watching the room grow taller and realized it was because I was lowering myself onto the side of bed. I’m officially insane…I can’t believe it. I Am INSANE.
Recognizing the fact that I was loosing it was a lot scarier than I had imagined. I was shaking from head to toe, every nerve in my body quivering. I felt cold, like I was sitting outside in the middle of November. My stomach felt like heaving. On top of that I began feeling faint and could already sense the dizzy spells coming on. Cold sweat broke out on my brow.
“Are you ok?” I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” I said with severe bitterness, instantly pulling away as I jumped to my feet and backed away from—whatever his name was, Payne, Hal, Angel, or all three—who was now sitting up, looking at me with concern.
“Maybe you should lie down,” he said, standing up and sounding sincere as his eyebrows drew together, just like a real person with emotions would. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He started for me.
“Stop!” I shouted, holding out my hands as he continued to advance. I could feel the hysteria trying to break through my thin domain of control. I didn’t really plan this next part, and it seems kind of pointless now that I think about it, but it just sort of came out. “This is all your fault!”
It was like I had spoken the magic words. He froze in mid step, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I was expecting him to do next, but when I lifted my eyes to his face I was somewhat surprised to see him glaring at me, his eyes piercing my very soul. My whole body went rigid as I was subjected to his chilling stare.
Where I had once felt so hollow, that empty gap between my soul and my mind, now felt warm, invaded. My breathing quicken as a burning sensation started at my core and spread out to the rest of my body, flowing through my veins like blood. I don’t know what he was doing or how he was doing it, but I knew it was he who was creating this feeling that spread through my body like a wild fire. It felt like he could literally see my soul with an extension of his own. That, figuratively speaking, it was he who was the burning sensation, searching my mind, my heart, my soul, for an answer. My hands trembled as my eyes refused to break the fixed gaze we had on each other.
I kept wishing it would stop. I felt exposed to the truest sense, as if my heart had become a tangible thing to seen and was thrown across an empty page for everyone to look upon. I was completely and utterly vulnerable.
Suddenly one of the corners of the boy’s mouth bent upward into a small, crooked grin. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. As soon as he addressed me the awful burning in my veins vanished, almost like it was commanded to by the sound of his voice.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until suddenly the caged air in my lungs escaped in a painful gasp that stung my throat. I coughed, and when I saw his hand reach for me I smacked it away, cringing at the contact I made with his arm, and took careful, deliberate steps in the opposite direction.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I wheezed, hearing the double-meaning as I pushed myself against the dresser for both support and to greater the distance between us.
“I can’t promise that,” he said, still smiling slightly despite my apparent rudeness, almost like it amused him. “But at least you’re calmed down now.”
He was right. I no longer felt like I was struggling against a primitive sense of panic that threatened to override my frontal lobe. To my surprise I hated the sudden serenity that gave my terrified mind refuge. And I realized it was because I hated the fact that he had some sort of influence over me and he was right. Just that fact that I was looking at him, seeing the shadows cast around his face and onto the floor like they would any other solid object, angered me. It shouldn’t be this way, I kept telling myself. He was supposed to be a dream, a fabricated person in my head, nothing more. Even though I kept telling myself this, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince myself. Neither could I bring myself to be angry, not completely. The serene calm was too pleasant too wipe away with my immature rage.
“I guess,” I answered curtly, looking away. I could see from the furthest extent of my peripheral vision that he walked over to the foot of the bed and fell into the mattress. The bed bounced. Like it would if I had been the one to fall into it.
Now that my emotions were under control it made looking at the situation from a logical stand point a heck of a lot easier. What I wanted to believe was that I was dreaming, again, just like I always did. That this was the first dream to take place in the present instead of some far off fantasy land. And that this person, this representation of someone in my past, must be acting according to how I indirectly remember them behaving.
I saw the beings of a theory. Only, the further I went along with it the more problems I found. For instance, how could he be that person that starred in my dreams when he doesn’t even act like him? Sure they look the same, but the personalities were completely off. Then again, I haven’t really taken the time to get to know him.
“Why are you here?” I asked, my voice sounding feeble, bleak.
“That’s a good question,” he said, his eyes remained shut. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
I could feel my eyebrows draw together as I glared at him. “What do you mean?”
He folded his arms behind his head and his shoulders gave a small shrug. “Well, I’m just as clueless as you are,” he said, peering over at me with his eyes. “Don’t know what to tell you.” He paused a moment. I thought he had finished talking but when I opened my mouth to speak he cut me off. “I was also hoping you could tell me what my name was.”
“You don’t know your name?” I asked. That, for some reason, seemed very sad to me.
“No,” he answer, starring at the ceiling as if he’d find the answer there. “I couldn’t find it in your memory. I was hoping I just wasn’t look hard enough but you don’t seem to remember it either.”
“Sorry,” I said a little offhandedly, reminding myself not to be too sympathetic for this non-existent person.
It was silent for a long while. I hadn’t moved an inch from my dresser, and still clung to it despite the present tranquility that fogged my mind. I didn’t feel like I could trust myself, my thoughts or my emotions. He had done something to me. For all I knew this calming sensation could be just some big smoke screen for something else. He could be manipulating me, forcing his will on me, or this could all be a big scheme for me to trust him.
I didn’t realize I was scowling at him until he peered over at me and narrowed his eyes, twisting his facial expression to match mine. It was a little embarrassing to get caught glaring at him considering I couldn’t completely justify my anger towards him. If he happened to ask I couldn’t give him an answer.
“Aren’t you being just a little paranoid?” he asked, sitting up.
Don’t patronize me, I thought sourly. I already get enough of that from my parents.
“I’m not patronizing you,” he said, his face completely void of emotion as he stared at me. Actually, it was more like he was staring into me.
Astonishment tried to supersede my well-maintained poker face and I nearly had to shut down all emotion just to keep that one at bay. Even though not a trace of surprise had leaked through my skillfully crafted façade he still saw right through it, his eyes practically reading the questions that were bottled up in my brain as if they were written across my forehead.
“I can’t hear your thoughts,” he confirmed. I didn’t feel the slightest bit of relief. There was more to it than that, I was sure. He waited a second, staring at me again but this time not with that penetrating look. “I’ll make you a deal.” He eyed me warily before continuing. “I’ll explain everything, everything I know that is, if you stop being unreasonable cynical and come sit by me.” He patted the comforter next to him.
My heart gave two big thumps. I couldn’t be sure what the reason behind them were, the fabricated serenity still dominated my consciousness, but my guess was that I was terrified of having to socially interact with this fictitious person.
I took a deep breath and made sure not to look at his face as I forced my legs to unlock and make the necessary moments in order for me to walk. Unfortunately it only took three steps till I was at the bedside. I still refused to look at him as I went to the head of the bed and sat as far away from him as I could. Even without looking at him I knew there was a big, huge, smug smile on his face. It was my sixth sense to know when someone was being arrogant.
“Well, that’s not exactly what I went by sitting by me but I guess that’s close enough.” I felt the bed shake slightly as he turned around to face me.
I sighed impatiently, my anger just waiting to get out. “Okay, I’m here. Explain away.”
