Chapter Text
If I had been with her that night, she might not have died.
That’s the thought that haunts me on nights where I stare sleeplessly at the ceiling, unable to think of anything besides that night the date etched permanently into my mind and my calendar. Two weeks. The anniversary of her death, the one thing I’d love to forget, but can’t. Yet it’s always there pulling my attention no matter how hard I try to look away.
CRASH!
My head snaps up from the homework I was working on, my heart jumping at the loud noise. The lamp on my nightstand had shattered and it flickered ominously before going out completely.
I froze, my breath catching in my chest. I don’t move for a few minutes, just staring at the mess of glass that was scattered on the floor. My first instinct was to tell myself it was nothing. Just stress, Touri, just stress. But, when the lights above me start to flicker too my brain starts assuming it’s something else. Exasperated, I turn around preparing to berate Rosana for playing with the light switches again when I see she isn’t there.
I rush to the shattered lamp, kneeling beside it as I start to pick it up, my hands shaking as I mutter to myself, “Shit. Not again.”
I exhale sharply, pressing my hand to my face. Calm down.
My pulse is still racing, but I force myself to move. One thing at a time. I reach for the largest shard of the lamp first, the red, orange, and cream glass scratching roughly against my fingers as I carefully pick it up and place it on my desk. The bulb rolls slightly when I set it down, and the faint flicker of leftover electricity makes it glow for half a second before dying out.
I swallow hard.
That’s normal, right?
A cold draft brushes against the back of my neck, and I freeze. The window is shut. The door, too. No AC is running either.
Slowly, I turn my head, scanning the room for anything that’s out of place. It’s a pretty basic room, white walls with wood floors. There’s one desk in the room that’s shared between Rosa, my roommate, and I along with two beds with one nightstand in between where the lamp fell off. Everything looks almost the same except-
I stop breathing.
A photo, but not just any photo.
Pricilla.
Her bright eyes stare up at me from the floor, her smile captured forever in glossy print. The picture was taken at a festival back in high school, the day she had convinced me to try deep-fried Oreos and nearly choked laughing when I gagged. I kept the photo wedged between books on my shelf. It shouldn’t have fallen.
A familiar, suffocating weight presses against my chest, an old habit I thought I had kicked trying to crawl back up my throat. Just stress, Touri. Just stress. Still, my hands shake as I pick up the picture and place it back where it belongs.
Behind me, the door suddenly clicks open. I nearly jump out of my skin.
Rosa walks in, holding a plastic takeout bag and eyeing me like I’ve grown a second head. “Dude. What’s wrong with you?”
I stare at her for a moment before shaking my head. “Nothing,” I lie, my voice strained.
Her gaze flickers to the mess of glass near my desk. She raises an eyebrow. “Damn. Guess that thing finally gave out, huh?” She kicks off her sneakers and nods toward the broken lamp. “Didn’t you get that, like… forever ago?”
I hesitate.
I did. But it wasn’t just some random lamp.
It was a gift—from her.
My throat tightens. I force a shrug. “Yeah. Guess it was just time.” Rosana doesn’t push, just tosses me a fortune cookie from her takeout bag before flopping onto her bed. “Well, if you get possessed or whatever, don’t drag me into it.”
I snort. “Noted.” But even as I sweep up the remaining glass, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
– – – – –
The nightmares come in flashes.
The sound of rain. The shine of wet pavement under dim streetlights.
Her hair, damp from the storm.
Pricilla is laughing. She’s wearing that stupid oversized hoodie she stole from me – the one I never got back. She turns toward me, about to say something when her face changes. The laughter cuts off. She looks afraid.
I wake with a sharp inhale, the air in my room is cold, too cold.
For a long moment, I don’t move. My arms are stiff, my fingers curl tightly around my sheets. The glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling flicker and I cover my eyes with my hands, sighing, barely avoiding letting out a small sob.
I let out a slow breath and turned my head toward my desk.
The photo is on the floor again.