WebNovelShe and I100.00%

Chapter 6

I woke up in a sweat. I couldn't catch my breath. I was choking. I looked ahead. It felt as if someone was standing there watching me. With a trembling hand, I reached for the phone on the nightstand. I turned on the flashlight, but no one was there. And I could have sworn ...

Goddamn dreams. They make me paranoid.

The electronic clock read 3:56.

I threw myself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Oh, I saw some dependency. I knew when they appeared. I was sure Shadow had something to do with them. After all, I've had them since the first time we met. Who is she? Why does she seem so familiar? Another? Secret? Where is it coming from? Why does it disappear as suddenly as it appears? Why am I having nightmares? Why am I having these goddamn dreams? What is it all about?

I closed my eyes.

I felt warm sun flames on my body that woke me up. It must have been early morning. However, I managed to sleep peacefully for several hours. I lounged for a long time but knew I had to get up soon. I couldn't lie down all day, could I? Unfortunately, the day off from work did not give me this freedom, despite everything. With a soft groan, I rose to a sitting position. A short cry escaped my throat as I opened my eyes, making the rest of my sleep escape, waking me completely. There was an easel in front of me. But that was not what scared me, but the portrait ... the shadow portrait. A figure in a hood, from which only golden, piercing eyes protrude. I suppressed the feelings that flooded me after seeing him. Those eyes ... they looked real. And they stared at me as if they were looking at my soul. When did I paint something like this? It wasn't here yesterday. The easel itself stood in the corner of the room, clean. And now ... I looked down at my hands. They were all in black paint. I painted it. I painted this something. Am I sleepwalking? Is it possible?

I shook my head. It wasn't important now. I should be focusing on something else. For example, washing off paint. Exactly. The time for the rest will come later.

I felt awkward walking past the newest painting. I felt watched as I made my way to the bathroom door. I stepped over the threshold, walking straight to the sink. I tried washing it off with soap and water, but it was already dry. When was I painting? Ugh. Nothing. We'll try to get rid of her otherwise.

I didn't smile to go back to my room, but I had no choice. I had to do something with that picture. Get rid of it.

I approached him uncertainly. Until I shivered. He made me feel anxious and fearful. I had to get rid of him as soon as possible. I took him, determined to just throw him away, burn my work for the first time in my life. I was halfway to the front door when I froze. I couldn't do this. After all, it is work and I should not destroy it. Yes. I can not. I'll leave him. I turned around and stood in front of the door to my studio. With a soft sigh, a trembling hand, I reached for the doorknob and entered.

I looked around. There was a lot of my work there. Picture by Picture. Landscapes, portraits of people from the school and our town, images that are of little importance, yet evoke extreme emotions. I found an empty window seat. I put it down, so to that place. I wanted to leave but couldn't. I wanted to escape from this room but couldn't. I couldn't move.

My own body wasn't listening to me. I was just staring at this dark portrait of a stranger. I pinched myself lightly to wake up. It helped. Pain helped. I quickly grabbed a white bedspread from a nearby chair and covered it. Better immediately. I couldn't breathe normally. I had one last look at my work and left without looking back once more. I turned the lock.

***

It was noon when I got hungry, so I decided to try my hand at cooking. Exactly: "I'll try." This word was the key in my life. If I learned something, it was that I was right not even wanting to go to the kitchen and the pots. It's not for me. My culinary skills end with boiling water in a kettle and turning on the microwave.

Moreover, those eyes haunted me. I was distracted. Involuntarily, many times I caught myself thinking and staring at the corridor leading to my studio, where I had left the painting.

It was as if I had seen those eyes before. But when? Where? Who could have had such a piercing gaze?

But the image itself did not bother me. The first time I ever created was while I was sleeping. Apart from the fact that I've never sleepwalked. Or rather, I didn't realize it.

- Shit. The curse escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

I'm aching. The rice bag was still hot and I burned my fingers on it.

"You'll hurt yourself someday, Dark," I thought.

I pressed my index finger to my lips because it hurt the most, and I sucked in to ease the pain a little. When that didn't help, I put my hand under the cold water coming from the tap. I gave a murderous look at my would-be meal that was supposed to be dinner. Ignoring the burning finger, I slit the pouch. The rice itself didn't look very inviting.

Still, I sat down to at least try.

- Bon Appétit, Dark. - I said, taking the first bite in my mouth and turning pale, gagging.

I could barely force myself to swallow it. He was hideous.

"It's good that I didn't invite anyone, because you can poison yourself."

- But I guess I'll stick with dry provisions and ready meals. - I said to myself as I stood up and tossed my would-be meal in the trash. I hated to waste food, but even a dog wouldn't swallow that.

I grabbed an apple in my hand and took my first bite when I heard a knock on the door.

I froze. The heart skipped a beat. The breath became shallow.

"Don't open it. Don't open it. Go away, whoever you are. I'm not at home." I repeated like a mantra.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the knocking stopped. However, I did not enjoy it for too long, because I heard the vibrations of the phone lying on the table nearby.

I approached, tiptoeing just in case. I didn't have to worry about the window because it looked out to the backyard and there was only a forest there. Luckily, with my paranoia, it was veiled.

I glanced at the display as the link dropped and went blank. I turned on the screen and the text immediately popped up:

MISSED CALL (1)

FROM: Tesa

I let out the air I was holding back.

"Sorry, love."

I turned off the screen. I sat down in the chair, resting my elbows on the table and hiding my face in my hands. The guilt was overwhelming.

- Sorry, Teresa.