Page 66 of Apathy
Maybe it was morbid thinking about all those things. No, I knew it was morbid thinking about those things, but sometimes I liked to think that I maybe kept them in my memory, even if it was in a morbid way.
Or maybe focusing on all these things was taking away my guilt and the fact that I was probably withholding the key to bring the murderer to justice. I knew I was selfish. I was choosing the lives of my friends over the lives of the rest of the people. The fact that I didn’t receive a single message from that same number in days scared the hell out of me. I should’ve been relieved, but I had a feeling that this only meant that something worse was coming.
I could hear my phone buzzing, vibrating against the surface of the sink where I dropped it, but I didn’t want to see the number on the screen. If it wasn’t one of my friends or Dylan, it was most definitely the killer, and thinking about some deranged person roaming freely on the streets of our town was the last thing I wanted to do.
I closed my eyes instead, letting the water wash over me. Letting it clear me of the sins coating my skin, even though I knew that no amount of water would be enough to wash away all of them. But I could try to get myself rid of them.
The first thing I needed to do was to get out of here. Only then would I be free of the sicknesses marring my skin.
* * *
I woke up with a start, blinking through the darkness of the room, immediately looking for my phone. After the shower, I just collapsed onto my bed, planning to take a quick nap and then wake up to finish my homework. But looking at my phone now, I could see that my nap ended up being a full-blown sleep. Instead of waking up at nine as I planned to, I managed to sleep through all six alarms I set for myself.
It was already past midnight, and I decided to just continue sleeping instead of getting up now, but a loud crash echoed through the house, freezing me in place.
What the fuck was that?
I looked toward the door, my vision getting clearer in the dark, my heartbeat gradually speeding up. Did I imagine that sound?
I threw the blanket off of me and moved to get up, picking my phone up at the same time. Maybe I was just being paranoid? Maybe the crash came from outside of the house? Maybe it was just floors creaking and my overactive imagination turned it into something else?
But when the second crash came, this time closer to my room, I knew I wasn’t imagining things. Somebody was in the house with me. Someone uninvited, and I had a feeling I knew who it was. My throat closed as I took a hold of the door handle, trying to open it without too much sound, hoping that this wasn’t what I thought it was.
Maybe it was Ash coming to surprise me? Or maybe… Maybe Dylan or my parents came back home, and they didn’t let me know beforehand? Yeah, it could be one of these options, and as I swung the door open, my phone tightly clutched in my hand, I peeked a glance to the hallway, contemplating my options.
But even if my brain was trying to calm me down by creating these possibilities in my head, my body knew that I was in danger. The skin on the nape of my neck stood up as footsteps creaked from the staircase, and my flight-or-fight instincts kicked in without thinking.
I pressed one hand against my mouth, muffling down any sounds of my breathing, and tiptoed toward the study opposite of my room, thankful for the already open doors. I swallowed the cry of despair threatening to erupt from my throat, and tried to calm myself down, tried to think.
I had to do something, for fuck’s sake. Something, anything.
I plastered myself against the wall next to the door inside the study, listening to the sounds blanketing the silent night, but I couldn’t hear anything but the thundering beat of my heart. It was as if my ribs were closing in, tighter, painfully tighter, around my heart, squeezing me to death, cutting off my ability to think, ability to breathe, to move, to…
No, no, no, no, this can’t be happening right now. This can’t be fucking happening.
There was a potential serial killer in my house, and my body and mind were betraying me in the moments where I needed to be sane. Where I needed to think with a cool head.
I couldn’t move because moving could uncover my position. I couldn’t shake the dreary feeling wrapping itself around my bones, and fear I never felt before started seeping into my pores, sneaking in like smoke from the fire that permeated clothes.
My vision started getting blurry and not even a second after, I felt the wetness on my left hand still pressed against my mouth.
I was crying. I was fucking crying, and I didn’t even realize.
An involuntary sob clogged itself in my throat, choking me, killing me from the inside, but I couldn’t let it out. Or maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe all of this was inside my head.
Yeah, there was no killer in the house. It was only me and my fucked-up head.
And I almost believed myself, until the creaking sound echoed around the hallway, just outside the study.
Oh my God.
I should’ve called the police while I was in my room. I should’ve been smarter, because now I couldn’t turn my phone on without it illuminating the entire room.
Another creak, another step so much louder than before, and another tear rolled down my cheek, hitting my hand. The rustling of clothes as the intruder entered my room was almost enough to push me to run, but I had to wait. Just wait and listen.
One step, and then the second one, and then I dared to sneak a peek from around the corner. Maybe if my adrenaline wasn’t at an all-time high, I would’ve passed out from the sight in front of me. But when my eyes zeroed in on the wide back standing inside my room, I bolted from my hiding spot and started running toward the stairs.
Keeping quiet wasn’t important anymore. I had to get out of the house and get help.
