Page 5 of Presence

If I were to fall down the stairs, would I die? At this point, death seems like a distant, lovely dream. People often brush off their lack of sleep, saying there’ll be plenty of time to rest when they’re dead. They lead fast-paced lives, juggling relationships, careers, family, goals, and self-care routines. They dread death and wait for it simultaneously.

I, on the other hand, don’t dread it at all. I’m so tired that I might willingly take its hand if it promised me the rest I need. Maybe I should hope my dizziness knocks me right into the abyss behind me?

I’d just... tumble down the stairs, knock my head, and hope for the best. Nothing too complicated about it.

“Nope, I’m too much of a coward for that,” I mutter. turns her head, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” she asks, pulling me up another step.

“Nothing.” I won’t tell her I’m contemplating death because of these stairs. I won’t tell her I’m just a scared girl craving a way out—a light in the tunnel. Literally. She’d be devastated.

“If you say so,” she replies with a shrug.

We finally reach the top floor. My breathing is heavy, my legs aching. Camila, still surprisingly cheerful, helps me to my apartment door. I fumble with the keys, my hands shaking slightly from the exertion.

“As much as I love all your efforts…” I begin, wiping my forehead with my sleeve. No surprise, it’s damp with sweat.

“Yeah, yeah,” interjects. “We’ll get it over with fast. I promise.”

We enter the apartment—me first, right behind. She kicks off her shoes and heads straight to the kitchen. I stand motionless at the entrance. The pure white greets me in all its pristine emptiness, and the air gets sucked from my lungs. How can I love and hate this place so much at the same time?

The floor used to be covered with a bright purple rug, and sun catchers adorned the windows, bathing the room in pure sunlight every morning. My walls were olive green, and the furniture ranged from white to deep brown. It was a mess—a lovely, colorful mess.

Now it’s clean, bright, and soulless. But that’s what I need right now—a blank slate to shake off this eerie feeling that chills my blood and keeps me from sleeping. The feeling that something is watching me.

“You coming?” shouts from the kitchen, snapping me out of my thoughts. Huh? That’s weird. I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes.

I shake my head, cup my cheeks with my icy palms, and pinch myself before taking a deep breath.

“Yeah, just a minute,” I say, my voice raspy. I kick off my shoes and take off my coat, passing a large rectangular mirror on my way to the kitchen.

As I walk by, the person in the reflection catches my eye. My heartbeat quickens. It’s not strange to look at yourself in the mirror. Everyone does it. There’s this primal urge to see yourself as others do, to evaluate yourself and base at least a bit of your self-confidence on that reflection. But what’s not normal is seeing that person smiling back when you’re not even moving your facial muscles.

That’s exactly what I just witnessed: someone who looks just like me, with black hair messily tied into a bun and blue eyes widening. She was smiling. It wasn’t a friendly smile either. It was the kind that nightmares are made of.

“Come on,” I hear from ahead of me. Before I know it, comes over and grabs my wrist, pulling me into the living room instead of the kitchen. I turn on my heel and follow her without a complaint.

At her touch, the thing I just saw almost escapes my mind. Almost, but not quite.

“I think I started hallucinating,” I tell her, drawing my eyebrows together. My stomach churns at the thought. How is hallucination different from being heavily medicated? In both cases, you lose touch with what’s real and what’s not. You lose control. “Heavily.”

This whole thing is quickly spiraling out of control. Nope, it already derailed a long time ago. Now I’m just walking blind in the dark.

stops in her tracks and turns to me, concern etching her features. “Hallucinating? What did you see?” she asks, her voice laced with worry and a hint of excitement.

I can’t say I blame her. It’s not every day your best friend starts seeing things. Still, I hesitate, unsure how to explain it without sounding completely unhinged.

“In the mirror, my reflection... it smiled at me, but I wasn’t smiling,” I confess, a shiver running down my spine at the memory.

“I wonder what the owner of Esoteric Cat would say about this,” she muses, her eyes darting to the side as she thinks deeply about it. Personally, I see nothing interesting in my hallucination, just a reflection of exhaustion and a whole lot of pain.

“Is having crazy friends one of those things you talk about with other witches?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. I don’t mean to sound sarcastic. I swear I don’t. But clearly, I fail. glares at me, her eyes narrowing and lips pressed into a thin line.

“You know what, Claire? Go ahead, hide behind your sarcasm and sass,” she replies, nodding slowly. “I’m sure that’s really going to help you. It’ll help you sleep better at night and all.” She pauses. “Get it? Sleep better?”

I can’t help it. I smile.

“Yeah, I fucking get it. Very funny.” I roll my eyes, feeling a slight lift in the heaviness in my chest. I’m grateful for her presence. Honestly, what would I do without her? “So,” I say, trying to lighten the mood further, “what’s the plan? Do we have to draw pentagrams and chant spells now?”

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