Page 27 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

The next time I’m in the MRF, I’m still not brave enough to do it. But when I reach for the next door to a memory, that fear lingers in my mind. It curls around my heart as I turn the knob, and—

* * *

In this memory, I’m in my late teens, treating myself to a mini spa day, using the clawfoot porcelain tub in my bathroom, the room lit only by candles. I hum to myself as I stretch out in the warm water, lavender-scented bubbles covering me from the neck down.

When the door creaks open, it doesn’t frighten me. I open my eyes just long enough to see that there’s nobody standing there and then shut them again. “I’m in the bath, Dorian.”

Footsteps pad toward the tub. Heat rushes to my face, and I sink lower into the bubbles to hide myself. I’m still embarrassed at the thought of him seeing me naked like this, even though it wouldn’t exactly be the first time.

“Dorian,” I chide, but I’m smiling despite it. It’s stillnew, this thing between us, but… I’m eighteen now, and my parents are gone for the weekend, so maybe it’s finally time.

Self-consciousness melts away as he pushes my wet hair to the side and caresses my neck, sending shivers through my body despite the warm water. When cool hands run down over my shoulders, massaging the muscles there, I lean into his touch.

I sigh, leaning my head back against the side of the tub. “That feels nice.” The grip on my shoulders tightens. Thumbs dig into my skin hard enough to make me wince. “Less nice.”

The fingers dig in harder. Bruising. My eyes fly open just as the candles in the room flicker out at once, dousing the room in darkness. The steam in the air is suddenly thick, choking. A coppery stink floods my nose, my throat. The water becomes viscous and sticky against my skin, and when I look down, I gasp. The tub is filled to the brim with blood. “Wait, this isn’t—”

The hands shove me under the surface. I scream out a stream of bubbles, fighting and thrashing to no avail. I claw at the hands holding me, but their grip only tightens. Hard as steel, impossibly strong. I try to cry out and choke on a mouthful of coppery liquid. It rushes into my nose, my throat, my lungs—

* * *

I cough out a mouthful of liquid and gasp for air. When my eyes flutter open, I’m no longer in the bathroom. I’m in the MRF, on the floor, with Ezra leaning over me. Static is blaring through the intercom from Dorian’s cell, the lights flickering. My eyes roll toward the observation window, and Dorian is there, all four hands pressed to the window and his eyes locked on me.

When our gazes meet, I find the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes before he disappears. The static cuts off and the lights steady.

I turn over and choke up another mouthful of liquid. It’s only water, thank God—but then a drip of blood falls, tinging it pink. I wipe at my face; my nose is bleeding again.

“What—” I’m shivering, struggling to get the words out through chattering teeth. “What happened?”

Ezra thumps a hand against my back, making sure the water is done coming up. “I-I don’t know,” he says. “You went catatonic on me again. And then you started—” He shakes his head. His hands tremble where he holds me. “Just, choking. Drowning. On nothing but air. I thought you were—” He cuts off as his voice breaks.

I cling to him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Are you?” He searches my face. “What was that? What happened? Was it amemorythat did that?”

I stare up at him. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Is that possible?” But I know, even as I ask it, that he doesn’t have any more answers than I do.

This whole time, we’ve been operating under the assumptions that my memories can’t actually hurt me, but today might have shown us how very wrong we were.

“What happened in the memory?” Ezra asks. “I heard you say Dorian’s name. Did he…hurt you?”

“No,” I say quickly.

Too quickly.

Ezra pulls away, his expression guarded. “Daisy, I’m trying to help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

“Iambeing honest,” I insist, even as I wonder if it’s the truth. “It wasn’t him. I’m not sure it was even a real memory. Maybe it started as one, but then something… I don’t know, something went wrong. It’s like my memories are tainted. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” I run shaky fingers through my hair. My body is dry, but I’m freezing like I was plunged into water.

Ezra shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over my shoulders. When his fingers nearly brush mine, I flinch back.

He pauses. “I want to help Dorian too,” he says. “But not if it’s going to get you hurt. If Dorian is dangerous, I need to know so we can progress safely.”

“He isn’t dangerous!” Not to me, at least. I’msureof that, regardless of that memory.

“Even if that’s true, your memories clearly are,” he says. “If they can hurt you like they did today, what’s going to happen to you if you go back to that night?”

I think of that locked attic hatch in the hallway of my memories. The way it shook. My bone-deep terror at the thought of opening it.

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