Page 297 of Vicious Saint
“You’ve been asking about me…” he states through a whisper so lethal, it has the words slithering from his lips like a snake. “So it’s only right to introduce myself.”
From my peripheral I can see my attacker still pleading, but with no sign it’s with him. Making it clear the man, or monster, is here solely to terrify me.
I blink rapidly until my eyes squeeze shut.
“This isn’t real…you’re not real.”
“I’m as real as you’re making me.” He comes closer, and I can feel a pull stemming from the emptiness inside him.
“No. You’re a figment of my imagination. The result of a traumatic event my mind is trying to fight.”
His sinister laugh grinds against my ears. “You’ve seen me enough times to know that’s not true.”
“I’ve seen nothing. Now get out of my head!”
“Only if you say my name.”
“I won’t.”
I fucking refuse to bring a theoretical monster to life.
The black doors widen as he swallows the distance, the pull becoming so intense my boots slide across the pavement.
“Stop!” I cry in hysterics.
“Say my name, Jimi,” he demands, spitting out my nickname like it’s poison on his tongue. “Say it.”
“I…can’t. Please.”
He doesn’t speak again until I’m flush to his chest, feeling the ice on his skin seeping through the Letterman.
“Why not? Hm?”
I shake my head vigorously.
“Answer me!” His voice claps like thunder in the night, making the ground shake and my feet rise. “Admit why you’re so afraid to say my name!”
My face draws closer to the black doors, and I try with all my might to stop myself from falling through them. It’s no use, though, black already surrounds me. But it isn’t until I’m hung over the depths that fear strikes cold, making me scream, “Because I don’t want to be sick too!”
“Well,” the monster’s icy whisper echoes through the dark, “it’s too late.”
“Why would you say that?!” I screech, being swung back and forth like a pendulum as he replies, “Because you were born sick just like Saint.”
“Jimi! Wake up!” A masculine shout has my eyes flying open, gasping as I shoot upright on the bed, finding the blurry shape of someone next to me. I blink rapidly, unable to stop my body from cowering when his face comes into view.
“Saint? Is that…really…you?”
“Of course,” he says with confusion. “Who else would it be?”
Invisible sand fills my throat as I take time searching his eyes for any sign of black.
“Are you okay?” Saint examines me just as carefully. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
More like a monster.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just a bad dream.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
