Blame my Shadow

Paranoia Is a Language

I couldn't sleep that night.

Sleep had become a rumor in my life—something other people did, something I used to do before my mind became a crime scene. Every time I closed my eyes, the dark felt crowded. Full of things waiting for me to remember them.

At some point, the paranoia got so loud I didn't even realize I'd stood up. The next thing I knew, I was in the shower, fully clothed, water soaking me to the bone. I don't remember turning it on. I don't remember stepping under it. I only remember the cold.

And then—nothing.

The blackout is always silent. No warning. No fading. Just absence.

When I come back to myself, I'm on the floor of my living room, curled on my side, shaking. My clothes are still drenched. Water trails across the tiles like I dragged the shower with me. My heart is racing so hard it feels detached from my body, like it's trying to escape on its own.

The door opens.

Light spills in from the hallway.

Sarah.

She freezes when she sees me like that—soaked, crumpled, barely breathing. Then she runs. Drops everything. Slides to the floor and gathers me into her arms.

"Ethan—oh my God, what happened?"

Her voice is sharp with fear. Her hands are everywhere at once, checking my face, my arms, my chest like she's searching for blood.

"I don't know," I whisper. My teeth are chattering violently. "I was in the shower a minute ago. Now I'm here. I don't remember anything. My mind feels like a missing puzzle. Nothing makes sense. And the homicides... I don't know why I know all of it. With every small detail. Like I committed the crimes."

She tightens around me. "Go get changed first. You'll get sick. We'll talk later."

I shake my head. I can't stand. I can't move. The fear has weight. It pins me to the floor.

"I'm forgetting everything," I choke. "And remembering things I shouldn't."

My voice breaks completely then. The dam inside me finally gives way. I clutch at her like I'm falling through air, sobbing loud and ugly and uncontrolled. I don't even know what I'm crying for anymore—Sarah, the girl in the alley, the child in the dark, or myself.

She holds me.

Doesn't tell me to calm down.

Doesn't rush me.

She just stays.

Eventually, my body runs out of strength. She helps me to my feet and into my room. I change mechanically, my hands numb, my head hollow. When I come back out, she's in the kitchen making tea. Lavender. She always chooses lavender when she's afraid for me.

I stand in the doorway watching her for a second. The way her shoulders rise and fall. The way she moves with purpose even when she's worried. She turns and sees me.

She walks straight into my arms.

It's a quiet hug. Tight. Reassuring. No words. Just warmth.

She presses the warm mug into my hands and gestures for me to sit. I do, and I don't look away from her as I drink. She stands the entire time, watching me—not with suspicion, not with fear. Just trust. Pure and terrifying.

When I'm done, she cups my face gently. I set the mug aside. She smiles faintly and kisses my forehead.

"You know I trust you, right?"

My eyes burn. I nod.

"But I'm scared," I admit. "What if I really am the killer? What if the police are right?"