Byron's Secret (Slenderman Romance)

Chapter 49. I'm Here

Wednesday

Night time

The three sat in the living room in a suffocating silence as the television remained on with its volume at the lowest. A man sat at the end of the couch that is closest to the television while another sat on the one close to the door. Between the perpendicular position of the couches, the tall man sat on the floor, leaning as he numbly stared at the television.

The man sitting close to the door began to fidget uncomfortably, "Um . . ." He muttered, unable to handle the deafening silence. He tried to think of a conversation starter, but failed.

"Brian." The man that had his eyes glued to the muted television, now glanced at the other with a stern look.

The man－Brian－seemed to understand what he meant like it was some form of telepathic message, but he dismissed it. He scooted a little closer to the tall man sitting on the ground and spoke once more, "Did your back stop bleeding?"

The tall man hugged the blanket around his shoulders, "Yes."

Brian looked at the other man with confusion, not knowing what to say next. The other man turned his back on the television and faced the two, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The tall man hesitated, but complied, "It wasn't me."

The two glanced at each other, "What do you mean?" Brian asked.

"I didn't－I wasn't the one controlling the tendrils." His voice grew quieter.

Brian, not knowing how to react, looked at the other man, "Tim." He gestured towards the tall man, wanting him to do the talking this time.

Tim nodded, "Then, who was it?"

". . . There was a voice." He mumbled, "It said that if I keep trying to stop . . . 'this', I won't be able to control my own actions anymore." He stared blankly on the ground, ". . . Like a puppet."

The tall man grabbed a can of drink from the table in front of him before Brian stopped him, "Byron, enough. Alcohol will only make you feel worse."

Yet the tall man gulped it down as if he hadn't heard his friend in the first place. The two stared at each other with worried looks.

It was the first time he asked for alcohol to 'help' him cope with what he had done. It calmed him down, but they knew what the effect of the alcohol had on him－it makes him irrational. It makes him hard to reason with. He'd side with feelings rather than logic.

It isn't a good thing knowing how much the incident affected him. It disturbed him more than the previous things he did. To Brian, who stayed behind the victim's decrepit house to 'clean up', it seemed more brutal than what his friend could do. It definitely wasn't just him.

After seconds passed by, Tim muttered, "What was the voice like?" He asked out of sheer curiosity.

"Wait." Brian suddenly interrupted, "The voice . . . was it like the one you heard before? Like, several years ago?"

The tall man slowly nodded, "The first time I heard it was when my dad died and then I became . . ." He trailed off, "It wasn't even a voice, it was a distorted noise, but even so, I understood it."

". . . Well, one thing for sure, what we're doing works. That's why whatever the fuck that is warned you." Brian looked at the bright side of things as he gave the tall man a light pat on the back.