Hidden

(XXI.)

Media: My Demons by Starset.

Dedicated to: @lil-tee95. Thanks for your constant support and friendship within and outside Wattpad.
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Marilyn took several deep breaths to calm herself down, while Phyllis rubbed her back in smooth, gentle circles. Jess was leaning against the doorpost with arms folded. For the first time, she wasn't looking at her cousin with angry or irritated eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that," Marilyn sighed. It could've come out sharply but her breathing was not stable.

"What?" Jess arched a brow innocently.

"You're giving me this look like I'm a freak or something," she murmured. The duvet on her legs became the most interesting item in the room. She picked at the material with her fingers.

She heard Jess move away from the door and approach the foot of the bed. "Nightmare?"

"Obviously," she grumbled out.

"What kind?"

Both Marilyn and Phyllis' eyes snapped up to her. "It's none of your business," Marilyn replied.

Arms still folded, Jess cocked her head to a side and squinted her eyes at her. The aura around her was a little grey. It was weird. Almost like the kind she found around people who were grieving - their auras were darker in colour. It seemed as if Marilyn's nightmare had a sort of deeper meaning, besides being bad.

"Did you dream of death or gory things?"

Marilyn turned to Phyllis, who was sitting behind her, with a frown. "She's weird. More than annoying."

Jess rolled her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed. The blinds covering the window beside the bed had been pulled back, letting in a stream of moonlight. "It's just a question."

Her face morphed into a mean frown. "Just shut up. Okay? You're adding to my irritation."

Jess blinked. "You must've had a very bad dream. I'm guessing you dreamt of someone dying." She could hear her cousin's teeth grinding together in anger. "You should see a therapist."

Phyllis finally spoke up. "Drop it, Jess. She doesn't want to talk about it."

She sighed and rose to her feet. "No problem. Just saying." She walked out of the room, stretching her arms and flexing them.

"What was it about?" Phyllis asked quietly after her sister had left the room.

"Death," Marilyn said weakly. "A gory one."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather not."

"Talking would help. A lot, I think." Phyllis placed her other hand on her left shoulder. "Unless it scares you."

"It scares me. They always do."

"That means you've been having them."

"Every single night."

Those three words had Phyllis frowning with concern. "Have you seen a therapist?"

"No. I hate those things. They never work." She sighed again. "Nothing works." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Maybe I've been cursed."

"When did this start?" She massaged her shoulder gently.

"April fifth last year. After that dàmned birthday party."

"Hmm. A party? Did you guys play any gothic or eerie game?"

"Gosh. You sound like my mother," Marilyn grumbled as she drew her knees up under the duvet. "And no, we didn't. Just silly teenagers' games. Like Truth-or-Dare, drinking game, and all that stuff.