CREEPS

T H R E E

    "Don't go."

    That voice breaks me out of the darker places my mind was ready to travel too. It's closer now, and though I feel weaker than I ever have in my whole entire life, I still choose to turn around and meet his eyes again.

    He advances closer and I try to scream. I open my mouth and scream as loud as I can for him to stop. I scream for help, for Ryder, for it all to end.

    But no matter how loud I scream, no sounds come out. I can no longer hear his footfall as he makes his way closer to me. His mouth is moving but no words come out.

    It's completely silent.

    He keeps coming closer as tears stream down my face pathetically. He's saying what he believes to be comforting words to me and I'm screaming hopelessly for it all to just end... but there's still no sound.

    As he reaches me and puts us within touching distance, I finally get my wish, and it ends.

    My upper body jumps up from the bed at the same time my arms throw the blanket off of me. My neck and chest are soaked with sweat, and my breathing is coming out so harshly that someone would think I just came back from a run. I look around the room and take in my surroundings, and once I come to the conclusion that I'm in the Knight's house, my chest feels less tight.

    "Breathe, Zaylee," I say to myself, lowly. "Just breathe."

    After inhaling and exhaling a couple of times, I check the clock on my nightstand and see that it's already 6:28 a.m.

    As if on cue, there's a gentle knock coming from the door that separates my room from the bathroom.

    "Zay, are you up?" Hearing Ryder's voice calms my heart rate down. Though I knew right away when I opened my eyes that I'm not in my old house anymore, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still in danger. Knowing that Ryder's here, and that he's okay, does wonders for the anxiety I feel slowly creeping up on me.

    I don't answer right away. Ryder has assumed for months now that I don't wake up until seven, and though he'd always disapprove of me getting up only thirty minutes before we leave for school and therefore missing breakfast, he never once tried to get me up earlier. His willingness to let me do whatever I want has saved me from dealing with the argument we'd have over my sleeping issue returning.

    The blanket I tossed earlier is thrown on the floor carelessly, and I notice that there's some pillows scattered around it, indicating that I was tossing and turning for a bit before finally waking up. With the nightmare I just had, it doesn't shock me at all.

    I gather my things from the floor and place them onto my bed, then grab my towel. I showered before I went to sleep—like I usually do, as I'd always hope I could use those few extra minutes in the morning to instead cover up the dark circles on my eyes from not sleeping—but today, I need to shower before leaving.

    Between the sweat on my body that's making my shirt disgustingly cling to me and the slight shake my hands are having since opening my eyes, I'm hoping the cold water will help.

    I knock on the bathroom door, not wanting to open it and barge in on Ryder if he's still doing his morning routine in there.

    The door opens to the reveal the boy's baby face to me, and seeing his clear, blue eyes brings a warm feeling to my chest.

    "You're okay?" His voice comes out softly, almost like a whisper, as if we're back to being little kids sharing secrets on the swing set at Noxwood Park.

    Nostalgia hits me as I think of those days when we'd be able to do that. When that park was a second home to me, and when my first home was a safe haven—nothing like how it was portrayed in my dream.