"Good luck man! Go say goodbye to your girlfriend!" You waved Mark off as he left out his backyard, looking back at you with a playful frown. "Shut up! But I will, so bye!"
Letting out a sigh, you went back inside to be greeted by Nolan and Debbie bickering. "So, what now? Mark's gone..." Their attention was drawn to you, the two of them looking to one another as Debbie smiled softly. "Well, Nolan and I were thinking about traveling. We'll probably leave in a few days. If you'd like, you can come with us." Her smile was in her voice as she spoke, seeming as though she'd be happy to have you along. Nolan, on the other hand, seemed as though he were hiding a hint of disappointment. You laughed, knowing that he likely wanted to spend time with his wife for the next week or two. "No, it's fine. Thank you for the offer, though." Debbie walked from her husband, who she had been right beside, and headed for the stairs. "Well, if you change your mind, let us know." You nodded. "I'll be sure to do that." Debbie went upstairs then, leaving you alone with Nolan.
You pursed your lips, not knowing what to do. Nolan was making no moves to leave, and you had nowhere to go for the day, so you would likely remain there unless something came up. "Now it seems I have to ask myself what I'm going to do, huh?" You chuckled, a little saddened by Mark's leave. "Hey, if you really want to go with us, you can." Nolan said, setting a hand on your shoulder, you shook your head, shrugging it off as you headed for the couch. "Nah, it's fine. I'll find something to do..." You scratched the back of your neck, a chill of anxiety coming down on you. "...and probably deal with whatever's been going on with me lately." Nolan quirked a brow. "It's still happening?" You slowed your breathing, massaging the bridge of your nose as you nodded.
As of late- since you had killed that murderer in whatever method you had used- you had been feeling waves of pure addrenaline and cold sickness. Some moments were better than others. Sometimes it would be a small underlying feeling of dread, a small pit nestling within your stomach. But other times it would be a full on barrage of nausea, migraines, cold sweat, and, more often than not, you would feel death. As if it were an entity, tickling your stomach and spine, toying with you and enjoying your suffering. You found yourself often curling into a ball in those times- going fetal and sometimes passing out due to the exhaustion the feeling would bring. One time- more recently- you had looked in the mirror as it began, and found the whites of your eyes dark, as if you had spilled eyeliner in them. At first you thought they may have just been panic attacks- that was until you saw the eyes. Now, you were growing concerned for the consequences that might have been around the corner due to your killing.
Nolan had left for a moment, and came back with a painkiller. You nodded in thanks, pressing the pill to your tongue and swallowing it with a glass of water that had been resting on the living room table. This had been becoming a routine between you and the Grayson's. You feared you might run them out of painkillers on your own. "I'm starting to think I should go to the doctors. This is getting really hard to handle on my own." Nolan sat down on the couch next to you. "Maybe, but only do that if you feel it's absolutely necessary. Sometimes this thing just happens- to teenagers especially, from what I've heard." You raised a brow. "Really?" He nodded, reassuringly. "Yeah, I think it has something to do with stress." You let out a breathy laugh. "That would make sense. But..." The image of your blackened eyes and bright iris flashed before you. It probably wouldn't be best to go to the doctors because of that part of it. "..." You left your sentence unfinished as Nolan, rubbing your shoulder. "It'll be fine." He gave you a quick smile before leaving up the stairs, likely to where Debbie resided.
A shaky breath left your lips as you curled into yourself, muttering. "I sure hope so."
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Even without Mark, the Grayson's felt nice to be with- albeit a hint more awkward. To you and you only, though, since both Debbie and Nolan seemed to enjoy your company. You weren't entirely sure why, but you decided that while they remained there, you wanted to stay with them. Perhaps it was still trying to grasp at the fading comforts of having company in the residence in which you slept? You could also always go to the Parrs' place, but, to put it simply, the Grayson's household felt more like a home to you than the Parrs'.
So, you slept there- even if you had to sleep on the couch while you were there, since they didn't have a guest bedroom. Or if they did, you didn't know, remember, or care to remember. The couch was really comfortable. You often awoke in the dead of night, distant memories of what should have been a nightmare falling away from you as you panted, finding yourself alone. Without fail, you would then drink a cold glass of water, and fall back asleep on the couch. But one night was a little different. The second night- the night before they left.
You had the nightmare again, and this time you remembered it.
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Once again, you were submerged, swallowed by the void of constant converged whiteness and blackness. No redness, though- not yet. No bloodshed will occur without your overseeing it. The only senses you had open to you were smell, taste, touch, and sound. Sight was lost to you within the void. "Hey." An unfamiliar and yet familiar voice. You definitely knew him- it sounded like a man- but you could not connect the voice to a person. "Wake up?" A moment of lingering silence, the whiteness darkened further into blackness, swirling and giving you a hint on the setting. "Okay, good." He mutterd. "No waking up this time, hopefully. There will be a rude awakening if you do." You felt a twinge in your arm- it pressed deep, the feeling spreading from the initial position in slow waves, ebbing from the needle-point. After a long moment, it released, and your arm no longer felt a sharp pain, but a sore and bruised one. There was the smell of iron mixed with what could only be explained as a doctor's office- isopropyl alcohol and blue rubber gloves. Unlike before, you could not move- not even twitch or flinch. You were paralyzed, lying on your side. Control over your vessel had left you, allowing you to rest. 'Bullshit.' You wanted to mutter, but you could not even move your lips to speak an utterance of a word.
Footsteps left you, and you were alone. 'Why am I still here?' You questioned, and a pit formed in your stomach. The scene was not finished. Time stretched, and what felt like moments turned to minutes- hours. Your body could move now- and you knew this because it began to move on its own. You allowed it, due to your morbid curiosity of it all, and since you feared if you didn't, it would ruin many things. The dread increased as you tread with unheard footsteps, creeping ever so slowly, hiding beside the front door. The cold wall against your back hinted at the fact. You stood there for more time still, feeling as though your chest would explode due to your heart's rapid beating. And although you felt your nerves, your body made no show of it, save for the slick sheet of sweat your skin had been covered in. Your toes curled against the wooden flooring, and your hands flexed against the walls, both of which cool with the night air as your body awaited its next action.
Then, you heard it. The front door's lock clicked as though someone were trying to get in. There were no sounds of cursing or muttering from the other side of the door, just silence as the lock clicked, being picked. And then, a final successful click, the type that sends a chill of satisfaction through you, as the door slowly swung open, a long and quiet creak sounding from it. You heard as the infiltrator entered, lightly closing the door behind them. Their boots lightly thudded against the food as they took one step, two steps, three steps into the house. Not a sound rose from you as you circled around the body, slowly reaching both hands out, trying to be sure of yourself while locating the enemy. A moment of stillness as death came upon you both, and the intruder seemed to sense it as well as they tensed, eyes widening. But they did not turn, not daring to, believing in simple paranoia, rather than ghosts and ghouls and death sworn children.
You proved to them that perhaps they shouldn't mark every myth with falsehood.
The moment you grabbed the back of their neck, they became visible, revealing to you a woman. A meth-head, or something of the sort, from the smell of it- rotten and sick with old odors and acrid breath. She was a silhouette of red, bright ebony emanating from where you held her. She shivered and quivered, but kept completely silent as the charcoal ran from your arm and through her. Loosening your grip, you circled her, so you could look her in the eye- even if you couldn't see her. But you wanted to face her, for some reason.
Death was there, creeping, ready to take her. But you did not allow it. You showed restraint. It was easy, since every nerve in your body, even the parts frozen in shock and disbelief for the situation, did not wish to have to kill again. After all, she was a simple robber, and perhaps a druggie. Not a murderer. There was no blood on her, only in her, and that blood was her own- although clogged and corrupted by substances. You released your hands, allowing her to drop to the floor- you hadn't realized you had even been holding her up, and especially not so hard. Your knuckles hurt with the effort you had put in. 'Don't return.' The words escaped your lips in a rasp of overlapping tones, and you sensed her nod as she ran out, not bothering with the door on her way out.
You let out a sigh, still not in complete control, but well enough in control to feel some panic. But also, not enough in control of yourself to allow it to overrun you, which you were actually thankful for. Heading for the door, you closed it behind her, and turned back towards the couch only to realize you still had a set of eyes on you. Your head slowly shifted up towards where the stairs would be. Red. gallons of the stuff, dripping, pouring, bleeding and falling from a figure. The figure had much blood, none of it his own to take. He had committed many atrocities and death. You could taste it, smell the metallic tang of it- the man's very soul was stained with bloodshed. The death within you hungered for it, but before the ability to take action had come upon you, the figure was right in front of you. He stood tall, and held a familiar scent and feeling, just in a different form. A much more precise, and deadlier form. Hands set themselves on your shoulders, igniting the figure in bright scarlet- it filled your vision so you could see nothing but the red of their blood. Wrongfully taken, wrongfully slain.
"Y/n? What is wrong- wake up!"
You shook, and felt his fingers dig into your shoulders as he leaned closer.
Sleepiness faded, and control returned as the shock of pain went through you.
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"Y/n?" You blinked, shaking your head and groaning- a groan that soon turned into a quiet yelp. "What? What- where am I? How did I-" You took a long look around you, and quickly the memories of the dream came back to you. Looking up to find Nolan, you frowned, holding his wrist. "Hold on-" Detaching his hands from your shoulders, you took a quick look around, and headed for the light. Flicking it on, you went back to the doorway, to find barely visible bootprints. "Oh God." Your eyes drifted down to your hands, the fingers tipped with sparkling charred black, broken flesh and blood beneath the nails. Fear and horror overwhelmed you as you hid your hands under your armpit, finding one of your arms sorer than the other with a wince. "What happened?" Nolan finally asked, and you turned towards him, eyes wide and alight with terror. Your eyes darted left and right, across the room, from your hands to the boot prints. You swallowed and took a breath. "I...I think someone tried to break in."
Nolan looked to the ground, noticing the boot prints. His brows rose. "You took care of it?" You slowly nodded. "I-I think so. I honestly don't really know." He let out a small hum, setting a hand on your shoulder, leading you back to the couch. "Tell me what happened." He had said it as though he partially already knew what had happened, he just wanted you to confirm things or fill in gaps.
"It felt like a nightmare. I couldn't see anything, or move, or even speak. Only feel, smell, hear, taste..." Of course you were going to tell him anyway. You trusted him.
"I was asleep- it was like sleep paralysis, but my eyes were still closed. Someone came in and- I don't know- gave me a shot? It felt like it, kinda." You still couldn't match the voice to anyone. Nonetheless, the sneaking feeling that it had occurred anyway became evident as you rubbed your arm, the area around where the needle had been feeling bruised with broken blood vessels. But when you looked at it, there was no evidence of there having been any sort of stab or wound.
"Then they left, and for a little while, I was alone. And then, my body began to move on its own. Now that I think about it, it feels as if I've done this before- like I've had a dream about this already, but don't remember." The past nightmares you had, although you didn't remember, felt as though they would overlap with this one. The only difference was that you had actually moved and done something.
"I got up and went over to the door, and hid there for a bit. The lock at the door was picked, and a lady came in. Then, I... I made myself known." You wanted to bite and pick at the blood beneath your nails- the tingling of the black of your fingertips had faded, but you knew the broken skin was still nestled beneath your nails. "I almost killed her, I think. I didn't though. I let her go and told her to leave, and she did. Then I think I was going to go back to sleep, but then there was someone at the top of the stairs. They were covered in blood- but not in the literal way. I still couldn't really see. There were just outlines, and a lot of... red." The fact that when you awoke Nolan had taken the place of the red and bloodied silhouette alarmed you, but you shook it off, trying not to think too much of it. You didn't want to look into it- you were pretty sure Nolan had a history he had likely told no one but his wife and maybe Cecil. You didn't want to find out about that part of him unless it was necessary, because it was more than likely dark, and full of death.
You don't think you'd be able to look at him the same way if you found out what it was that clouded him in blood and death.
"Then, you woke me up." You finished, sitting back and swathed with fuzzy blankets. Nolan shifted in his seat with a deep frown as he sat leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. He was clearly concerned about something, and seemed to be trying to piece things together within his mind. "This is a, uh- pretty extreme case of sleepwalking, huh?" He said, sitting him with an attempt of a playful smile on his face. You let out an awkward and breathy laugh, not knowing what to do either. "Yeah, no kidding." The blood beneath your nails began to grate on you mentally. You stood. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." He nodded, but said nothing as you left.
Shutting the bathroom behind you quietly, you flicked on the light and looked into the mirror. The first thing you noticed was the tips of black veins ebbing from the corners of your eyes and temples. You shut your eyes, frowning with a deep sigh. You came to deal with your hands. Surprisingly, they had no more blackness or darkness to them, unlike earlier. There was still dried blood crusted and collected beneath your nails, like the remnants of a picked scab. Just looking at them made you itch- even if it wasn't in a palace you could actually itch. So, you set to cleaning them out, washing your hands with warm water. In the shine of the wet, your nails looked longer, and sharper. Pursing your lips, you fished out a pair of nail clippers from a drawer, and clipped them. That helped in furthering your progress, since after you were finished cutting your nails, it was much easier to get out all of the gunk with warm water, soap, and a qtip.
When you came back downstairs, you arrived to see Nolan sitting more comfortably, instead of looking so stressed as he had been before. Though, he did cross his arms, which was the only show of discomfort present at the moment, surprisingly enough. If you excluded yourself, that is. "Well," Nolan started as you sat down, rewrapping yourself in blankets. "You didn't kill her. And that's a good thing. It means we can rest tonight without worrying about the possibility of you having killed someone- in your sleep of all things." He paused. "Do you think it could happen again?" You shrugged- you really couldn't tell, things were just getting really weird all of a sudden and you hadn't a clue why. It all started from when you first killed that murderer, and from there things had just been getting stranger. He stood. "Then you should be fine. But if it does happen again," He turned towards the stairs, signalling his leave. "Tell me." You nodded, the man watching you for a moment before leaving up the stairs, having gotten what he wanted.
A part of you expected more of a conversation, but at the same time, what else was there to say? What else was there to do? It's not like you could really go to the doctors for this sort of thing- it seemed far from normal, and Nolan knew that as well, from the looks of it. So, for now, since things weren't too bad, you'd live with it. And if it got worse... then you'd do what you had to, which could involve a long talk with Nolan or Cecil.
You hoped it wouldn't get to that point.