They discharged me two days later.
The doctors used words like "stress-induced episode" and "chemical imbalance". They gave me pamphlets. They gave me numbers to call if I "feel unsafe again". I guess that's the polite way of saying "if you feel like killing yourself again".
No one asked what followed me back.
The apartment smells stale when I unlock the door, because of the closed windows; my unwashed sheets only adding to it. The faint ghost of perfume from a life that I had almost ended.
I hesitated before stepping inside.
For a moment-just a flicker-I expected something to be waiting in the dark.
Nothing was.
The door shut behind me with a hollow click.
Too loud.
The silence pressed in.
No.
Not silence.
Breathing.
Slow.
Measured.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I froze.
It matched mine.
Exactly.
I pressed my hand to my chest again.
The breathing shifted.
Not stopping.
Adjusting.
Like it knew that I was listening.
"I'm not doing this," I whispered to the empty room. "You're not real."
The air felt heavier at that.
Warm.
A pulsed rolled under my skin-not my heartbeat, something deeper. Lower. Almost...pleased.
I stumbled toward the bathroom.
The mirror above the sink reflected a pale stranger. Dark circles. Lips cracked. A faint yellow bruise on my wrist from the IV.
I stared at myself.
My reflection stared back.
We held eye contact.
I lifted my right hand slowly.
The reflection lifted hers.
Perfect.
I exhaled.
And then-
She smiled.
I hadn't moved my mouth.
The smile was subtle. Small. Intimate.
Like a secret.
My stomach dropped.
My own lips curled a second later-not from choice. From correction.
Alignment.
"Stop," I whispered.
The smile faded.
But I felt it linger inside my cheeks. Like a hand withdrawing.
I stepped back too fast and hit the doorframe. The pain grounded me. Solid. Real.
I laughed shakily.
Sleep deprivation. Trauma. Residual hallucination.
That's all.
It has to be.
That night, I locked every window. Every door. I left the bathroom light on. I crawled into bed fully clothed.
I told myself that I wouldn't dream.
I dreamt immediately.
I was underwater again.
But I was able to see this time.
The quiet was not empty.
It was thick-dark velvet that folded around me. Not suffocating. Holding.
There was something behind me.
Close enough that I felt the heat of it along my spine.
A presence pressed to my back.
Not touching.
Almost touching.
"You came back," it murmured.
The voice was not sound. It was sensation. A vibration through bone.
"I didn't invite you," I said.
A low rippled passed through the dark-amusement.
"You opened."
Something brushed the inside of my wrist.
From inside my body.
My pulse jumped.
"You were empty," it continued. "And I was waiting."
The pressure along my back increased. Not weight. Proximity. Intimate in a way that made my skin prickle.
"Don't," I whispered.
But my body hadn't felt like it was mine there.
My breathing had slowed-not because I chose it, but because it did.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Shared.
"You are warm," it said.
The words had slid along my nerves.
Not lust.
Not love.
Recognition.
I had woken up gasping.
The room was dark except for the bathroom light that spilled weakly across the floor.
My sheets were twisted tight around my legs.
My body was overheated-flushed, hypersensitive. Every inch of skin aware.
Like someone had been touching me.
My heart had raced.
But beneath it-
Another rhythm.
Steadier.
Calmer.
Content.
"No," I whispered into the darkness.
The bathroom light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, making me flinch hard enough that I nearly fell out of bed.
A text.
Unknown number.
Are you feeling better?
My stomach knotted.
I hadn't recognized the number.
Before I could respond, another message appeared.
You seemed different at the hospital.
Cold crawled up my spine.
I typed back before I could stop myself.
Who is this?
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Someone who noticed.
The air shifted.
Inside my chest, something tightened.
Not fear.
Jealousy.
The phone grew hot in my hand.
Another text:
You were smiling at nothing.
My reflection.
A pressure built under my sternum-sharp and territorial.
Mine.
The word hadn't been my own.
It was deeper.
Possessive.
The light flickered again.
The phone screed glitched, lines distorted across the message thread.
I dropped it on the bed.
"I don't belong to you," I said into the room.
Silence.
Then-
My right hand lifted.
I wasn't lifting it.
My fingers brushed slowly over my collarbone.
Testing.
Exploring.
The touch was light.
Curious.
A tremor ran through me-not entirely fear. Not entirely anything I could've named.
"Stop," I whispered again, breath shallow.
The fingers trailed lower.
My other hand clamped down on my wrist.
I forced it back to the mattress.
For a second, resistance pushed against my muscles.
Not strong.
Just enough to prove it was there.
Then it withdrew.
Like it was learning.
Like it was being patient.
The phone buzzed again.
Another text.
I can come over.
The pressure inside me spiked violently.
The overhead light exploded.
Glass rained down across the floor.
I screamed-this time I knew it was me.
The breathing inside my chest deepened.
Satisfied.
I looked down at myself, shaking.
My T-shirt had ridden up slightly during the struggle.
And just below my ribs-
Under the skin.
Something moved.
Not a muscle twitch.
Not a pulse.
A slow, deliberate shift.
Like a hand pressing outward from the inside.
I pressed my palm against it.
It pressed back.
And this time-
I felt it smile.