Page 30

Thirty

The air stank of antiseptic and stale mint—like someone had tried to scrub away emotion with disinfectant and gum.

I sat on the soft chair across from Dr. Reynolds, my arms folded too tightly across my middle. My knees bounced. My throat was dry. The hum of the fluorescent light buzzed in my teeth.

And something was wrong.

Not big wrong. Not sharp or obvious.

Just a pressure. A weight in the air. Like someone had opened a door in the back of the world and forgotten to close it.

I kept glancing toward the corner.

There was nothing there.

Of course there wasn’t.

But the shadow stretched too far. Curved wrong. Didn’t match the angle of the light. And every time I looked away, I felt it looking back.

“How’s your sleep been?” Dr. Reynolds asked, pen poised over her notepad. Her voice was soft. Professional. Laced with that sort of warmth meant to make people open up without realizing it.

I blinked at her.

Then blinked again.

Sleep.

Had I?

“Okay,” I said, after a beat too long. “I think. Better.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Moon had kept the nightmares away. The real ones, at least.

“And the disassociation?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Still feeling like you’re not fully present?”

My fingers twitched. My foot stilled.

Careful.

I felt it—not a voice, but the warmth curling low in my chest. Like sunshine licking along my ribs. Like a golden leash, tugging me gently backward from the ledge.

“I think I’ve been feeling more… grounded,” I said slowly. “Like I’m starting to get my feet under me again.”

That wasn’t a lie either.

Technically.

Dr. Reynolds nodded, jotting something down.

“I have to say,” she said gently, “your improvement this week has been significant. You’ve been showing up. Engaging. Eating well. It’s promising.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, and tried not to flinch at how still my voice was. Even. Smooth. Practiced.

Her smile tightened.

“I do want to ask one thing,” she added. “And I want you to be honest, Dawn.”

That made my spine lock up.

I nodded, fingers knotting together in my lap.

“Have you seen anything that didn’t feel… real? Or maybe more real than it should have?”

My pulse jumped.

The shadow in the corner twitched.

I swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

She watched me carefully.

“I mean hallucinations,” she said gently. “Sounds. Shapes. Movement in your peripheral vision. Feelings of being watched.”

I looked away.

The clock ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick.

My heartbeat was louder.

So loud I almost didn’t feel the shift until it was done.

The warmth inside me surged.

And just like that?—

My hands stopped shaking.

My voice smoothed like honey over glass.

“I think my anxiety makes me feel that way sometimes,” I said, Sun’s light curling around my ribs like a shield. “Like I’m anticipating something bad, even if it’s not there.”

Dr. Reynolds nodded slowly.

I could feel her weighing the words. Testing them for fractures.

But I was too polished now.

Sun had stepped in like a whisper behind my teeth, just enough to keep me steady. To make sure I didn’t say the wrong thing.

“I used to spiral a lot,” I said softly. “I think I’m just learning to recognize it now.”

Her shoulders softened.

The shadow in the corner faded.

Sun hummed with approval, and I felt it like a kiss behind my ribs.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Dr. Reynolds said.

I smiled. Not too much. Just enough.

Like a girl who was getting better.

I left the therapy room smiling.

Not because I felt better.

But because I knew how to lie with my face now.

The moment the door shut behind me, the warmth that usually curled low in my stomach—the hum of them—was gone.

Not dimmed.

Gone.

I made it halfway down the hallway before my chest tightened. My breath caught. My heart stuttered in that weird way it always did right before I slipped out of my own skin.

I knew what this was. Disassociation.

I’d read about it.

I'd talked around it.

I was living it.

And maybe—maybe this time it wasn't them pulling me under.

Maybe it never was.

That thought hit like ice shoved straight into my lungs—sharp, sudden, and impossible to breathe through.

Had I really been… hallucinating? The voices, the warmth, the touches, the hands guiding my own—Gods, the things I’d let happen ?—

My stomach turned.

No. No, they were real. They felt real.

But then again… didn’t all hallucinations?

And hadn’t I been told—somewhere, sometime—that if you stop acknowledging them, if you stop feeding them your attention, they go away?

I stopped walking. My knees locked.

So I tried it.

I pictured a blank wall in my mind.

No golden glow. No silver shadow.

No one.

Empty.

Silence stretched inside me like a rubber band pulled taut.

And then— It worked.

The hum? Gone.

The heat at the base of my skull that always let me know Sun was there, ready to whisper something stupid and sweet?

Snapped out like a light.

Moon’s watchful pressure, like he was always just behind my thoughts, one breath behind me?

Gone.

No whisper.

No warmth.

Just me.

Alone.

I staggered into my room, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed.

This was good. This was what I’d been told to do. Block it out. Starve the delusion. Get better.

Then why did it feel like dying?

I must’ve dozed. Maybe. The kind of sleep where your eyes are closed but your body’s too tight to fall.

That was when I felt it.

Not them.

It.

A shadow—thick and pulsing—coiling at the edge of my bed like a smoke that didn’t move right.

My eyes opened.

Nothing there.

But something was wrong with the air.

It didn’t buzz. It ached.

The corner of the room stretched too deep. The light bent around it weird. I blinked. Rubbed my eyes.

Still there.

Still nothing.

I sat up. “You’re not real,” I whispered.

The shadow moved.

Not closer.

Not away.

Just… aware.

I curled tighter.

“I’m not acknowledging you,” I said, louder this time. “You’re just a—just a part of my psychosis. You’re not real. You’re not.”

It pulsed.

And then I felt it.

A pull.

Like something had reached into the cavity behind my ribs and yanked.

I screamed.

Not out loud.

Inside.

Clawed at the void where Sun used to live. Where Moon used to steady me. Where their warmth had always been waiting.

Nothing.

I pushed them out.

And in doing so, I’d made room for something else.

Something worse.

I curled forward. Pressed my forehead to my knees. My nails dug into my arms so hard I felt blood rise under the skin.

The shadow laughed.

Not with sound.

With knowing.

It didn’t need my belief.

That’s what made it different.

It thrived in doubt.

I had locked my guardians out. And in their place, something else had walked in.

Something old.

Something hungry.

And that’s when?—

The air cracked.

Like the world held its breath?—

And they returned.

Sun exploded back into my mind like light through shattered glass. Warmth seared down my spine, wrapping my heart in a vice.

“Oh no no no no no—Sunshine, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here ? —”

Moon surged in behind him, colder, sharper, fury in his silence.

The pressure in the room shifted.

The shadow recoiled.

Sun roared.

Not with anger.

With terror.

“You let it in?” His voice trembled, not from rage—but from heartbreak. “You didn’t believe in us, and it found you?”

Moon didn’t speak.

He struck.

The room flickered. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the clash. The way Moon’s energy lanced through the air like a blade of winter. The way Sun flared around me, wrapping my body in warmth again, anchoring me.

“Why didn’t you let us stay?” Sun whispered, holding me from the inside, trembling. “We would’ve protected you from this. From everything. ”

“I thought I was losing it,” I choked, tears hot on my cheeks. “I thought—if I stopped feeding it—I could get better?—”

“You can’t starve out truth, ” Moon said, voice low and cutting. “But you can starve us. And when you do…”

“Other things come to eat what’s left,” Sun finished.

I sobbed.

Moon crouched at the edge of my thoughts. “We need your belief,” he said. “Not worship. Not obedience. Just— presence. Let us be real. Let us in.”

Sun pressed his hands around my heart.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let us protect what’s ours.”

I nodded.

Not because I understood.

But because I was too broken not to.

The second I did?—

The shadow shrieked.

And vanished.