Page 14 of Stalked By the Alphas

13

HAZEL

My head throbs as I slowly regain consciousness. I blink, disoriented, trying to piece together what happened. I’m slumped at the top of the stairs, wet and shaking.

Sitting up with a groan, panic creeps in as memories of earlier flood back. The blank card, my meltdown at the police station, the crushing anxiety. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it all to be a bad dream. But the ache in my head and stiffness in my limbs are all too real.

Slowly, I push myself up to sit, fighting a wave of dizziness. I need to pull myself together. I can’t keep falling apart like this.

With shaky legs, I stand and make my way to the bathroom. The face staring back at me in the mirror is pale and drawn, with dark circles under my eyes. I barely recognise myself.

But even as I try to rally myself, doubt gnaws at me. Am I really losing my mind? Imagining threats that aren’t there? Or is something sinister actually happening?

I grip the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths. I need to be rational about this. Maybe I did imagine the masked magician card and photo, or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.

I splash cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. Frowning, I open the medicine cabinet above the sink and pick up the bottle of herbal tablets. Could it be these giving me hallucinations? I scan the label, but there is nothing on it to suggest such extreme side effects. But that doesn’t mean anything. I should go back and see them tomorrow and ask the question, to see if they can help me figure this out.

Replacing it, I head back downstairs, rubbing my head where I banged it. In hindsight, the time out did me good. I may have an idea of why this is happening to me, so I just need to stay away from the herbal tablets until I can figure this out. I pick up the bottle of water from halfway down the stairs and take a long drink. When I reach the bottom, I pick up the cam-bear and place it by the front door before I pick up the voile and pole, I dropped when I came in. Taking them back upstairs with my phone, I set about putting them up in my bedroom window, although now I’m wondering if this is even necessary. It was only because I thought someone was taking pictures of me, but that picture didn’t even exist. With a sigh, I leave it up and straighten the voile. Closing the curtains for good measure, I strip off and head to the shower, needing to wash away the sweat and dampness that this afternoon has caused.

The hot water cascades over me, easing some of the tension from my muscles. As I wash, I try to sort through the jumbled mess of thoughts in my head.

It’s got to be the tablets. It’s the only explanation. After all, there’s no concrete evidence that anyone is actually stalking me or trying to harm me. The photo and card turned out to be figments of my imagination. The masked figure in the alley could have easily been some harmless random man that I made into a sinister figure in my mind.

I step out of the shower, feeling slightly calmer. Wrapping myself in a fluffy towel, I pad back to my bedroom.

I quickly put on my oversized tee, determined to have something to eat and maybe read before trying to get a restful night’s sleep. But before I do that, I have to get rid of the tablets from my system.

Going back to the bathroom, I stare at the toilet. I’ve never made myself sick before. But I know how this works. If I stick my fingers down my throat, my gag reflex will kick in, and I’ll throw up, hopefully getting rid of whatever is left of the tablets in my stomach.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This isn’t going to be pleasant, but I need to do it. I need to get these tablets out of my system and clear my head.

Kneeling in front of the toilet, I raise my trembling hand to my mouth. I hesitate for a moment, then plunge two fingers down my throat. My gag reflex kicks in immediately, and I retch violently, my stomach heaving.

The contents of my stomach splash into the toilet bowl. I cough and splutter, tears streaming down my face as I continue to heave. It’s awful, but I force myself to keep going until I’m sure I’ve emptied my stomach completely.

Finally, I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth on toilet paper. I feel weak and shaky, but also strangely cleansed. After flushing the toilet, I stand on wobbly legs and rinse my mouth out at the sink.

As I look at my pale reflection in the mirror, I make a vow to myself. No more tablets. No more paranoid thoughts. From now on, I’m going to focus on reality and stop letting my imagination run wild. I will have to deal with my anxiety without a crutch. I can do this. It’s not like I haven’t for years before now.

I make my way downstairs, still feeling a bit unsteady. In the kitchen, I grab another bottle of water and sip it slowly. My stomach feels raw and empty, but I know I need to eat something to keep my strength up.

I settle for some plain toast, nibbling on it as I curl up on the sofa with a book. The familiar words of my favourite novel soothe me, helping to quiet the anxious thoughts still swirling in my mind. It’s too quiet, though, even though I usually like it this way. Tonight, it feels unnerving. I flick the TV on for a bit of background noise and go back to my book.

As I read, my eyelids grow heavy. The emotional and physical toll of the day catches up with me, and I find myself drifting off. I don’t fight it, pulling the throw over me, hoping that sleep will help reset my frazzled nerves.