FOUR

~Luella 

I stare at myself in the mirror. 

The dark shadows under my eyes have only increased in their pigment. Meeting Revel and the reaction my therapist had to his existence has unnerved me. I’ve extended my usual routine of avoiding sleep to past midnight. I’m not excited about seeing Revel in my dreams tonight, and not having any control to ask him why he is tormenting me like this. 

“Maybe this is just you going crazy,” I mutter, pulling my eyelid up to see how bloodshot my eyes are. Either there is something intrinsically wrong with me, or I’m reading too far into the odd night terror and hallucination. 

Now that sounds insane. 

Pulling my hair back into a bun, I look at how angular my face looks. I’ve never looked so sick, with my papery looking skin and sullen eyes. At one point in my life, I admired the green flecks within my hazel eyes, but now they have lost all familiar colour. I don’t remember the last time I ate a full meal, and I’ll use the fact that the rain hasn’t cleared up as an excuse for not seeing the sun. 

Thunder cracks outside, accompanied by heavy rain. I’m not sure who got upset to cause this weather. 

Whirling around, I quickly stop my running bath. Hopefully the hot water and wafting steam will be enough to calm and relax to the point where I can consider sleeping. Leaning over it, I open the window enough to let the sound of the thunder and rain outside in, before undressing. I’ve always been a fan of the ominous storm sounds. It helped me as a writer, so now I hope it will help me sleep. 

Stepping into the water, I glide beneath the surface until only my neck and head are above the waterline. It feels good to be encompassed by warmth. 

If only everything were so simple. 

What if all this is real, and I’m not hallucinating? What if I am actually being visited by a Sin, who lives in a territory halfway across the land? I’m not sure where I must have read about him, to start having dreams about those eyes, but it was surely in a late night reading session where I fell asleep with the book on my face, and woke with no memory of the last words I read. 

“Why is my life so complicated? Why not Della’s? Why not Julian’s?” I say aloud, tracing the surface of the water with the tip of my finger, watching the ripples flutter away from me. 

Even my book characters have safer lives than me. They have answers to their queries, reasons for their insanity. And yet here I am, completely unsure of where tomorrow will take me. Or tonight, even. I’m not looking forward to another night of torment. Last nights was the first time it deviated from the usual circumstances. It’s like being stuck in a prison. 

Lying back, I close my eyes. Should I just let the water take me?

“Isn’t it a shame that just when you thought mortal life was tortuous and confusing enough, you’re thrust into a world with magic and immortals,” I hear suddenly, filling the space where thunder sounds should have echoed. 

Glancing up, I see a man sitting in the bath with me, lounging back against the porcelain. 

My heart skips a beat, but I don’t move, I don’t panic. It’s the man from my dreams, but not Revel. I’ve never seen such a clear, focused image of him before, so seeing him lying in my bath with me, knocks the breath out of my lungs. 

He stares at me, those silvery eyes glinting through the veil of steam in front of me. They aren’t the hard, mercury silver of Revels, but more a cloudy, faint silver. Either the steam is playing tricks on me, or I actually can see built up mist within his irises, swirling around, unruly and wild. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. His hair is a smudge of inky black, only defined by the slight curl to each strand. 

“I’m hallucinating. Again,” I breathe, tipping my head back, defeated. 

“Is that really such a bad thing?” He murmurs. 

When I glance back up at him, I’m unsure of how this could be happening. He looks so real, sitting there, watching me intently. His bare shoulders, neck and chest that remains above water, are so perfectly beaded with bath water. Below the surface, whatever might be revealed underneath is manipulated by the ripples of the water. 

I could reach out and touch him, but I avoid the thought. In my rational mind, I know factually that he doesn’t exist. But I can’t bring myself to just drag my fingers under water and maybe touch his skin...

“I don’t know what’s real or what’s not anymore, so you tell me,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze. “But then again, I suppose you can’t, because you’re some kind of figment of my imagination. Where did you even come from anyway?”

“You seem frustrated. You should just try to relax,” he soothes. 

He really does have a calming voice. It’s deep, smooth and entwined with the slightest hint of an accent. If I allow myself to dream, he sounds magical. 

“Is this my subconscious trying to convince me not to kill myself? To put my head under the surface and end it all?” I comment, considering my previous dark thoughts. I would have never done it, but the thought of putting these hallucinations to rest was tempting. 

God. What would Della say if she were here?

“There’s always a simpler answer than you might think. You’re just looking too hard,” the stranger comments. 

Breathing out my nose with a huff, I study him. I’m trying to search for a flaw to suggest that he might actually exist outside of my mind. Perfect shining hair, magical eyes, flawless skin, immaculate bone structure. His lips are full, his voice is gentle. Even his nose fails to show a single bump out of shape. Nope, definitely come out of my mind, for sure. 

“Who are you anyway? Why do you look vaguely familiar?” I question, taking a moment to glance down at myself through the water. Not that he has even considered casting a glance down at my body, but I’m not concerned anyway. This is all in my head. 

“Well isn’t it pointless asking questions if you’re just asking them to yourself?” He asks, tilting his head. 

I narrow my eyes on him. 

“So you admit, you are just a figment of my imagination?”

He raises an eyebrow. 

Loosening a breath, I lean back again, wishing the sound of the thunder and rain could quite literally wash away all my problems. At least this bath is still hot, and an even hotter male is sitting in here with me. Maybe I’ll steal his appearance and use it on one of my own characters. 

“I’m crazy. This is a coping method. For having no friends or family who actually care about me. Or maybe this is a symptom of writing way too much. But no therapist knows the answer, so here I am, ranting to a random guy in my bathtub who actually doesn’t exist. But you know what, it’s actually making me feel better,”

I tell him. 

I haven’t had the chance to let my feelings off my chest in awhile, so once I finally do, I feel much lighter. All along, I knew I could only trust myself to deal with my problems. No one else wants to hear them, so I resurrect the man from my dreams into a bathtub with me and pretend he cares enough to listen. 

It’s truly sad...

“Maybe don’t read between the lines so much. Maybe it’s not just all in your head,” he tells me, to which I only roll my eyes. 

“Yeah yeah,” I reply. 

The sound of water moving makes me open my eyes and glance up again. The man is suddenly so much closer, having sat up out of the water, looking down at me. I feel obliged to sit up also, until our faces are close enough to feel actually breath against me, and his limbs are close enough to touch my skin. Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to play out some kind of sad situation to make me feel better?

“Wake up,” he breathes. 

My eyes open. 

The bath water is cold, and my back and shoulders ache. My head is resting back against the edge, my hair tangled up in the faucet. Once I’ve fully removed myself from the side of the bath, I sit up. Glancing down at my hands, I find them wrinkled beneath the murky bath water. 

How long have I been asleep? 

I must have fallen asleep quite early into my bath, and subsequently, started dreaming about an attractive man giving me life advice. That’s truly sad, Luella. 

Struggling out of the bath, I quickly dry myself off, listening to the persistent hum of the fan above me. The rain has stopped now. 

Once I’m fully dressed, I wander into my bathroom, ready to collapse into my sheets and hope the same man appears to help me through another nights sleep. I somehow doubt that, though, since nothing ever typically goes my way. Not recently, anyway. 

Just as I slide into bed, I notice a note sitting above my therapists drawing. It’s written elegantly, short and sweet. 

Luella,

Overthinking is a mortal curse. Allow yourself to fully be free, and perhaps everything will make sense. 

And remember, always read between the lines.

Blinking a few times, I go over the note multiple times before I put it down. I’ve had enough strange occurrences to last me a lifetime. Tomorrow I’ll deal with it. 

And hopefully the note will be right.