I slammed my locker shut, hoping the bang would scare off the two girls giggling behind me. It didn't. They walked off, whispering as always, pretending I was too broken to care. And maybe I was.
It had been a few days since I'd officially moved into Liam's house. My house—my real home—stood untouched, quiet, but soaked in something that made my skin itch. I couldn't go back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Amelia wasn't gone. She didn't scream in my ears anymore or make my eyes bleed. But she was still there. Whispering when I was alone. Humming when I sat near mirrors. Laughing quietly when I dared to feel okay.
School was… tolerable, which was honestly worse than hell. At least when it was unbearable, I could hate it freely. But now it was weirdly normal.
People had stopped being cruel.
Now they were just awkwardly nice.
Too nice.
"Hey, Emma," said Ravi, a guy who once laughed at Amanda's jokes. "Want my last brownie?"
"Uhhh," I blinked. "What?"
"You like chocolate, right? I just thought… you might want it."
I stared at the napkin-wrapped piece of brownie like it was a trap. "Thanks… I guess?"
He smiled nervously, shoved it into my hand, and speed-walked away like I might explode.
Chloe appeared next to me seconds later, eyebrows raised. "Did Ravi just bribe you with snacks?"
"Yup," I muttered. "I'm a charity case now."
Peter joined us from the vending machine, holding an orange soda in one hand and a disgusted face in the other. "I just saw three juniors talking about your 'glow-up.' Someone literally said, 'tragedy made her pretty.' Who says that?"
"I mean," Chloe said, glancing at me, "you do look extra mysterious now. Kind of goth, kind of tragic poet."
"Perfect," I muttered. "The haunted aesthetic."
"New trend," Peter said, nudging me. "You're cooler than TikTok."
We sat down in our usual spot under the stairs near the science block. The teachers rarely passed through here. It was one of the few places that felt normal.
For a moment, I actually smiled. A real one.
Then the lights above us flickered.
My smile vanished.
"Emma…" Chloe's voice was suddenly softer.
I closed my eyes. "She's here again."
A whisper tickled my ear. "You can't hide forever."
I flinched.
Peter's hand brushed mine. "It's her?"
I nodded.
"I thought Liam's house kept her out."
"It does," I whispered. "But I'm not there right now, am I?"
We sat in silence for a while. Chloe's hand slipped into mine on the other side. Their warmth grounded me.
"Maybe we can help," she said. "Figure out why she still has a link to you."
"Maybe…" I whispered. "Or maybe she just is part of me now."
Back at Liam's house that night, I sat in his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under me on the couch.
Liam tossed a pillow at me. "Hey. Earth to brooding witch. Dinner's in twenty."
I looked up from my notebook. "Sorry. Just writing."
He sat beside me, glancing at the page. "More poetry about blood and ghosts?"
"Dear diary," I said dramatically, "today the whispers returned and someone offered me a cursed brownie. I accepted."
He snorted. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want mac and cheese?"
"Yes."
He stood and ruffled my hair. "Good. Because I'm making the boxed kind. Don't complain."
I laughed. God, I needed to laugh.
"Thanks, Liam," I said quietly.
He paused. "For what?"
"For being normal."
He turned halfway. "That's the nicest insult I've ever gotten."
Later that night, I couldn't sleep. My room in Liam's house was quiet. Too quiet. I missed the creak of my old window, the way my bed slanted slightly to the right.
But I didn't miss the shadow in the hallway.
I sat up and whispered, "Amelia?"
Nothing.
I got up, walked to the mirror, and stared.
My reflection blinked back, tired but whole.
Then a flicker.
My eyes in the mirror weren't mine. They were sharper. Older. Hers.
"You belong to me now," she said.
"I don't," I snapped. "Not here."
"I always find you, Emma."
"Then I'll keep running," I said.
She smiled. "Until when?"
I threw the bedsheet over the mirror.
"Forever," I whispered. "If I have to."
---
The voice echoed even after I opened my eyes.
"You belong to me now."
My breath hitched in the darkness, my chest rising and falling like I'd just been yanked from underwater. My bedsheets were twisted around me, damp with sweat, and I could still feel her voice wrapping around my throat like vines. I sat up in bed too fast, dizzy, hands trembling as they clawed through my tangled hair.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
But it wasn't just a dream. I knew that. She wasn't done with me.
I hugged my knees to my chest, curling into myself like I could make my body disappear if I just folded small enough.
The silence of the room pressed into my ears like cotton. No creaking window. No humming radiator. Just Liam's guest room, painted soft blue and shadowed with moonlight. Supposed to be my safe space. But it didn't feel safe anymore.
My throat tightened. I didn't want to cry.
I just wanted...
Liam.
Almost on autopilot, I slipped out of bed, tiptoed across the wooden floor barefoot. I didn't bother grabbing a hoodie or socks. My skin was too hot anyway, burning with leftover panic.
I crept down the hallway, past the living room where the TV glowed quietly—he must've forgotten to turn it off. The door to his room was cracked open just a sliver. Moonlight slanted through the blinds, spilling across the carpet.
I stood there for a long second, hesitating.
This was dumb. I was fifteen, not five. I wasn't supposed to crawl into someone else's bed just because I had a nightmare. But my feet were already moving before my brain caught up. Gently, slowly, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Liam was asleep, half-tangled in his blanket, one arm flopped off the edge of the bed like a child who lost a fight with gravity. His chest rose and fell steadily, soft and even, like nothing in the world could touch him.
I tiptoed closer. The floor creaked slightly.
He didn't stir.
For some reason, I felt a lump rise in my throat—something soft and aching. I'd never seen Liam like this. Vulnerable. Calm. Usually he was loud and sarcastic and bossy. But right now… he just looked safe.
Without overthinking, I slipped onto the bed beside him.
I didn't wake him.
I just... curled up, facing him, my hand tentatively resting close to his pillow. His breathing continued steady, unfazed, and my eyes fluttered shut as I let my body relax for the first time that night.
It felt warm here. Steady. Like the world had paused and decided to let me catch my breath.
Without realizing, I inched closer—my head resting gently against his shoulder, arms loosely wrapping around his waist as I drifted against him.
I didn't even notice when my body stopped shaking.
Didn't notice when sleep finally, finally pulled me under.
---
I woke to the sound of a sleepy groan.
The room was bathed in soft morning light now, pale and golden. Liam stretched slightly, shifting under the blanket—and then froze.
"...Emma?"
His voice cracked with surprise, half-sleep, half-confusion.
My eyes fluttered open just as his did. Our faces were inches apart, and I could literally feel his heartbeat through the shirt I was snuggled against.
"Oh," I mumbled, blinking. "Hey."
He blinked again. "What the—wait—did we—? Did you—?"
"I had a bad dream," I whispered.
"Oh." He stared at me. "And... you just... snuck in here?"
"I mean," I mumbled, suddenly aware of how close we were, "you were asleep. I didn't want to be alone."
For a moment, Liam didn't say anything.
Then he let out the softest breath, somewhere between amused and helpless.
"I thought you were some kind of sleep demon," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Nearly karate-chopped you in my dream."
I gave a tiny laugh, pulling the blanket up to hide half my face. "Sorry."
He turned slightly so we were lying side by side, both of us staring at the ceiling now. His arm brushed mine and neither of us moved it away.
"You okay now?" he asked after a beat.
"Kind of," I said. "It's like... she's still there. Even when I try not to think about her. Like something's rotting in the corners of my mind."
Liam didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached over, gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and said, "Then I guess we keep the lights on until the rot goes away."
I turned to face him again, heart lurching in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "You don't have to keep rescuing me, you know."
He smiled, soft and crooked. "Who said anything about rescuing? I like having you here. I like knowing you're safe."
I didn't say anything. I just stared at him.
My hand found his under the blanket and held it.
"Thanks," I whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know," I said. "But I still want to."
And just like that, the butterflies returned.
Gentle. Persistent. Real.
For once, Amelia was silent.
And all I could hear was Liam's steady breath, and the small hum of the world trying to return to something almost okay.