Tyler tried to act normal.
The next morning, he showered, put on clean clothes, even brushed his hair—small, stupid things to make himself look fine. Jackson had already left for class, but the kitchen smelled faintly of coffee. A mug was waiting for him on the counter; his name scribbled on a sticky note: Drink something today. – J
Tyler stared at it too long. His chest ached, sharp and aching like glass pressing in. He wanted to believe he could just… drink the coffee, sit at the table, pretend the night before hadn't happened.
But the voice was already back.
Pathetic. You think caffeine will fix what's breaking?
The cup trembled in his hand. He slammed it into the sink hard enough that it cracked. His breath came in shallow bursts, head buzzing like a hornet's nest.
By the time Jackson returned that afternoon, Tyler had disappeared into his room again.
---
Later, Jackson knocked. "Ty? You've been locked up all day. I'm getting worried, man."
Tyler froze, back against the door. His heart screamed to let Jackson in, to confess, to beg for help. But the other presence pressed heavier than ever, slick and suffocating.
Don't you dare. He'll hate you when he knows. He'll see you for the monster you are.
"I'm fine," Tyler lied, voice hoarse. "Just tired."
Jackson lingered a moment. The sound of him shifting his weight, exhaling slow. Then footsteps retreating down the hall.
Tyler sagged against the wood, throat burning. In the mirror across the room, the reflection leaned closer, not in sync with him at all.