Mine

She mourned for weeks after discovering the body of that peasant. I understood this, she was only human, after all, and allowed her the space needed.

Well, not really, but she didn't see me in the night, in the dark. Couldn't feel me as I stood in the corner of her room, watching her toss and turn, and cry in her sleep. In the dark, in the night.

As the days wore on and she began to noticeably calm down, I began to make my presence known in subtle ways.

While she was out, I would lie on her pillow so when she returned to bed in the night, she would smell my scent and think of me.

I would leave more roses, no longer carrying my notes, around her apartment in odd places; the bathroom cupboard, under a couch cushion, in her lingerie drawer.

I would finger the word "Mine" on her bathroom mirror, so when she stepped out of the shower, the steam would cause the letters to appear.

I would whisper her name whenever she was near, making her jump and look around frantically for the source of the sound, though she could never find it.

I would allow her to catch slight glimpses of me in the street, but would disappear as quickly as I had come, making her think she was seeing things. Seeing, hearing, smelling me everywhere she turned.

I watched with increasing joy as her sanity began to waver with each new reminder of me.

She began staying home more often, losing her job and most of her friends in the process.

She would pull at her hair, yanking clumps out at a time.

She would sit on the floor, rocking back and forth, her body shaking uncontrollably and her fingers scratching at her arms until they bled.

She became as skittish as mouse, even the slightest of sounds causing her to jump nearly out of her skin and scream at the top of her lungs.

She was almost ready for me. She was alone and broken and mine.

Faith's POV

Everywhere I turned, he was there. I saw him in my nightmares, in my dreams, and in my waking hours. I couldn't get rid of him. He was there when my eyes were open, and he hid behind my lids when my eyes were closed. I smelled him in my bed and heard his whispers in the dark. I could feel him. He was under my skin, and I clawed at it desperately, until my nails bent back, blood dripping to the floor, and my skin was raw with nowhere left to scratch.

I yanked out my hair and screamed until my voice was hoarse. I saw him in shadows and feared opening my door and seeing someone else's body lying lifeless on the threshold.

I found roses everywhere and smelled them even when they weren't around. I came to not only loathe the flower, but fear it as well. Walking past a flower stand would leave me panicking and shaken, tears streaming down my face as I ran home.

I became not only a prisoner in my own home, but in my own mind as well; seeing things that weren't there, hearing things when there was nothing to hear. My mind began to play tricks on me and soon enough, I had trouble deciphering reality from fantasy.

After months of mental torture from the strange, beautiful demon that haunted my life: mind, body and soul, I decided it was time to take my own sort of action. Doing the best I could, I began seeing a psychiatrist. I needed Johnathan out of my head if I ever hoped to live a normal life again. I saw the path I was on, and it was leading me straight to an institution, of this I was positive. I needed help, if only for some form of sedative to keep the images that lurked behind my eyes at bay.

The air was crisp and the wind blew cold on the night of my first appointment with Dr. Banner. Things had gone well enough, but I didn't see a peaceful end to my brewing insanity anywhere on the horizon, nor did I think Dr. Banner saw one.

I hugged myself tight as I walked down the dark street, my eyes shooting everywhere at once. He always seemed so close, even though I only ever caught faraway glimpses of his retreating form. I found myself wishing, more often in recent days, that he would finally come out of hiding and end things. I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted to die. To be at peace. Once, I had held a razor to my wrist, and with shaking hands, willed myself to pull downwards, but my body wouldn't comply. I couldn't do it. I silently begged for the end.

I heard whispers of my name on the wind. FaithFaithFaith it called to me, sending waves of panic through my body and causing me to turn in every direction, looking for the source. But there wasn't one. There never was.

Heels clicked on the pavement behind me and I jumped, flashing back to the day I had met him and the sounds of his boots on the sidewalk behind me. I moved faster, head down, wind whipping past my ears. My apartment was in sight. So close. Another hundred feet or so. Almost there. The footsteps behind me became more swift, the faster I moved. I dared not turn around. I didn't want to see the devil at my back.

FaithFaithFaith, the wind mocked me.

Noises surrounded me. Streetlamps flickered in and out. Heels moved faster, closer, louder, looming right on top of me. I cried out into the wind and jumped into an alley. The heels paused for a moment, but kept moving past me. Leaving me to the taunting wind and the darkness.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

And then I heard the laughter.

It rumbled in the night, cutting through the wind and the darkness like a knife.

"Beautiful Faith. You've found me. I knew you'd come."