Massacre.

Something is different and I’m not sure what to make of it.

Lately, I find myself compelled to come out of my room and share space with Howell.

I still don’t look at him even though I can feel his gaze on me.

If he’s reading at a chair next to the window, I’m in the same room sitting at the opposite end. If he’s cooking in the kitchen, I’m at the table with my head down and eyes closed. I kind of want to be around him, but also don’t.

Howell is beginning to retreat to his room more and more.

His book closes or he turns of the stove and then he swiftly makes his way out of the room.

He looks exhausted and sick most of the time.

There’s this fear and doubt that sometimes pools into my stomach because I am trying and it feels like he’s not. What if he isn’t different from Reaper? What if it will all just be the same?

Am I just a burden and nuisance again?

I don’t know how to feel.

I don’t know how things will be.

I can feel this desire inside me to be around him. I want his presence to bring me comfort again.

But I also feel dread and uneasiness.

My tattoo, the mating mark itches sometimes. Sometimes it stings. I can feel it grow hot. It’s feels uncomfortable.

It’s harder for me to sleep. I dream a lot. I dream about Reaper’s disgusted face. I dream about Howell’s eyes. I dream about being consumed by black tendrils.

I wake up in cold sweats or gasping for breath. I try to sleep again but it's difficult.

There is this foreboding feelings that runs deep and it’s starting to make me feel sick. I don’t know what to do.

~

I wake up in a panic, my body flying off the bed as I struggle to balance on my feet. I try to gain control of my breathing. My fingers dig into the skin below my collar bone. The mating mark pulses with pain.

I try to breath, to clear my head and shake away the negative emotions running through me.

Why do I feel like this?

I hold my breath for a moment in an attempt to calm myself.

That’s when I hear him.

I can hear Howell rushing down the hallway, his feet are heavy. I think he’s coughing but it’s muffled.

I carefully walk out my room and to the end of the hallway. I peak around the corner and watch him struggle to contain his coughing fit with one hand over his mouth and the other filling up a glass of water. He chugs the water and sets the glass down.

He’s trying to catch his breath.

The coughing fit just continues. He starts to rush out of the kitchen, so I back into my room. I press myself against the wall and listen.

He doesn’t make it to his room though.

He’s in the hallway bathroom, coughing up a storm. It hurts my ears. It sounds like it hurts.

And then I can hear him gag and spit, like he’s throwing up.

He is not okay.

I debate closing the door or checking on him.

My mating mark makes the choice for me. The pain increases and I start to feel sick myself.

I carefully and quietly walk out of my room and across the hall. I timidly peak my head into the restroom.

I am not ready.

I am not prepared for what I see in front of me.