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The humming pauses just enough for her to lift her head and tell me, “We wrote it.”
I’m shaking my head. “No. It changed, remember? That’s not the one we…”
My voice dies off when my gaze dips to what she’s doing.
She’s not writing…
She’s drawing.
My vision tilts, fracturing sharply, blackening out for just a split-second.
And then she’s right in front of me, on her knees, arms looped loosely around my neck. A soft sort of wistful look overcomes her face, tilting her lips. “You okay?”
My pulse quickens, and it feels like I can’t catch my breath.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” I hear myself speaking, but I don’t feel my lips moving.
She cocks her head, and her nose wrinkles. “What do you mean?”
“They’re…they’re wrong.”
She blinks, and the tiny, barely-there gold flecks surrounding her pupils grow brighter, impossibly so, making it look like they’re shimmering.
My chest continues to squeeze, as my throat constricts, making it impossible to speak, much less breathe.
“Mason?” she says, and again the room shudders, winking in and out, like there’s a bad signal.
One moment she’s smiling, and the next she’s frowning, chin wobbling. Her amber eyes that aren’t actually hers well with tears, and my name echoing in the room is choked with grief. With fear. With desperation.
“How could you?” she whispers brokenly.
And I flinch back, tumbling off the bed into the slithering pit of shadows.
It’s cold, so cold…
I can’t stop shaking.
I can’t breathe.
My lungs…
Something’s not right.
I look around wildly, clutching my throat.
Izzy’s standing over me, and around her head, her room seems to sort of be…disintegrating. Piecing away, like skin being shed to reveal something else underneath.
Shaking my head rapidly, I look up at my girlfriend—bore my gaze into those not-right eyes—and I hear myself ask, “What’s happening?”
The black and pink bed behind her morphs into blues and grays.
The photos hanging all over her walls are gone, and in their place are shelves. Posters. Action figures.
“This isn’t your room,” I choke out. This time, I feel it. The words clawing their way out of my throat.
Izzy cocks her head. “No. It’s not.”
This time, she sounds angry. Accusatory.
