Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

5. Maeve

Chapter 5

Maeve

My chin slips out from where it was resting in my open palm and I startle awake, quickly straightening myself up on the chair I’m sitting in. I glance around, worried I might have been caught dozing off, but the lobby is as quiet as always.

Now I understand why there wasn’t much training involved in the position: I’m a glorified night guard. In the four days I’ve been employed, a guest has only needed my assistance once.

I’m bored out of my mind most of the time.

There’s something about the early morning hours that feels like time has simply stopped and I’ve been forgotten inside a pocket of time in a far corner of the universe.

I try to occupy myself by reading or jotting down half-finished poems in my small notebook.

But …

I can’t evade the unnerving feeling that’s been plaguing me since I woke up in the graveyard nearly a week ago. I break out in goosebumps anytime my mind drags me back to that memory .

I don’t have any answers—and I don’t think I ever will.

I also can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I can never seem to escape the feeling, whether it’s here during my long shifts at the reception desk, or my late lunches in the hotel restaurant, or even in my bedroom at night.

It’s like a subtle prickle. A nearly-there tingle.

I don’t think I would be so sensitive to it if I hadn’t experienced the terror of being buried alive. Even if it was just a vivid nightmare … it certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Excuse me.”

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, polite voice. Looking up, I find a young woman in a cream floor-length nightgown standing by the desk. I notice she’s barefoot but quickly avert my eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter as an apology, quickly stepping off the chair, trying to look more alert. “I didn’t notice you there.”

She quietly smiles, her red hair falling nearly down to her hips. “No need to apologize. It’s just —” Her smile drops as she looks around the lobby. “It’s silly really, but I can’t seem to remember my room number. Do you think you can help me?”

“Of course,” I say. “Let me just grab the guest book in the back office.”

She nods sweetly, hands poised together near her waist. I find the guest book on the desk. “What did you say your name was?” I ask, keeping my head down as I sift through the pages. When she doesn’t immediately answer, I look up.

She’s disappeared.

Dropping the book beside me, I lean against the reception desk to better look around—no sign of her. I crane my neck to look down the darkened corridor, but it’s empty.

“Okay …” I say slowly, elongating the word for dramatic effect. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

I think I hear faint footsteps approaching from the other side and whip my head around but see no one. My nape tingles for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time I ignore it and sit back down. I check the time. “Only four more hours,” I say out loud with a sigh, my chin finding its way back to my open palm as I rest my elbow against the desk.

Time slows back to a crawl.

I struggle to stay awake.

I’m flung back into awareness.

I’m … I—I’m naked in a bathtub and try to scream but nothing comes out. I try to move, try to pull myself out of the water, but I can’t seem to move my limbs. It’s hard to describe pure, unadulterated fear when every single piece of myself is focused on how to stop the feeling.

It’s instinctual. The lizard part of the brain desperate to survive, desperate to protect.

My arm moves.

If I could scream, my lungs would be burning from the strain because I’m not the one moving my arm. I can’t stop it. The only thing I seem to control is the tears streaking down my cheeks.

My hand reaches for the blade resting on the side of the bathtub, and the terror that accompanies it feels damn near fatal.

The bathroom is eerily quiet while I’m banging against the walls of my consciousness, pleading to get out.

Please. Please.

The soft drip of water falling from the faucet. The low hum of the fan in the other room.

Everything sounds so domestic.

So mundane.

Time slips by and the droning of life continues unencumbered as I experience the most terrifying seconds of my life.

My hand grips the razor, slowly reaching for my opposite wrist.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening.

Who is controlling my body?

This can’t be happening.

Don’t do this. Please. Don’t do this. Please.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

My sobs are silent, but they deafen me as I continue to plead with no one but myself.

The blade touches my skin. My consciousness falters, blackening at the edges as I try my hardest to stay alert, knowing all too well how this will end.

My hand presses down hard, the blade piercing the skin, and I watch with horror as the first drop of blood appears.

This is it.

I’m going to die here.

A presence shadows the doorway, but I can’t look up, still a prisoner trapped in my own body. I watch as a hand sheathed in a leather glove reaches for the blade and throws it against the wall.

Suddenly, I’m propelled back into myself, and the first thing I do is let out a blood-curdling scream. My eyes snap to the figure standing over me as I bring my knees up to my chest, the water sloshing in waves over the edge of the bathtub.

Their face is covered by a long black sheet falling over their broad shoulders; otherwise, they are dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt, black leather gloves covering their hands. The sheet molds over their face, a whisper of a square jaw underneath .

But there’s nothing casual about this. I’m frozen. Even though I’m now capable of moving, I still find myself unable to do so. My gaze is locked on this … this … man?

He steps forward, and I spring back to life, trying to distance myself from him, but quickly realize that I have nowhere to escape.

My head thunks against the bathroom tiles behind me as he leans down and reaches for me. My heart beats wildly, my breathing strained and ragged when his thumb touches my bottom lip. The smell of leather reaches my nose, and I grow still. I can almost feel his eyes trained on me while he drags his thumb across my lip. His touch is rough but somehow gentle all at once.

The mundane sounds of every day continue in the background while my mind splinters, unable to decipher the feelings suddenly exploding inside of me.

It only lasts a few seconds.

Then it’s over.

He straightens back to his full height, reaches for the blade on the floor, and walks out of the bathroom.