Owen's eyelids fluttered open, the harsh glare of a streetlamp piercing through his lingering haze. He gasped, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin as the vivid remnants of his nightmare clung to him like a shroud.
The world around him spun, the familiar street now distorted and menacing. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the terror that still gripped him.
"Mia!" he croaked, his voice raw. He reached out, his hand shaking, and found her arm. Her skin felt cool beneath his trembling fingers, a stark contrast to the burning heat that had consumed him moments before. He clung to her, his knuckles white. "Mia, it was… it was awful."
Mia, startled by his sudden grip and guttural cry, turned to him, her brow furrowed with concern. She had been halfway through explaining the quickest route to their favourite late-night coffee spot, her words now lost in the evening hum of traffic. The streetlights painted long, dancing shadows behind them, and the distant murmur of conversations floated on the cool air.
"Owen? What's wrong? You completely zoned out there for a second," she said, her voice laced with an exasperation that barely masked her worry. "You were just standing there, staring blankly. Are you feeling okay?"
He pulled her closer, his eyes wide and unfocused, scanning the familiar buildings that now seemed to twist and writhe in his peripheral vision.
The shadows deepened, morphing into grotesque shapes. He swore he could hear a low growl, a guttural rasp that vibrated in his very bones.
"The moon, Mia! Look at the moon!" he whispered, pointing a trembling finger skyward. His voice was hoarse, thick with a fear that made his throat constrict. "It's… it's red. And the monsters… they're everywhere."
Mia followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she looked up. The moon, a familiar silver disc in the inky blackness, hung serene and untouched. There was no crimson hue, no ominous glow, just the gentle, steady light she knew. She lowered her gaze to the street, her eyes sweeping over the scattered pedestrians, the parked cars, the brightly lit shopfronts. Everything was normal. Painfully, undeniably normal.
A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of relief and frustration. This wasn't the first time Owen had been gripped by one of these "episodes," as she'd come to call them.(note they occurred multiple times but i didn't say it in the previous chapters)
They were getting more frequent, more intense, and frankly, more disturbing. She loved him, fiercely- wait she loved him?? but his increasingly vivid hallucinations were starting to fray at the edges of her patience.
"Owen, there's nothing there," she said, her voice softer now, an attempt to soothe him. She gently tried to pry his fingers from her arm, but his grip was like a vice. "The moon is white, just like always. And there are no monsters. It's just… us. On our way to get coffee."
But Owen wasn't listening. His eyes, usually so warm and full of life, were now darting wildly, filled with an unshakeable terror. He pushed her slightly, turning to face something only he could see.
"No, you don't understand!" he insisted, his voice rising in panic. "They're coming. I can hear them. The scraping… the chittering… they're in the alley! We have to run, Mia, now!"
He began to pull her, tugging her roughly in the opposite direction from the coffee shop. His urgency, his sheer terror, was palpable, and for a fleeting second, a shiver of unease traced its way down Mia's spine. But then she caught sight of his reflection in a shop window, his face pale and contorted, his eyes wide with a delusion that was starkly evident.
Her patience, thin as it was, snapped.
"Owen, stop it!" she commanded, her voice sharp, cutting through his frantic babble. But he continued to pull, muttering about fangs and claws, about shadows that moved with malicious intent. He was no longer hearing her. He was trapped, utterly consumed by his own terrifying reality. (He was already out of that first encounter with those creatures now he is just experiencing the after taste of it which a hallucinations)
A sudden, desperate thought struck her. She remembered watching a documentary once, about people lost in their own minds, how a sharp, physical jolt could sometimes break through the illusion. It was a long shot, a desperate measure, but she was out of options.
Her hand shot out, not in anger, but with a firm, deliberate purpose. Smack! Her palm connected with his cheek, a sharp, resounding slap that echoed in the relative quiet of the evening street.
Owen froze, his head snapping back. His eyes, previously wild and unfocused, blinked rapidly, a flicker of confusion replacing the terror. He touched his cheek, his fingers brushing over the stinging warmth that bloomed there.
"Mia?" he whispered, his voice small, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
She didn't hesitate. She lifted her hand again, gathering all her frustration, her fear, and her desperate hope into the next blow. Smack! Another sharp crack, this time on his other cheek.
Owen reeled back, his eyes watering. The pain, sharp and undeniable, seemed to cut through the phantom horrors that had clouded his mind. He blinked again, harder this time, as if trying to clear away a physical film from his vision. The streetlights no longer flickered ominously, the shadows held no monstrous shapes, and the moon, when he dared to look again, was a placid, pearly white.
He looked at Mia, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched around her eyes, the slight tremble in her lower lip, even as her hand remained poised.
"What… what was that for?" he mumbled, his voice regaining some of its familiar tone, though still laced with a lingering bewilderment. He rubbed his stinging cheeks, a dull ache throbbing where her palms had connected.
Mia let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She dropped her hand, her shoulders slumping slightly with relief. The wild light had faded from his eyes, replaced by a dazed confusion that, to her, was a welcome sight.
"Because you were scaring the living daylights out of me, Owen!" she exclaimed, her voice still a little shaky, a mix of anger and raw relief. "You were talking about red moons and monsters, pulling me down the street like a lunatic! You weren't here, Owen. You were… somewhere else."
He stared at her, then slowly, his gaze drifted around him. The familiar street, the sounds of traffic, the distant laughter from a nearby restaurant – it all began to solidify, to make sense again. The oppressive dread that had suffocated him moments before began to recede, leaving only a faint echo of fear and a burning shame.
He remembered the nightmare, the vivid, terrifying dream that had bled into his waking hours. The skeletal figures, the glowing red eyes, the feeling of being hunted. It had been so real, so utterly convincing. And then, standing here with Mia, the line between dream and reality had blurred until it ceased to exist.
"I… I'm sorry, Mia," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at his hands, which were still trembling slightly. "I thought… I really thought I saw them. The moon was red. I swear it was."
Mia reached out, her touch gentle this time, and cupped his face, her thumbs stroking his still-reddened cheeks. Her eyes were filled with a profound sadness, a weary affection.
"I know, Owen," she said softly, her voice now devoid of any anger. "I know you did. But they weren't real. It was just your mind playing tricks on you again."
She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, a comforting anchor in the returning normalcy.
They stood there for a long moment, the sounds of the evening street washing over them. Owen felt the last vestiges of the illusion drain away, leaving him feeling utterly exhausted and profoundly embarrassed.
"I think we need to talk about this, Owen," Mia murmured into his hair, her voice muffled against his ear.
"These episodes… they're getting worse. You need to see someone. A doctor."
He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in her words. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, unsettling dread of a different kind. The dread of losing control, of his own mind betraying him. He had dismissed them before, tried to brush them off as stress or vivid dreams, but Mia was right.
This was different. This was too much.
He pulled back from the hug, looking at her, his eyes still a little red-rimmed but clear now. "You're right," he said, his voice stronger, though still tinged with a raw vulnerability. "You're right. I will. Tomorrow. We'll find someone."
Mia offered him a small, weary smile, a glimmer of relief in her eyes. "Good," she said. She took his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Now, how about that coffee? I think we both need about a litre of caffeine after that."
Owen managed a weak chuckle, a sound that felt foreign and fragile in his own ears. He squeezed her hand, a silent promise. The sting on his cheeks was a stark, physical reminder of the thin line between his inner world and the one they shared, a line that had almost broken tonight for the first time.