9. Barythaya
BARYTHAYA
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh bathroom lighting, and the dark circles beneath my eyes seemed to deepen with every sleepless night. I pressed my fingers under my lower lids, trying to will away the exhaustion, but it only made the hollow look more pronounced. I'd been fighting this… thing—whatever it was—for days now. Nightmares plagued my sleep, and the whispers in my head grew louder during the day. They twisted and taunted me, making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality.
The worst part? I didn't even remember what happened that night a few weeks ago. One moment I was at the tattoo shop, the next I woke up in a hospital bed. No memory of how I'd gotten there, no recollection of what I'd done to land myself in a psychiatric ward. All I knew was that Virgil had found me. The nurses had told me he stayed by my side for hours. His name was on the emergency contact forms, but when I asked if he left any message, there was nothing.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I can't explain how much that hurt, sitting there in that sterile, soulless room, waiting. Waiting for him to show up. Waiting for a call, a sign, anything. But as the days passed, my hope dimmed. Maybe he had decided I wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe he had seen enough of my messed-up life and bailed. That thought sat heavy in my chest, like a dull ache that wouldn't go away. I thought I'd never hear from him again, and with each passing hour in that hospital, I felt more alone than ever.
Being in that psych ward was one of the scariest things I've ever faced. There's something about those walls—so white, so cold, like they're trying to drain the life out of you. I didn't belong there. At least, I didn't think I did. But when they put me on that watch list, when the doctors and nurses started looking at me like I might break at any moment, I started questioning everything. Was I crazy? Was this it for me? Had I finally gone off the deep end?
But after the evaluation, they let me go. Said I was fine. I wasn't a danger to myself, not in their eyes anyway. But I lied. I told them what they wanted to hear, that I was fine, that I hadn't tried to hurt myself, that I didn't know what happened. I had to lie. Because what could I possibly say? That the voices in my head had made me do it? That something dark and twisted had been clawing at me for weeks, dragging me under?
No one would believe me. Hell, I barely believed myself.
Now, as I stood there, staring into the mirror, all I could feel was the emptiness. Virgil had disappeared without a trace, and I had no idea if he would ever come back into my life. That uncertainty was crushing. Part of me felt hopeless, like maybe I didn't deserve his help or his presence after all. And yet, there was another part of me that clung to the memory of him—of the way he had looked at me in the shop, the way he had touched my skin, the silent intensity between us.
I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still out there, watching. Maybe he was waiting, just like I was. But for what?
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, unsure of what to feel anymore when my phone buzzed in my hand. The notification flashed across the screen and Virgil's name appeared. My heart stopped for a moment, then kicked into overdrive. I wasn't sure how to react. Should I be angry, should I ignore him as he'd ignored me?
The silence from him had been deafening, and now, out of nowhere, a text. My fingers hovered over the screen, not daring to open it yet. This surge of elation coursed through me, but I wasn't about to look desperate. I had already felt pathetic enough, waiting like some broken doll in that psych ward, hoping for a sign from him.
I exhaled slowly, tapping the message open with shaky fingers.
"You free this weekend? The club's doing a Halloween thing for charity. Thought you might want to check it out."
I stared at the words, blinking. He wanted to see me. He actually wanted me there. The weight I'd been carrying, weeks of loneliness, of endless doubt, lightened just enough for me to breathe. But I forced myself to wait before replying, the seconds ticking by as I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions.
Happy? Absolutely. My stomach was doing somersaults. But I couldn't let him see that. I couldn't let him think I was sitting by my phone, waiting for him to throw me a bone. Even though, in some ways, I had been. I didn't want to come across as desperate, not after everything.
I waited… ten seconds? Maybe more. My mind raced, thinking of what to say, how to make it so I appeared calm and collected.
Finally, I texted him back. " I'd love to come ."
Short, simple. Like this hadn't been what I'd been longing for since the last time I saw him.
I sent the message and set my phone down, staring at the screen like it might explode. The rush of excitement and nervous energy washed over me, but there was still that underlying fear.
What if it wasn't enough? What if he didn't want the same?
I had so many doubts, so many questions I wanted to ask him but couldn't. He didn't text back so I just left it alone. I know he'd gotten my response, and in just a few days, I may actually get the answers I needed.
I spent the rest of the week drowning in my work, trying to focus on anything that wasn't Virgil. But no matter how hard I tried, it was futile. He was always there, always in the front of my mind, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop thinking of him or the excitement of seeing him again.
Every night, I dreamed of him—his hands on me, the feel of his hot breath against my skin, the way his deep voice sounded so rough when he whispered my name.
But the dreams were never just that. They were more vivid, more consuming. And they weren't just about him touching me, loving me. They were something darker, something twisted. In my dreams, I saw him burning—his body consumed by flames, his skin crackling and turning to ash. The fire wasn't just around him; it was inside him, eating him alive. His eyes… God, his eyes. They were always the same, burning with a desperation that tore through me. It was like he was begging me for help, but no matter how fast I ran or how hard I tried, I couldn't reach him.
I would wake up, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, the image of him burning still fresh in my mind. It felt like a warning, like the universe was trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was just my own mind playing tricks on me. Either way, the dreams left me shaken, rattled to the core. They felt real—too real. As if they weren't just dreams, but premonitions.
I was left wondering if I could save him. I remembered something he had asked me when we first met.
"Don't you sometimes feel like you were meant for something more than this?"
I wondered if that's why these visions haunted me night after night Was there something deeper between us that I hadn't understood yet? A connection that went beyond attraction, beyond desire?
I didn't have the answers, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was supposed to do something. That somehow, I was the only one who could pull him from whatever hell he was trapped in.
Virgil's text, when it came, had felt like a lifeline. A message I'd been waiting for, without even realizing it. It was simple—a few words inviting me to an event. But to me, it had meant so much more. It was proof that he wanted to see me again. And that maybe, just maybe, these dreams were leading me somewhere.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the soft glow of the bedroom light casting shadows on my pale skin. I'd barely slept in days, and it showed—the dark circles under my eyes were deeper than ever, the hollow look in my gaze undeniable. But tonight, I refused to look like death. I didn't want Virgil to see me broken. He didn't now knowt I was going through and I decided that if he wanted to see me, then maybe it was time for me to give him answers too. I didn't know what this was between us or what it could become, all I knew was that I wanted to be near him. And tonight I wanted to feel sexy, desirable, I wanted to feel alive again in his arms, even if it was only for a few hours.
I picked up the concealer, dabbing it under my eyes, blending it carefully. Each stroke was an attempt to erase the exhaustion, to cover up the sleepless nights and the nightmares that had plagued me. Layer by layer, I painted over the evidence of the battles I'd fought in the dead of night—the voices, the doubts, the creeping darkness that whispered in my ear, telling me I wasn't enough.
I moved to the bed, where my costume lay. It was a deep, blood-red devil outfit that clung to my curves, tight in all the right places. The leather shorts were short enough to catch anyone's attention, and the plunging neckline left just enough to the imagination. I wanted to be bold, daring.
Seductive.
The satin fabric slid over my skin as I slipped into the costume, the cold material sending a shiver through me. The red was striking, a stark contrast to my pale skin, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt the transformation begin. This wasn't the broken girl who barely made it through the day. This was someone dangerous. Someone who could command a room with a single glance. Someone who had fought her demons.
I moved to my makeup next, picking up the tube of red lipstick. Slowly, I twisted it, watching as the vibrant color emerged. A devil needed blood-red lips, didn't she? The lipstick glided over my lips smoothly, turning them into a perfect, sinful curve. I applied a second coat, making sure they were a bold red.
But as I leaned closer to the mirror, the voice returned.
You really think he'll want you like this? Looking like a whore.
No amount of makeup can hide what you really are. Ugly.
I froze, the lipstick hovering near my lips, my breath catching in my throat.
He's going to see right through your mask. See how weak you are. And when he does… you'll wish he'd never touched you.
I shook my head, trying to push the voice away, but it grew louder, more insistent.
What do you think he really wants from you, huh? You think it's love? Don't be so naive. He wants what all men want… blood, pain, to rut in a hole. And then he wants to see you suffer.
An image of Virgil flashed in my mind then—dark and confusing. He wasn't the man I'd imagined. He wasn't gentle or tender. He was rough, brutal. His hands gripped me with a force that made my bones ache. His eyes burned, not with desire, but with hunger—something predatory.
I saw the knife in his hand, the blade glinting as he slid it into my chest. I felt the sharp pain as it slid through, the warm blood gushing down my body. And then he was there, drinking, tasting it, his lips smeared with crimson and when he looked at me, it wasn't him, his eyes were empty and glowing red.
My breath hitched, and I dropped the lipstick, the tube clattering against the vanity. My heart raced, the pulse in my neck pounding as the images lingered, vivid and sickening. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push them away, but they clung to the edges of my mind.
"No," I whispered, my voice shaking. "That's not real. It's not real."
But the voice only laughed.
It's what you want, isn't it? You crave the violence, the pain. You want him to hurt you, to make you bleed. Deep down, you know it's true.
I gripped the edge of the vanity, trying to steady myself, the world spinning slightly around me. I couldn't let this take over. Not now. Not when I was so close to seeing him again.
You're a sick, twisted little girl. You disgust me.
The voice continued to growl at me, whispering that I would give everything to him, and in return, I'd be left broken. Bleeding. Alone.
Dead.
I forced myself to open my eyes, glaring at my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked pale, fragile. But she wasn't weak. I wasn't weak.
I picked up the lipstick again, determined to finish. The red glided over my lips and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I stared at my reflection. The devil stared back at me.
"Not tonight," I whispered, barely audible.
I grabbed the devil horns from the dresser, placing them on my head, completing the transformation. I might feel like I was being torn apart from the inside, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. And when I saw Virgil, none of this darkness would touch me or him.
I checked the clock—it was almost time to leave. The anticipation thrummed through me, a strange mixture of fear and excitement. Maybe Virgil could chase away the nightmares. Maybe, for a few hours, I could pretend I was whole.
But I couldn't help but wonder—were the dreams a warning? Was Virgil truly burning, trapped in a hell only I could save him from?
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I could still feel the weight of the demon's whispers, lingering like a shadow. But I shoved them aside, focusing on one thing.
Virgil.
Tonight, I would see him. And tonight, nothing else mattered.