I didn't want to go to school that day. Every part of me wanted to stay buried under the covers, pretending the world didn't exist. But I went anyway.
I walked slowly to the campus, still haunted by the dreams, the bleeding eyes, and the image of Peter's hazel ones—so familiar it hurt. I spotted him waiting near the gates, Chloe beside him. Something about his face caught me off-guard. His eyes looked… tired. Red-rimmed. Like he hadn't slept at all. My heart ached a little.
"Peter?" I asked softly, trying to read his face. "Did you sleep last night?"
He blinked quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just… late-night homework."
Liar.
I tilted my head, crossing my arms. "You suck at lying, Baggans."
Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Chloe looked between us, confused. "What's going on?" she asked.
After a pause, Peter finally confessed, "I saw something. In a dream. You, Emma… You were in that place again. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I just stood there, watching them… hurting you. And I cried. I hated it. I felt like I wanted to die."
I stepped closer, my voice trembling. "You saw the same thing? The pain? The water?"
He nodded, quietly. "I saw your leg chained, those... creatures, Emma. I couldn't help you."
My throat tightened, and before I could say more, the bell rang. Chloe whispered, "We'll talk after class, okay?"
I nodded and walked to my locker to grab my things. That's when it happened.
Amanda.
Of course.
She stood behind me, arms crossed, flanked by her usual backup squad: Fredie, Liza, and Naomi.
"Well, look who decided to show up again. Didn't know ghosts had classes," Amanda sneered.
I didn't respond. I didn't want to.
"You should've stayed sick or whatever creepy thing you were faking," Fredie chimed in.
"Or maybe it wasn't fake," Amanda added, stepping closer. "Maybe she's just crazy."
She reached for my locker, slamming it shut.
"Give me some space," I said sharply.
"Aww, the little freak found her voice again?" Naomi giggled.
Amanda leaned in, eyes cruel. "You're better invisible, Blanders."
Then she pushed me.
Hard.
Before I could even process it, something snapped.
A hot wave of rage surged through my veins. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just… stared.
Straight into Amanda's eyes.
The world around us warped for a second.
Amanda screamed—clutching her wrist like it had just been scorched. Her expensive bag flew from her hand, falling open on the ground. Papers, makeup, and gum wrappers spilled everywhere.
"What the hell?!" Amanda cried.
Everyone froze. Her friends backed off, staring at me like I was some monster. My breath caught as I touched my face—my fingers came back wet.
Blood.
From my eyes.
I was bleeding again.
Nollan, a classmate, had seen everything. He rushed to me, panic on his face.
"Emma! Your eyes—what the hell just happened?!"
"I—I don't know…" I whispered, stumbling back.
Nollan reached to steady me, but I turned and bolted.
I ran through the halls, gasping for air, my heart pounding against my ribs like a warning siren. I reached the washroom, shoved open the door, and locked myself inside a stall. My reflection in the mirror was terrifying—eyes red, tear-streaked, smeared with blood.
"What's happening to me?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
I scrubbed my face with cold water, trembling.
A knock at the door.
"Emma?" Chloe's voice. "Are you okay? What happened out there?"
"I'm fine!" I lied, too quickly.
Silence.
Then her soft voice again. "You're lying. Your face… your eyes… Nollan saw it."
"I said I'm fine," I repeated, quieter.
She didn't press. She just waited outside.
I stayed inside until the last bell rang.
The weekend was a blur. I stayed home, barely leaving my bed. Mom noticed, of course. We made tea together, cooked my favorite noodles, and even watched old cartoons. She tried to get me to open up, but I didn't tell her anything. Just blamed it on "weakness" and "school stress." She didn't push. She just hugged me tight one night and said, "Whatever it is, you're strong. I'm here."
The next Monday, I walked back into school like nothing happened.
I even cracked a joke to Peter by the locker.
"Did you sleep this time, or did Netflix betray you again?"
He chuckled weakly. "I'll never tell."
Chloe smirked. "You two are literally insufferable."
But the warmth was short-lived.
Nollan walked over, his expression serious.
"Hey," he said, "how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I said again. My go-to lie.
He frowned. "I was worried. That day… your eyes. Amanda said her hand still hurts. Everyone's talking about it."
Peter and Chloe turned sharply toward me.
"What?" Peter asked.
Chloe stepped closer. "Emma… what is he talking about?"
"I—" I stammered.
"She bled from her eyes," Nollan said. "And Amanda—her hand just went stiff. Like she couldn't move it. Her whole bag flew across the hall. It was… weird."
Peter's face turned pale. Chloe looked between us, stunned.
"You lied to us," Peter said quietly. "Why?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then finally, I said, "I don't know. I swear, I don't know what's happening to me. I didn't mean to do anything."
I told them everything—the rage, the surge, the strange power, the moment I wanted to tear Amanda apart.
"I didn't try to hurt her," I said, voice shaking. "But it felt like something inside me just… exploded."
Peter looked at me for a long moment.
"You're not alone," he whispered.
Chloe grabbed my hand. "We'll figure this out. Together."
But deep inside, I knew—something was changing. And whatever it was, it was just beginning.
It had been a week. One whole week without a single dream. No tortured screams. No shadows dragging me into the water. No mole-eyed boy watching me with that unbearable sorrow in his gaze. Just… nothing. For the first time in a long time, I was sleeping—really sleeping.
Peter too. He confirmed it after I bugged him a hundred times. I didn't believe him at first, but I could see it in his face—his smile was slowly returning, even if a little hesitant. He didn't have that haunted look anymore. No more dark circles. He even made a dumb joke about algebra that actually made me snort. Yeah, we were healing.
But something inside me still stirred. Like the silence was just… waiting to be broken.
One afternoon, the sun hit just right through the classroom windows, golden and sleepy. We had a free period, and everyone else was too busy chatting or pretending to study.
Peter was sitting across from me, doodling something on the corner of his notebook. I glanced over and froze. It was a pair of eyes—haunting, but soft. Familiar.
My breath hitched.
"You okay?" he asked, catching my gaze.
I didn't answer. Instead, I just looked at him. His hazel eyes. The little mole. The boy from my dreams.
But no. He wasn't crying now. He was here. With me. Real.
He noticed the way I was staring and smirked slightly. "Do I have something on my face or are you just admiring me?"
My heart skipped a beat. Stupid boy.
"Shut up," I muttered, but I felt the heat crawling up my neck.
He chuckled softly, the kind that made your stomach do that annoying little flip, and then gently slid his hand across the table, brushing his fingers against mine.
"You've been quiet all week," he said, voice lower now. "I know we're not getting the dreams anymore, but that doesn't mean it's over, does it?"
I looked down at our hands, our fingers not fully touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.
"No," I whispered. "It doesn't. But I'm glad we got a break. Even if it's a fake one."
"I'm glad I'm spending it with you," he replied.
And that was it. That one sentence. It wasn't grand or dramatic. But it hit harder than anything else. Like… a thousand fireworks in a still sky.
I looked up at him, really looked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled—not because I had to, but because I wanted to.
Then the door banged open.
"EMMA!" Chloe yelled, almost slipping as she rushed in. "You need to see this."
Our moment shattered like glass.
"What?" Peter and I stood up together.
She held up her phone. A news article. Something about an old building being torn down downtown. But what froze me—what made the hairs on my neck rise—was the photo.
In the background of the demolition site… there was a painted wall. Faded, nearly gone. But clear enough to see a face.
A girl.
She looked exactly like me.
Same eyes. Same expression.
Except… she was smiling. And beside her, blurry but visible… was a boy.
And he had a mole near his right eye...