𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒌𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎.
The house creaked like it remembered every sin ever committed within its walls. Elias sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers trembling as they hovered above the pill bottle. Five white tablets stared back at him like the eyes of ghosts. He didn't want to take them anymore. He wanted to feel everything, even if it shredded him.
Rain pattered softly against the window. The sky outside was gray—bruised, almost. Elias stared into the reflection on the glass, where his pale face hovered like a ghost. Under his hollowed eyes were smudges of fatigue and fear. Behind him, a shadow flickered. He turned.
Nothing.
The pills rattled as he put them down.
This was not new.
The voices hadn't returned. Not yet. But he could feel them pressing against the thin membrane of his mind like children peeking through keyholes. They waited, patient and hungry.
His therapist had called it schizoaffective disorder, but to Elias, it felt more like possession. He hadn't told her that sometimes the voice he heard most clearly…sounded a lot like Jude.
---
The Perfect Friend
Jude was golden.
That was the word everyone used—golden. Golden smile. Golden eyes. Golden boy. He played football in high school, had the good grades, dated the pretty girls, and always had time to "look out for Elias."
People praised him for it. It's so kind of you to stick with Elias. Not everyone would be that patient. You're a real friend, Jude.
He'd smile every time.
Elias had grown up in Jude's shadow. He didn't mind it at first. He liked the quiet. He liked watching Jude be adored—he had no interest in competing. But over time, he realized something strange: Jude needed to be seen as kind. Generous. Loyal.
It was a performance.
And Elias, with all his mental illness and social awkwardness, made the perfect audience.
The Journal That Shouldn't Exist
Elias kept a journal—more for survival than sentimentality. Inside, he scribbled down thoughts too dangerous to speak aloud.
"Jude took my hand today like he wanted to help me, but I saw his eyes. He doesn't help to heal me—he helps to control me."
"I told him about the voice. He laughed and said, 'Maybe it's just your conscience.' But he knows it isn't. I think he wants it to get worse."
"He's afraid I'll remember what happened that night. I already do."
That last line he had circled twice.
He always knew the truth.
---
The Day He Almost Jumped
They were on the rooftop of Jude's apartment—where the city looked small and the world felt far away. Elias had stood near the edge, his shoes curling over the concrete lip.
"Don't," Jude had said softly. "Please. I need you."
Not I care about you. Not I love you. Just I need you.
That need was sharp. Hungry.
Elias stepped back, not for himself—but to see what Jude would do next.
He saw relief. But not love. Never love.
---
The Whispers Return
The day the whispers returned, Elias was painting. Seraphine had told him to paint when he felt the static in his mind rise. His hands moved on their own—furiously.
He painted Jude.
But the figure in the painting had no face.
Just a jagged, black void.
Behind it—red. Like blood.
And then the whisper: He wears your skin like a suit, Elias. He's inside you. Always has been.
The brush dropped from his hand.
His nose bled.
---
Seraphine
She was the only softness in a world that always felt like sandpaper. Seraphine worked at the bookstore downtown, her eyes always on her poetry, her heart too big for her chest.
She loved Elias for who he was—not in spite of it.
When she told him, he didn't believe her.
"How could you love someone who's broken?"
"Because broken things hold light in the cracks," she said.
Jude didn't like her.
He told Elias she was "making him worse."
He said, "She romanticizes your sickness."
But Elias knew. Jude didn't hate Seraphine because of who she was. He hated her because she saw Elias clearly—and still stayed.
---
The Fire Ritual
It happened when they were sixteen. A night buried in memory. A night Elias didn't remember until recently.
In the forest.
Candles.
Blood.
Jude had cut their palms, mingled their blood, and said something in Latin. Said it like it was a joke—but his voice had trembled.
Elias had laughed. But the next morning, he had night terrors for weeks. He couldn't sleep.
And the whispers had started.
He told Jude.
Jude said, "You were already sick before that. Maybe the ritual just…triggered something."
Now, Elias knew better.
It wasn't just a ritual.
It was a tether.
---
Elias Watches Jude From the Window
Late at night, Elias watched Jude leave his house. He followed him. Through alleys. Down into the basement of an abandoned church.
There were candles again.
Symbols.
Jude was alone, but he spoke aloud to something.
"…He's still alive. I've done everything. He's still here."
A pause.
Then: "What if I kill her instead?"
Elias stumbled back, bile rising in his throat.
He knew now.
Jude had made a deal.
The golden boy had traded something in the dark.
And Elias was the price.
---
The Confession
Elias told Seraphine everything. Every lie, every whisper, every doubt. She listened. Didn't interrupt.
When he finished, he said, "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
She took his face in her hands. "No. I think someone's been making you feel crazy. There's a difference."
They planned to run.
---
The Invitation
Jude smiled when he saw Elias the next day. Said he wanted to go for a walk. One last time. Just like old times.
Elias went.
He didn't know why.
Maybe some part of him hoped he was wrong.
That hope died the moment he saw the knife.
And Jude's golden smile.