I don't know how much longer I can take this.

The CreepyHouse feels smaller every day. Every laugh you share with him, every time Bloody Painter—or Helen, as you call him, like you've known each other forever—leans in too close when he talks to you, it feels like the walls are pressing in on me. I can't think straight, can't even sit through dinner without my stomach turning.

Tonight, though, it was the worst. Helen was at it again, sitting across from you, flashing that smug smile like he owns the whole damn room. And you? You were laughing at whatever lame joke he made. That laugh—your laugh—that's supposed to be mine. Not his. Mine.

I couldn't take it anymore. The clatter of plates, his voice, your laugh—it was like a swarm of bees in my head. My hand started twitching, my leg bouncing under the table. I tried to ignore it, really, I did, but when Helen leaned in closer to you, brushing his shoulder against yours like he didn't even care who was watching... that was it. I shoved my chair back hard enough to make it scrape across the floor and left.

Now I'm here, leaning against the cold, cracked wall of the hallway, trying to steady my breathing. My hands won't stop shaking. The hatchet strapped to my leg feels heavy—like it's mocking me for not doing anything about it.

I leaned against the cracked wall, my fingers twitching uncontrollably. My jaw clenched so tight it hurt, but I couldn't stop the spiraling thoughts. That laugh. That smug, arrogant laugh of his, paired with yours. It was too much.

"What does he even want from you?" The words slipped out in a growl, barely above a whisper, but the empty hallway swallowed them whole. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, no matter how hard I clenched my fists. I ran a gloved hand through my hair, the static in my head roaring louder.

Footsteps. Your footsteps. Of course, you followed me. You always do. My stomach twisted, part of me wanting to run, the other too desperate to keep you here.

"Go back to Helen." I snapped as soon as you came into view, the bitterness in my voice sharper than I intended. My eyes met yours, and I immediately regretted it. That confused, worried look—damn it.

I looked away, my chest tightening. "You seemed to be enjoying his attention plenty back there."

My hands fidgeted at my sides, one of them brushing against the handle of my hatchet. It was grounding, somehow, but it didn't stop the words spilling out of me.

"Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be with him, laughing at his stupid jokes? Or is this just some kind of game to you?"