UNWELCOME FAMILIARITY

Amelia

I jolted awake, gasping for air as if I’d been held underwater. My chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, and my hands instinctively flew to my arms, to my legs, as if to reassure myself I was whole, untouched . The familiar dim light of my bedroom filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows, but it did little to soothe the pounding in my chest.

I took a slow, steadying breath and glanced down. I was still in the same long T-shirt I’d fallen asleep in, its fabric soft against my skin. Unlike in the nightmare, though, it was dry, untouched by the cold dampness that had clung to me in that twisted darkness. My hair, too, was dry and smooth, not tangled or matted .

But the vividness of it all—the wet floor beneath me, Damien’s voice, the sensation of his hands—felt too real , as if his presence still lingered in the room. I swallowed hard, the echo of his words reverberating through my mind, the fear and strange thrill he’d ignited inside me still clinging to my senses like smoke. I tried to shake it off, to remind myself it was only a dream. But it felt like a hollow reassurance, a feeble attempt to calm the unease brewing within me.

Rubbing my temples, I forced myself to sit up and push my hair back, fingers trembling slightly. I looked around my room, grounding myself in the reality of my surroundings—the stack of books on the bedside table, the light sweater draped over the chair in the corner. Everything was as it should be, exactly where I’d left it.

But why did I feel like he’d been here, like his presence had seeped into the air around me?

With a sigh, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet pressing against the cool floor as I made my way to the bathroom.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the lingering tension, and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded over me, soothing the remnants of my nerves. I squeezed a handful of soap into my hands, lathering it across my arms and shoulders, letting the scent envelop me in a sense of normalcy.

As I worked my way down, my fingers brushed over my legs, and I froze . There, just above my knee, were faint marks—bruises, purpling slightly at the edges, tender to the touch. My breath caught as my mind reeled. This couldn’t be possible. I’d fallen in the nightmare, I remembered hitting the floor…but that had only been a dream. Hadn’t it?

Panic surged through me, and I nearly slipped as I scrambled out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around me. I rushed over to the mirror on the bathroom wall, water dripping onto the tile as I frantically searched my reflection. My fingers traced over the marks on my legs, then over to my arms, where faint, almost imperceptible red lines traced the spots where I’d felt bindings in my dream.

My pulse hammered as I stared at my reflection, my mind racing in desperate denial. These weren’t real. They couldn’t be. But the bruises ached beneath my touch, stubborn proof that defied logic. My gaze drifted to my face, to the haunted look in my eyes, the disbelief mingling with a spark of fear .

“How…?” I whispered, feeling the ground beneath me shift. This wasn’t just a nightmare anymore.

I took a shaky breath, willing myself to calm down, trying to muster some sense into the chaos. This had to be psychological. The mind was more powerful than people realized; I, of all people, should know that. In cases of severe trauma or stress, the body sometimes manifests physical symptoms. It wasn’t unusual—it was a phenomenon I’d studied extensively. The mind could ‘convert’ intense emotional experiences into tangible sensations, and sometimes even marks on the skin.

Psychosomatic responses were common in people dealing with unresolved trauma, I reminded myself. I’d counseled patients who swore they’d felt real pain from memories, convinced their scars were more than emotional. It was all part of the intricate dance between the brain and the body. Perhaps my nightmare had been so vivid, so terrifyingly real, that my body responded this way, my skin conjuring up faint bruises as some twisted echo of what I’d felt in my mind.

But as much as I wanted to believe that, an uneasy voice lingered in the back of my mind, whispering doubt. I’d never experienced anything quite like this before—nothing that left physical traces. And the intensity of the sensations…the feel of his hands, his voice, the damp chill in the air—it had all been so…real.

I shook my head, forcing myself to let it go. This was just a fluke. The mind could blur lines, especially with someone like Damien on my mind. After all, I’d been through hell and come out the other side once. There was no reason to think this was anything more than my mind’s cruel trickery. Right?

I finished rinsing the soap off and stood under the warm spray for a few extra seconds, grounding myself in the simplicity of the moment. The water was steady, predictable—a stark contrast to the confusion clouding my mind. I dried off and slipped into some comfortable clothes, focusing on the softness of the fabric against my skin, as if this simple, mundane routine could tether me back to reality.

In the kitchen, I set up the coffee maker, the familiar hum filling the silence around me. As the aroma wafted through the air, I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and tried to shake off the lingering unease. I’d faced the darkest parts of myself before and survived. So why did this feel different? Why did I feel as though an unseen weight was pressing down on me, pulling me back into shadows I’d long tried to escape?

I took a slow sip, letting the warmth ease my nerves. Maybe it really was just exhaustion, my subconscious picking up threads of worry and weaving them into something insidious. But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t shake the image of those faint bruises and the vivid sensations from the nightmare.

With a sigh, I picked up my phone and dialed Lily’s number. It only rang twice before she answered.

“Amelia! Good morning!” she greeted cheerfully.

“Morning, Lily,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Listen, I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be able to come in today. Could you please call the patients and reschedule their sessions?”

“Oh, of course! I hope you feel better,” she replied, her concern evident. “Is there anything else you need? ”

“No, that’s all. Just…thank you, Lily.” I ended the call, feeling a pang of guilt for letting the day slip away, for abandoning my patients just because of a nightmare. But I knew I couldn’t face anyone else right now. Not until I understood what was happening to me.

I sat with my coffee, the steam swirling up in faint wisps as if mirroring the fragments of last night’s dream—or whatever it was—still tangled in my mind. I took another sip, but it did little to steady me. My skin felt hypersensitive, like the softest breeze could leave a mark. Every shadow around me seemed sharper , and my reflection in the darkened kitchen window looked back at me with haunted eyes.

I tried to distract myself, scrolling through a few emails and half heartedly reading the news, but it all felt distant. My mind kept circling back, unearthing fragments of that disturbing memory: the cold dampness of the floor, the weight of the silence, Damien’s voice whispering things I couldn’t fully remember. I placed the mug down with a shaky hand, pressing my fingers to my temples as if I could somehow massage the memories back into their rightful place in my mind .

Had I somehow let my boundaries slip in my sessions with Damien? I’d always known he was… dangerous, capable of stirring things within me that were best left undisturbed. But I’d thought I could maintain control. That was my strength, wasn’t it? Control . I’d spent years building it, brick by brick, after everything that happened.

I inhaled deeply, determined to get a grip on my mind. The idea that a patient could unravel me like this was unsettling. But as I thought about Damien’s last visit—the intensity in his gaze, his unspoken words that seemed to linger long after he’d left—it made me wonder if I’d underestimated just how far he could reach.

The rational side of me pushed back. This was psychological transference, that’s all . I was exhausted, my brain creating vivid scenarios as a stress response. I forced myself to my feet, pushing away from the counter, willing my legs to steady.

But deep down, I couldn’t escape the feeling that something was slipping beyond my control. I could only hope, for my own sake, that it was all just a figment of my imagination .

As dusk gave way to night, I laced up my sneakers and pulled on a hoodie, deciding that maybe a run would help clear my head. The park nearby was usually empty on weeknights, and something about the quiet paths and towering trees always brought a measure of calm.

When I arrived, the lampposts cast a soft amber glow, illuminating winding trails that disappeared into the dense greenery. Branches overhead arched like a protective canopy, casting shadows that shifted with every faint breeze. The air was crisp, scented faintly of damp earth and pine, and the silence was almost surreal— too peaceful , as if the park itself held its breath.

I jogged along the familiar path, letting my feet fall into a steady rhythm, each step grounding me, each breath a reminder of the present. But as I moved deeper into the shadows, an unease settled over me. I brushed it off as residual nerves from the day, from the fragmented nightmare that wouldn’t quite fade from my mind.

Then, just as I rounded a bend in the path, I felt it—a prickle at the back of my neck, that undeniable feeling of being watched . My pace slowed, heart pounding, and I stole a glance over my shoulder.

Nothing. Just empty paths and still trees.

I exhaled slowly, chiding myself for being paranoid, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. With every few strides, I found myself glancing back, almost expecting to see a figure lurking in the shadows. The park’s tranquility now felt stifling, the silence oppressive, as if something—or someone —was just out of sight, keeping pace with me.

I quickened my step, forcing my gaze forward. But the feeling persisted, creeping up my spine with every step. And though I tried to keep my head clear, I could almost imagine his presence—dark, watchful, just beyond the trees, waiting .

I broke into a sprint, my pulse racing with each stride as if I could outrun the dread gnawing at me. Every shadow felt alive, every whisper of wind a warning. I risked one last glance behind me, convinced I’d finally see someone there.

But the moment I turned back around, my body collided with something solid, unforgiving. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I stumbled backward, falling hard to the ground. My heart stopped as I looked up, and the world seemed to shrink, narrowing to the figure standing above me.

Damien .

My nightmare played on repeat in my mind, the memory of falling to his feet, the darkness, his voice taunting me. And now, here he was, his face shadowed but unmistakably him, looking down at me with that same piercing gaze. I froze, rooted to the ground as fear took hold, but before I could react, he extended a hand, effortlessly pulling me to my feet.

“Amelia,” he murmured, his voice calm yet edged with something I couldn’t place. “Are you alright?”

The world felt surreal, and I tried to compose myself, to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Were… were you following me?”

His expression remained unreadable, his head tilting ever so slightly. “No,” he said smoothly. “Just a coincidence.”

The words didn’t settle right. His eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, like he knew exactly what had been running through my mind, like he could see the terror etched in my face. My pulse hammered in my ears as I forced myself to break the silence.

“Then why are you here?” I managed, searching his gaze for any hint of the truth.

He shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I like a good evening walk, same as you.”

Damien knelt down in front of me, and my breath hitched. His hands moved with deliberate ease, brushing against my legs as he dusted off the dirt from my fall. I forced myself to remain still, but every gentle touch sent a shiver coursing through me, each brush of his fingers igniting a clash of fear and something darker that twisted in my stomach.

“Look at you,” he said, a hint of mockery lacing his tone. “You’re like a little girl, running around without a care in the world.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as he lifted my foot, resting it on his knee. The intimacy of the moment sent chills down my spine, and I felt the need to pull away, to escap e . But my body betrayed me, frozen in place as he reached for the lace of my shoe, his fingers deftly tying the knot.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Millie,” he continued, his voice low and smooth, almost teasing. “Especially at night. There are all sorts of dangers lurking out there.”

I could hardly meet his gaze, a mixture of dread and something unnameable thrumming through me. His touch was light, almost gentle, yet it was impossible to ignore the weight of his presence—the predator hidden behind that charming facade. I fought to focus on anything but the way my heart raced under his scrutiny.

“Are you always this careless?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he finished with the laces, glancing up at me with a smirk. “It could get you into trouble.”

With every word, he held me captive in a way that sent my mind spiraling. I forced my voice to remain steady, challenging the fear coursing through me. “I’m fine,” I managed, but the tremor in my tone betrayed me .

His smile widened, an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker. “I’m sure you are,” he said, standing up smoothly, towering over me once again. “But just remember, trouble can come from anywhere. Even the shadows .”

My heart raced as he stepped back, and I was left grappling with the weight of his words and the lingering warmth of his touch, the memory of his hands on my skin dancing dangerously close to the surface of my mind. The park around us felt suddenly more menacing, the trees closing in, shadows stretching out as if they were alive.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a casual smile on his lips.

“I, um—” I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to refuse, but I forced myself to push the fear aside. “I was actually just about to finish and head home.”

“Really? I don’t see the harm in a little company,” he insisted, the way he leaned closer making it feel like he was cornering me even in the open air. His confidence wrapped around me, tightening like a noose, and I couldn’t shake the unsettling reminder of my nightmare .

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Damien,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. The thought of him walking alongside me, shadows lurking just out of sight, made my skin crawl.

But his smile never wavered. “Come on, Amelia. It’s dark out here. I’d feel much better knowing you’re not alone.”

I could see the challenge in his gaze, a taunting edge that made my stomach twist. Every fiber of my being wanted to refuse him, to make a break for it and run. But the reality was I didn’t want to be alone either—not after last night’s horrors replaying behind my eyelids, leaving me gasping for air when I woke.

“Fine,” I relented, unable to muster the will to fight him. “But I’m not jogging anymore.”

“Perfect. A nice, leisurely walk then.” He fell into step beside me, and I forced myself not to flinch as the darkness closed in around us.

The atmosphere felt charged, as if the air crackled with electricity, and I struggled to ignore the lingering dread. Each step felt heavier, every shadow seemed to loom larger. I tried to keep my gaze forward, focused on the path illuminated by the faint streetlights, but I could feel his presence beside me, a constant reminder of the nightmare that had bled into my reality.

“What a lovely night, huh?” he said, his tone casual, almost playful. “Just you, me, and the night.”

“Yeah, lovely,” I murmured, the sarcasm of my own words biting at my throat. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting elongated shadows that danced in my peripheral vision, and every time I glanced sideways, I found him watching me.

“You seem tense,” he noted, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Is something wrong?”

“Just… tired,” I replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

As we continued walking, I tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach, but it only intensified when he casually asked, “So, why didn’t you go to work today?”

I tensed at the question, my heart racing as I shot him a sideways glance. “How do you know I didn’t go? ”

A smirk crept onto his face, and I could see the glint in his eyes, a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, I have my ways,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with an unsettling undercurrent. “We had a session scheduled today, remember? That got rescheduled.”

“Right.” I swallowed hard, feeling exposed under his gaze. “It was just a long week. I needed a break.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or maybe you were just too scared to face me again.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I had to remind myself to breathe. “No, that’s not it,” I shot back, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound firm. “I’m just… trying to take care of myself.”

“Self-care is important,” he replied smoothly, the playful edge in his voice making my skin crawl. “But you should know, avoiding what scares you only makes it stronger.”

I didn’t respond, my mind racing as I tried to decipher the underlying meaning in his words. Every moment spent in his presence felt like a game, and I was the unwilling pawn. The shadows of the trees seemed to stretch toward me as if they were part of his machinations, and I felt the weight of his gaze burning into the side of my face again.

As we reached my house, the familiar brick facade loomed before me, a beacon of safety that suddenly felt inadequate. I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Damien, who stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, an amused smirk playing on his lips. The night air felt charged, and I could sense the tension building between us.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I said, my voice sounding oddly strained. “You can go now.”

“Not just yet,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as if assessing me. “You seem… on edge. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a voice cut through the stillness of the night. “Amelia!”

I turned around to see Jake Turner striding towards me, his friendly smile lighting up the dim street. Relief washed over me at the sight of my friend. “Jake!” I exclaimed, rushing toward him as he enveloped me in a warm hug.

“Wow, it’s good to see you!” he said, pulling back to look at me. “You look… well, a bit worn out, actually. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a rough week,” I said, trying to brush it off. My heart raced as I glanced back at Damien, who had taken a step back, his expression darkening as he watched us closely.

Jake turned to Damien, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “And who’s this?”

“Damien Blackwell,” he replied smoothly, extending a hand that Jake shook cautiously.

“Jake Turner. Nice to meet you,” Jake said, but I could sense the tension in his stance. He was perceptive, and I could only imagine what he must be feeling in the presence of someone like Damien.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the discomfort. “Jake just got back to town. He was my colleague at the hospital. ”

“Oh really?” Damien replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That must have been a fun time.”

The way he said it sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, and I could sense the weight of his gaze like a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders.

Jake shifted slightly, his body language defensive, and I could feel the tension crackling in the air between the three of us. “Yeah, we had our moments,” Jake said cautiously, his eyes flicking between me and Damien.

“Moments can be… illuminating,” Damien said, his smirk widening. “But they can also haunt you if you’re not careful.”

“Right,” Jake replied, the unease evident in his tone. “Well, Amelia and I should probably catch up. It’s been a while.”

“Sure, why don’t you two enjoy your chat?” Damien stepped back slightly, but not without a lingering glance at me, a predator sizing up its prey .

With that, he turned and walked away, his silhouette slowly fading into the night, leaving behind a heavy silence that wrapped around us like a fog.