1. Sixth Sense

"Please don't even start," I say, rubbing my temples with both thumbs as I lean over a pure white, shiny table that reflects the light like nearly every piece of furniture in my apartment.

"You should get that checked out, that's all I'm saying," replies, sitting across from me. She's sipping a mix of wine and carbonated lemonade from a tall glass, ice clinking together as she swirls it slowly with one hand.

I could never understand her obsession with creating drinks that seem outright ridiculous, but maybe I judge her too harshly. Maybe I should drink as much alcohol as she does, and my problem would disappear. Maybe I should just let loose and stop worrying about the ‘what ifs'.

Yeah… Maybe.

"Right, we've been over this already," I exhale, running my fingers through my hair and feeling each strand prick my scalp like a needle. "I can do that. But then I'll start taking meds I don't want, get addicted, and end up unable to imagine life without them."

"Eh, maybe a little addiction would be the lesser evil here?" suggests. I force myself not to wince. Addiction runs high in my family. It's a curse I've been born with and have hidden from daylight for as long as I can remember. Not many people know this, but does.

Still, I can't blame her for suggesting it anyway. Just look at me. My eye bags must be the color of an old aubergine, my hair is matte and dirty, and my lips are dry and chapped like they've been sandpapered.

I'm a mess. But… better a mess than being dependent on substances.

"I'm not giving in," I say firmly. "I won't pretend I'm fine, but going to the doctor isn't an option." I let out a sigh. "Can we talk about something else? You haven't visited me in a week, and I don't want to spend our time talking about what happens when I'm alone."

"Mm," she muses, a smile on her face. "The things I do for you, though..." She picks up her drink and downs it, leaving only ice in the glass as she sets it down with a clink. "We can talk about those, right?"

"Sure," I mutter, resting my head in my palms as my shoulders slump. The moment Camilla crossed the threshold of my apartment, the heaviness I'd been carrying on my shoulders became too much.

I'm exhausted, and her presence brings it all out in me. She calms me. Only when she's here can I really, truly sleep. It must go back to the time she let me sleep in her bed when I ran away from home. Unlike at home, it was always so peaceful with her.

Ugh... I just want to crawl into bed and sleep right now.

"Guess what? Your girl got asked out on a date today—by none other than Jackson from marketing. You know, the one I've been eyeing all this time," she says.

"No way," I reply, raising my eyebrows. "That Jackson?"

"That Jackson," she confirms, puckering her lips and nodding slowly.

"And how did it go?" I ask, my voice getting drowsy even though I try my hardest to sound bright.

The truth is there's nothing bright about me lately. But I can try, right? That's why I remodeled my entire flat in white—chasing the brightness I can't seem to find within myself.

"He asked me out today, Claire," she says, using that tone that makes it clear I just messed up. "And guess what? I ditched him to come here and give you my special voodoo calming vibes. Seriously, I hope it's only you who falls asleep around me. It would suck if I finally met up with Jackson tonight and he conked out on me too."

I cock a brow at her.

"Sorry to break it to you, but you're not a witch, Cam," I chuckle. "I'm just messed up, that's all. We have some kind of… weird synergy going on—me with all my mental problems, and you without any. It's like we balance each other out."

She glares at me.

"Mm," she muses in a high-pitched tone while squinting her dark brown eyes. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I've got some extra magic juice running in my veins, honey."

I want to scoff, but I'm too damn tired. It feels like my head weighs a hundred pounds, and all my facial muscles ache. Honestly, I've endured this pain all week, but now that Camila's here, it's the only time it feels worth it.

I could show her some personality instead of this empty shell of a human being. I could laugh harder, smile wider, and engage more. There'd be a purpose to the pain. Right now, I'm just suffering for no reason beyond my inability to sleep.

Or my detestation of it. Or fear. Or that bone-twisting feeling that someone is always watching me.

All those things? They're only in my head, but they consume me to the point where I can't fight them off.

I think it's because I'm so dark at heart that when the darkness comes for me, it just swallows me whole. I don't see a single spark of light when I'm in that pit.

So, instead, I just sigh.

"Yeah, well," I manage to say. "I'll entertain you. If you're a witch, then how about you do something with me? Bewitch me, or something. Cast a spell on me so I can sleep just fine. Give me one of those permanent things instead of the crystals or whatever you slipped under my pillow last time."

Her eyes light up with excitement.

"Now you're fucking talking!" she almost yells, slamming the glass onto the table and planting both her manicured hands on its surface. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Let me just check the internet and I'll get to work."

At the mention of the internet, my heart starts racing a little. Even such a small exertion feels like it's sucking the energy out of me.

"I don't know if the internet is the best place to..." I start, but I can't finish. When cuts me off, I don't have the strength to argue.

"Oh, please," she says. "Where else am I supposed to check? Some ancient magic books that cost thousands of dollars?"

I shut my mouth and look at her, holding my chin in my shaky hands. I'm so tired. It's not funny anymore. I could just wrap a blanket around myself—or maybe not—and just pass out. Anything would be better than this misery.

But there's this annoying, responsible voice in my head that nags even when I'm about to lose consciousness. It says that won't always be here. Her family gave me shelter for two years, but I don't want to burden them—or her—any longer.

I've worked hard to be independent. I started my own web development company at eighteen, and it was doing great… until last year. That's when my sleep problems began, and I just couldn't handle as many clients anymore.

The point is, I've been self-reliant for years. Emancipated at sixteen, I ran away from my abusive, addict mother and a life with no prospects. I've been autonomous ever since.

I need to find a solution to my sleep problem that doesn't involve depending on anyone but myself. So this witch thing? As long as it doesn't mean going to the doctor, I'll give it a shot.

"Eh, whatever." I close my eyes. The darkness suddenly feels comforting. "Just don't summon anything."

"Oh, honey," she drawls. "I'm pretty sure you're already haunted anyway."

"Shut up," I whisper, my gut twisting as I open my eyes. "Don't say that."

The thought of something otherworldly latching onto me and terrorizing me sends a cold sweat over my body. I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it.

Memories of my mother in her white nightgown, standing in the dark and banging her head against the wooden basement doors, flash through my mind. I feel like throwing up.

No, Claire. Your mother was a disturbed woman who took more drugs than hospital patients and drank booze like water. She wasn't haunted. She was sick.

snaps me back to the present. "Say what you want, but a protection spell is the first thing I'm doing. I've been reading up on it, and people swear it works wonders."

"People?" I ask, raising my eyebrows in confusion. Since when is actually discussing this shit with others? I thought all this occult stuff talk was just a game.

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe how many people are deep into witchcraft," she replies. "I've made some friends online. They told me how it all works."

"Right," I drawl, leaning back and bringing my feet onto the chair so I can wrap my arms around my knees. It's hard to keep my head up straight, but I manage. "And you don't find that suspicious or scary at all...?"

She looks into the distance for a moment, then puckers her lips. "If you mean in a creepy way, then no," she says after a while. "It's mostly women, you know."

I take a deep breath. "You know what? Whatever. Let's just do this so I can go to sleep. As much as I love talking to you..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," she quips, that excited smile stretching across her pretty face. Her brown skin starts glowing like the happiness she feels is sunlight itself. "Let me get to work, then."

An hour later, I'm perched on a wooden stool in an herbal shop, a basket on my knees, while goes through her list. We're here to buy a bunch of herbs, some teas for sleep, and, well... things to burn. As in, light on fire and release smoke kind of burn.

"How many more things are on that list?" I ask, rubbing my stiff fingers against my eyelids, seizing any chance to close my eyes.

"Just one more," she replies. When I open my eyes, I see her holding packets of dried leaves, rolled and tied with rope. "Sage."

She gently places the herb into my basket.

For a shop filled with things I never thought would sell well, ‘Esoteric Cat' is surprisingly spacious. Everything here is in shades of green or brown, with a rich, earthy scent. The aisles are lined with warm wooden shelves and potted plants. Crystals, candles, oils, and other pretty, fragrant items fill the space, though I have no clue what one does with most of them.

This place… it has a vibe. A very interesting one. But despite being here for at least fifteen minutes, I haven't seen a clerk. The cashier's spot at the end of a book-lined corridor, semi-hidden by a bead curtain, is just... empty.

"Okay, let's go pay," says, her voice taking on a smooth edge. It feels wrong to speak loudly here. It has the same feeling as libraries, or yoga studios, or massage places. Calm, quiet. Scholastic.

"You know, even though I appreciate you doing this for me," I whisper, standing up and following her through the corridor, "it feels like I'm doing a lot of work just by coming here."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you deserve an award for all that sitting around and breathing you've done, Claire," she replies.

I snort. "Okay, I might be a lazy piece of shit, but if you were as tired as me, you'd be too."

I don't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes. It's all in good faith, though. We get each other.

The world isn't kind to insomniacs. Actually, the world isn't kind, period. It doesn't matter why you're not at your best. If you can't adapt, it's your problem. Thankfully, I have a friend who drags me to an herbal shop called ‘Esoteric Cat' to help me fight my battles. Not everyone gets that.

We reach the end of the corridor—me with my shoulders slumped, with her head held high—and enter a round space divided by bookshelves. There's a cash register, an empty chair, and glass display cases filled with rings, bracelets, necklaces, and other items fit for ancient royalty rather than your average lunch guest. Skulls are scattered around. And there's a black cat.

"What the hell," I mutter, feeling a bit unnerved as the cat fixes its yellow eyes on me. It's perched next to a skull on the bookshelf, looking more like a stuffed animal than a living creature. Honestly, if it hadn't blinked, I would've sworn it wasn't alive, given how motionless it is.

"Ready to make a purchase?" someone calls out. The voice seems to echo through the wooden bookshelves, almost like it's coming from the wall behind the cash register.

I'm not gonna lie, this herbal shop gets creepier by the minute. And that goddamn cat is still staring at me.

"Yes," calls out, taking the basket from me and putting it on the counter. There's almost no space, most of it cluttered with random trinkets. As she manages to squeeze it in, the cat suddenly leaps down, landing gracefully on the counter. Its yellow eyes remain fixed on me, unnerving in their intensity.

"Oh look, it seems to like you," my friend says with a smile. I can't help but let out a nervous laugh, which earns me a squint from the cat.

I've never been a fan of cats; they always seem to know more than they should, and it creeps me out. But fuck it. I really shouldn't let my silly fears get the best of me. I'm already letting them win most the time anyway.

I move closer and reach out, trying to pet its pitch-black fur.

But the moment my hand is about to touch it, the cat's pupils narrow, whiskers twitching. Before I know it, it lets out the most ‘leave me alone' hiss I've ever heard and its claws swipe at my skin.

"Shit!" I curse, pulling my hand back and clutching it as crimson liquid pools at my fingertips. "It scratched me."

"Wow, okay. I guess it doesn't like you," quips, frowning as she examines my hand. "Are you okay? That looks pretty deep."

I wince, feeling the sting of the scratch. "Yeah, I'll survive. Just didn't expect the shop's cat to be so... hostile. My fault for touching it, I guess."

At that moment, the mysterious voice materializes into the figure of a clerk. She's dressed in a long, flowing gray dress decorated with celestial patterns, and her waist-length dreadlocks frame her face adorned with rune-like tattoos. Or maybe it's just make-up? I wouldn't know.

"Oh man, I'm so sorry about Artemis," she says, referring to the cat. "She's usually not this temperamental. Do you want me to take care of your wound?"

She reaches below the counter and produces a small bottle of antiseptic and a bandage, but I'm too out of it to appreciate it. My stomach twists, and everything in me suddenly screams that I should not let this woman touch me.

Call it the crankiness of someone who hasn't slept well in weeks, I guess.

"Um, no thank you," I mutter, my face wrinkling. "I'll manage."

"You sure?" the woman asks. "It would certainly help disinfect the wound."

The twisting feeling in my gut intensifies.

"No, really," I say, forcing a smile. It probably comes out lopsided and doesn't reach my eyes, but I'm doing my best. "It's my fault for trying to touch her, really."

"Well, Artemis can be a bit unpredictable at times," she says. "Some say she has a sixth sense for people's energies."

I glance skeptically at Artemis, who now glares at me from the counter.

"Well, her sixth sense isn't very friendly."

"Mm, perhaps," she replies.

Gods, I just want to leave this place already.

"Um, anyway," interjects. "We would like to pay for these." She puts a hand on the basket and raises her eyebrows in a way that looks friendly. If I tried that same expression right now, I'd just look like a bitch.

There's something about me that people don't seem to like. I can't quite put my finger on it. The only people who've stuck around are those I met early in life. I've never been able to make new connections. I guess I'm like some kind of human repellent. And apparently… cats can sense it too.

"Right," the clerk replies. "Let me scan these."

She starts moving slowly and deliberately, as if every item she touches is sacred. I just stare at her hands, swallowing hard because my mouth is suddenly desert-dry.

My exhaustion is a real trip. The world starts spinning, and stationary objects seem to dance. Her tattoos are doing a number on me—in my blurred vision, the signs twist and writhe like tiny snakes, mirroring her slow movements.

seems oblivious to all this, so I know it's just my tired brain playing tricks on me. Meanwhile, the knot of dread in my stomach tightens, and I glance at Artemis, whose yellow eyes almost glow in the dim light. Even the air feels heavy, almost suffocating.

Fuck, this whole scene feels like some kind of a fever dream. It went from zero to one hundred real fast, and all I want is to get out of here and find some sleep.

"That will be $47.23," the woman finally says, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away. Her voice has an unidentifiable edge that sends shivers down my spine.

I hand over the money as fast as possible, but the clerk's fingers brush against mine as she takes the cash, and I recoil at the unexpected coldness of her touch. The twisting in my belly intensifies even more.

"Be careful with the sage," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Used correctly, it can cleanse and protect. But if misused, it might stir up what's hidden in the shadows. I don't think you want that."

What the hell?

The cryptic warning confuses me, but I don't want to stick around to ask what she means. I grab the bag of items and hurry towards the exit, pulling with me.

Whatever. I just want to sleep. That's the only thing I want.