Paranoia?

CHAPTER EIGHT Seraphina's POV

The world is heavy. My head feels like stones were heaped on it and my body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt. I drift in and out of consciousness, weightless and trapped at the same time, caught between dreams and the cold bite of reality.

Sometimes, I hear voices.

Jonathan’s, rough and distant, disappearing in the hallways.The sharp clicks of different shoes or crocs on the tiled floors. Machines humming  and beeping. 

I can hear every single little thing and it makes me feel like I'm going crazy.

Then there’s another voice and this one is softer, sharper, dipped in venom.

‘You should’ve died, you know.’

I think I’m dreaming when I hear it, but the voice is too real, and it sounds too familiar. My mind claws at this thought or memory and I jerk, desperate to rise. To know who it is, but my body won’t move. The pillow beneath me shifts and there is a tiny bit of pressure, light at first, then it starts to press against my face. I can’t open my eyes, can’t breathe right. The weight grows heavier, and for a terrifying second, I realize that this isn’t a dream. Someone is pressing a pillow down on me.

Panic explodes in my chest, but my limbs betray me as they feel dead and weak. Just as the darkness starts closing in, the pillow lifts. I suck in air, but it is sharp and painful with my heart pounding so loud it overtakes everything else out.

I hear footsteps. The door opens. The air changes. Someone else is in the room.

But I don’t move. I stay as still since I can't move. I try to open my eyes, but it feels so heavy I close them back. 

The next time I wake up, the sun is shining through the hospital blinds, too bright and too cruel for the way I feel. My throat is dry, my body is sore, and my heart is still a wreck from whatever the hell that was last night. And I'm wondering why I'm getting worse instead of better. 

I have school. I have tests to get back to, I have exams. I can't afford to fail. I had a scholarship to grab and leave there, so I can't afford to stay sick for much longer. 

Even if mother eventually marries Jonathan’s father, I know the man would want to worm his way up to me by giving me everything, but I wanted nothing to do with his money. 

I press the nurse call button, but no one comes. Minutes stretch, and when I finally gather enough strength to push myself upright, I regret it. My body protests, every movement sending sharp reminders of how broken I am and I fall back on the bed, my body hurting. 

The door creaks open, and I freeze, expecting a nurse, or maybe Jonathan. But it’s neither.

Larry Gretton, Jonathan’s friend who also bullied me steps in, looking like he walked straight out of a fashion ad and into my personal hell.

‘Hey, Puckett,’ he says, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place. ‘Looks like you survived.’

I blink, unsure if I’m hallucinating or if my brain’s just playing tricks with me. 

‘What are you doing here?’ My voice cracks.

‘The question is, why aren’t you dead?’ he replies, pushing off the door and strolling toward the bed like this is the most casual thing in the world. ‘You’ve got a way of surviving things you shouldn’t.’

His words hit me sideways, and for a second, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or another one of his backhanded digs. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t trust him.

And what is with every body wishing I was dead? First, the note. Second, the dream and third, him?

‘What do you want, Alistair?’

He pulls a chair up to the bed, sitting backward on it, arms draped over the backrest. His face, as usual, is unreadable.

‘Thought I’d check on you. Word spreads fast, you know. Some people were betting you wouldn’t make it through the night.’

‘And you? What were you betting?’

His mouth curves into a slow, deliberate smile.

‘That you'd be dead.’

I swallow hard, my throat closing up. He leans in closer, his voice lowering.

‘You should be careful who you trust around here. Not everyone’s rooting for you to get better. I heard from somewhere that Whitney is out for you…for whatever reason,’ he scoffs. 

The warning lingers in the air between us, heavy and sharp. Before I can ask more, he’s already standing, heading for the door.

‘Rest up, booger girl. You’ll need it.’

And just like that, he’s gone.

The hours tick by slow. My body gets stronger, but the fear curls tighter around my ribs. Someone tried to smother me last night. I know it. I can still feel it.

My father—no. That monster of a man, would soon be free and I don't know why, but I don't feel safe anymore. 

Jonathan hasn’t returned since morning. I wonder if he knows what almost happened. If he did, would he even care? Or would he just brush it off the way he always does, cold and detached?

A knock snaps me from my thoughts. This time, it’s the nurse. She’s holding a tray, her face carefully neutral.

‘You’ve got a visitor. They wanted me to bring this to you.’

She places the tray on the side table. My stomach knots when I spot it — a small cupcake, perfect frosting, a single note folded under the plate.

I glance at the nurse, but she’s already turning away. I reach for the note, fingers trembling.

“Eat up, sweetheart. I hear hospital food is dreadful. See you soon— Celine.” 

I stare at the note for a while, and my mind churns because this isn't Celine's writing. Celine wrote like someone was pursuing her and she has to hurry the fuck up, but this writing is neat and intentional.

I stare at the cupcake and I don't bother to take a bite. I don't even bother to touch it. 

Soon, it is nightfall, but I don’t sleep. My mind is wired, every sound sharpening the edges of my fear. 

Around midnight, the door creaks again. I hold my breath, frozen, expecting danger, but it’s Jonathan.

I release a breath I didn't know I am holding. 

He walks in slowly, shutting the door behind him. His face is unreadable, dark circles bruised under his eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, watching me.

‘You look like shit,’ I croak, my voice barely working.

A ghost of a smirk pulls at his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He walks to the window, pulling the blinds shut before sitting on the edge of my bed.

‘Did anyone visit you today?’ he asks, voice low.

I nod, feeling my throat tighten.

‘Someone brought me something,’ I say, nudging at the cupcake. 

His jaw tightens. 

‘Don’t eat it.’

‘I wasn’t planning to.’

Silence stretches. I wonder if he knows. If he somehow pieced it all together. But before I can say more, he leans in closer, voice dropping even lower.

‘I think something’s going on, Sera. I heard some people—’ he stops as if remembering he isn't supposed to say something like this. 

A cold wave rushes through me. ‘Why? What’s happening? Who? What did they say?’

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, his phone buzzes in his pocket. One glance at the screen and his entire expression shifts. 

‘I have to go,’ he mutters, standing. ‘Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.’

And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and a stomach full of dread.

I barely make it through an hour before the sound of footsteps outside my door returns. Slow. Deliberate.

The handle turns.

And this time, it’s not Jonathan.