THYME'S POV:
The rose-scented water was a blissful cocoon, and I let myself sink into its warm, pinkish silence. The world dissolved. I held my breath, letting go of everything, just for a moment. But when my lungs burned and I pushed myself up, gasping for air, the world I had left was gone.
The scent of roses had vanished, replaced by the sterile, biting smell of chlorine that scraped the back of my throat. The cozy bathtub had warped, expanding into a cavernous, steaming Jacuzzi set into a floor of gleaming black marble that seemed to swallow the light. The steam coiled around me, not like a comforting blanket, but like a shroud. And I was no longer alone.
"Wha… What the hell are you doing here?" I sputtered, my voice a pathetic croak that was immediately devoured by the oppressive silence.
Across from me, leaning against the far edge as if he were part of the shadows, was the man from my hallucination. The man with Meta's face, but cruelly altered by a vicious white scar that hooked his mouth into a permanent sneer.
He didn't smile. His eyes were flat, dead things that reflected no light. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. His voice wasn't a shout, but a low, calm rumble that vibrated through the water and into my bones. "But I think I already know. Tell me, how does a little stray like you find his way into my private bath?"
A frantic, wild bird beat its wings against the cage of my ribs. I scrambled backward, my limbs clumsy and useless, but the powerful jets of the Jacuzzi pushed against me, holding me in place.
"So, that bastard finally sent someone," he stated, not a question, but a final judgment. His dead eyes traveled over my body, cold and analytical, stripping me bare. "You don't look like the usual type he hires. You look… soft."
The way he said the word, like it was something dirty, made my skin crawl. Ice flooded my veins, a paralyzing cold that fought against the water's heat. I had to deny it, make him believe me.
"N-No! I wasn't sent by anyone," I stammered, my voice trembling so hard the words barely formed. "I don't… I don't even know how I got here!"
He watched me for a long, stretched moment, a predator observing the frantic, useless struggle of its prey. "No," he finally whispered, a sound more frightening than a shout. "You're not one of his. He wouldn't send someone so fragile." He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate movement. "Someone whose heart is beating so fast I can almost see it hammering through his skin. Pathetic."
A tiny, choked gasp escaped my lips. A flicker of something—not a smile, but the shadow of one—disturbed the corner of his scarred mouth. He was enjoying this.
"But," he continued, pushing himself from the wall, "just because you aren't his… doesn't mean you weren't sent." He didn't swim; he glided through the water toward me, a silent, deadly shark closing in. "Perhaps you're a gift from a different admirer. It's the first time they've sent a boy. And such a beautiful one."
He stopped just an arm's length away. His gaze felt like ice water on my skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold.
"They've sent dozens of women," he mused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made the fine hairs on my neck stand up. "So eager to please. It's a shame none of them could survive more than a few… interviews." He let out a low, chilling laugh that held no humor, a sound like grinding stones.
The room seemed to tilt, the steam coiling in my vision like smoke. Interviews? What is this monster talking about?
"Don't look so horrified, brat," he sneered, his dead eyes glinting. "I have no interest in you that way. You're far too… breakable."
I don't know if it was the sheer terror or the string of venom-laced insults, but something inside me snapped. "I've had enough!" The words erupted from me, raw and reckless. "Stop calling me beautiful! I'm not a woman, you fucking, crazy… Gorilla!"
My hands flew to my mouth, horror-struck. Idiot! Why did you say that?!
The scarred man's smile vanished. His face became a mask of cold, terrifying stillness. "Oh?" he whispered, the sound slithering into my ear. "You have a voice after all. Only the ones that bastard sends have that kind of fire in them. I'm starting to reconsider my assessment."
He rose from the water in one fluid, powerful motion. My breath hitched. He was built like Meta, but bigger, more brutal. Water streamed down his sculpted chest and… oh god. My eyes accidentally fell lower and then locked there against my will. In the face of sheer, soul-crushing terror, my brain, the utterly useless, traitorous organ, decided to register that. What the hell? That's… that's the size of a water bottle. And it's not even— Shit, Thyme, now is NOT the time to be envious! My brain felt like it was short-circuiting, caught between paralyzing fear and sheer, bewildered shock.
I was so lost in my panicked internal monologue that I didn't see him move. One second he was there, the next his hand was a vise around my throat, lifting me effortlessly from the water.
"L-Let… me— guh… go…!" I choked, my feet kicking uselessly, splashing water that did nothing to stop him. His grip was iron. My lungs burned, black spots dancing in my vision like malevolent fireflies.
"Let you go?" he chuckled, a guttural, terrifying sound. "But we're just getting to know each other." He brought his face close, his dead eyes staring into mine, searching. "I want to watch the exact moment the light leaves your pretty eyes. I want to know who sent you. And you will tell me. It just depends on how many pieces of you are left when you do."
This was it. I was going to die. As my vision started to fade to a dark tunnel, my flailing leg brushed against something solid. His leg. An idea, born of pure, animal desperation, flashed through my mind. I gathered the last of my strength, the last of my oxygen, and kicked out. It was a weak, clumsy shove, but it connected with his groin.
He grunted, a sharp intake of breath, and his grip loosened for a split second.
It was enough.
The water swallowed me whole, a chaotic, dark embrace. I sank, but this time, I fought. I kicked for the surface, for life, for air.
"GASP!"
I broke the surface, coughing, my body heaving. Strong arms were around me, supporting my back.
"Kid, are you okay?"
It was Meta. The real Meta. His voice was tight with a worry so genuine it was a physical shock. "Why did you fall asleep in the tub? What would have happened if I hadn't noticed you?"
The dam inside me broke. The strength I'd feigned, the terror I'd swallowed—it all came rushing out. I could still feel the phantom pressure of those fingers on my throat, the chilling emptiness of those eyes. I lunged for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a collapsing world. I hugged him tightly, desperately seeking the warmth I remembered from the car, the feeling of a safe place.
He hesitated for only a second before his arms came around me, pulling me into an embrace as fierce as my own. I didn't realize I was crying until I felt the hot tears soaking his shirt, my body shaking with sobs I couldn't control. Why now? Why was I so afraid to die now? I had always told myself no one would miss me, that my death wouldn't matter. But this… this warmth. It felt like something worth living for. Could I stay in this warmth forever?
"Are you okay now?" Meta asked softly, his voice a gentle rumble against my ear.
The question broke the spell. The sheer embarrassment of what I was doing crashed over me. I immediately pushed him away, pulling out of the hug, my face on fire. He just watched me, a small, concerned smile on his lips.
"Sorry, your clothes…" I mumbled, gesturing at the wet patch on his shirt. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's fine, I can get another one," he said, his smile fading as his eyes focused on my neck. "But first… what is that?" He moved closer, his fingers gently tilting my chin up. "Why do you have marks on your neck? It looks like someone choked you."
His voice was a mixture of concern and confusion. Shit. How could I explain something I didn't understand myself?
"Thyme?"
I looked at him, at the face that had just been a mask for a monster, but saw only genuine worry in his eyes. Those eyes couldn't lie.
"Th-this is just a scratch," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "I felt itchy earlier… maybe because of the saltwater." Please believe me. Please.
He studied my face for a long moment, then sighed, seeming to accept it. "Okay. Let me get some soothing cream for you. I'll get out first, you can follow me when you're ready."
I nodded, unable to speak. As he left the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. The red marks on my neck were faint but undeniable. What happened in that Jacuzzi wasn't just a hallucination. It was real. And I had no idea what was happening to me.