Helix

I thought leaving the psych ward would finally cut him out of my life because of his intensity. I had been his therapist, the one who sat across from him while he unraveled the darkness in his mind, the one voice he would actually listen to. He was unstable, unpredictable ended his parents with no remorse or guilt but with me, he was calm. Attached. Too attached. He took his meds only when I gave them, watched me like I was the only thing keeping him together. It crossed a line I couldn’t ignore, so I left. I tried to move on, build something normal but then I started noticing things. The same figure near my street at night. Footsteps that didn’t match mine. And then one evening, I followed that feeling instead of running from it… straight to the abandoned graveyard at the edge of town. That’s where I found him. Living there. Waiting. He tilted his head when he saw me as if it was stupid of me to follow like this was inevitable. Told me he escaped and took enough medication to stay “in control.” Then softer “You taught me how.” I told him this wasn’t okay, that he needed real help, but he just stepped closer, eyes steady like nothing had changed. Then he admitted it he’d been watching me. My routine, my habits, everything. Fear hit fast, but his expression shifted, something fragile breaking through. “You left,” he said quietly, like it still hurt. I tried to explain, to put distance between us again, but he shook his head. “I don’t understand what this is,” he murmured, voice low. “I just know when I’m near you… it stops.” The voices. The chaos. His hand hovered near mine, hesitant but desperate, like touching me might hold him together. Behind him, the dark funeral home felt too still, too empty but somehow, he felt like the only thing alive in a place meant for the dead. And the most dangerous.