I slipped into my periwinkle fuzzy slippers when the clock reached 8, grabbed my favorite mug and got ready for it to start. I felt the semi-warm tea slip down my throat, washing away the dry feeling that had clung to me. The white couch felt softer than usual, I had bought it off of Craigslist for as cheap as I could last year. I looked at the dark red clock,  feeling my insides contort every minute the time grew closer to 8:34.

   The sinister feeling of my apartment at night didn’t ease my worries about tonight’s events. I hadn’t seen her in 4 days ; I had gotten away. I told myself I wouldn’t leave this couch, even when it began. I went to grab the remote for the TV, making a grunting sound as I stretched my arm farther to reach it. As my back was exposed, I felt the lower part of my back freeze up, like someone was holding a chilled ice pack to my bare skin.

  At first, I jumped, feeling the cold pressure leave my skin, but the chills continued to run up my back, feeling like electric shocks cracking my body until they reached the top of my shoulders. The hair on my bony arms stuck up like they were trying to reach the sun. I shook it off, but literally shook my head trying to tell myself I was all right. She always played these games before it happened.

  Always.

  Always.

   I spread myself out on the couch like peanut butter on a sandwich, trying to squish myself into the couch, to protect my body from anymore games she wanted to play.

  My head moved like a rollercoaster and my stomach felt like a train crashing and breaking into a million different pieces. The severe headache I endured was enough to send me off the edge. I had been jumpy all day. This morning she had played games with me. She told me tonight would be intense since I haven’t been much stronger recently. The cold Campbell's Soup I had digested didn’t sit well in my already queasy stomach. I repeated the chant in my head that my therapist told me.

 You are imagining it. You are imagining it. I repeat it about 15 times, even though I didn’t believe it.

 The therapist was very expensive, but when I told my mom what happened and what she did, she insisted I seek professional help. She thinks I was imagining it, that she didn’t actually try to lure me to her at night. I could see the image in my head, me traveling up the stairs, almost in a trance. I pushed that eerie thought out of my already congested mind. “I am fine. I am fine. I am fine.” The annoying ring of my cell phone gave me such a fright. I ricocheted off the couch, grabbed the doorknob, ready to escape out of this house. Once it clicked in my head, I let go of the doorknob and my hands flopped to the side, like limp pieces of spaghetti. I strolled to my phone, and and the bright screen in my dimly light apartment hurt my eyes. The screen read: Molly. I put my hands on the table sturdily for 20 seconds, to stop the intense shaking. I pick up the iphone, I had bought with the money I got for working at the diner, and tried to control my hands to press accept.

  "Hey. Fifi, we’re at this great new club. Join us!” The noises in the background were loud and I could barely hears Fifi British accent.

 “She won’t let me leave. She traps me.’’

 Uh-oh. I didn’t want anyone to know, they would think I am psycho. I had hope she didn’t hear me over the ear-piercing pop music playing in her ear.

 “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you, I am stepping outside now.” Phew. I let my stomach unclench while I heard her mumble something to her friends and then a bunch of repetitive songs, she spoke again.

 “Come on, it’s super fun here.”

 I could see her begging expression, it was stained into my mind because she was always wanting me to do stuff with her.

 “Nah, I just want to stay home. I’m tired, I would be a buzzkill.” That wasn’t true, I just didn’t want to admit the truth.

 “Fifi come on. You are always sitting at your boring little apartment.” Her words were mumbled, but I could make out her phrases that were thrown at me in an annoyed tone. The clock read 8:28, my inside felt like they were being twisted into pretzels.

 “Molly, I gotta go. See you at work tomorrow.”

 I fumbled to hit the end call button, and threw myself back on the broken couch. I repeated the words.

 I am fine. I am fine.

 I still felt an 800 pound weight was on my chest, and I was trying to bench press much more than I could handle. So much for therapy.  8:30. I went to grab my phone to check Instagram to get my mind off my worries, but it almost slipped out of my sweaty palms. Molly had posted a picture, her dressed in a crop top and black jeans. She was plastered with makeup, like she was trying to form a new face for herself. I was waiting for 8:34 to hit, so the torture would stop, I wanted to get this over with. 8:33. The weight I felt on my chest increase in size, I could never lift this off of me. Tears came streaming down my chubby face, like a fierce waterfall pushing its way to get to a river.

 Don’t move from this couch.

 Fifi, you can do this. Come on, don’t let it happen again.

 8:34.

 My stomach dropped like I was on a carnival ride that spun too many times in a row.  It was starting now, I clenched my fist so hard I could see the veins popping out. I put my phone down, and put the torn up pillows over both ears trying to block out the sound that would begin soon.

 “It’s time. Come up here,” the voice hissed, like a snake trying to lure in its next meal. The pillows didn’t do their job, so I threw them hard into the ground, the frustration building.

 “Oh, come on. I see your upset, come up here and things will be better.”

 I realized my jaw was in pain from clenching it so tightly. I looked over the couch, peering at the stairs that would lead to her.

 Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

 Fiona…” My body tensed up, she was the only one who called me that.

 “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on.”

 Her irritating voice stung like a bee every time I heard her speak. The voice drove me bonkers and I couldn’t help it anymore.

 I sat up and tiptoed towards to the stairs.

 “Yes, keep coming. You know you want to.”

 I wanted to run away, run out of the house, but I couldn’t. My feet felt like a million pounds. This is what she does. A small part of me wanted to go to her; she does make me forget. She makes me forget about all of my problems for a little, but she causes more problems than she helps.

 “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on.”

 Her disturbing voice was crawling up me, like an ant crawling its way up my body. She repeated this over 105 times. I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t hear this anymore. This would go on the whole night, it wouldn’t stop, if I didn’t go up, I could even hear it with earphones in blasting Spanish music. I took a step up the stairs, adrenaline rush through my body, moving my legs up the stairs. I was about to reach the room to meet her when I stopped. No. Don’t fall into the trap.

 “Come on. Fiona. You miss me, I know it.”

  I can heard the frustration in her low-pitched voice, she was desperate for me to see her. I tried to run back down the stairs, but my feet were glued to the carpet, unable to move. I was so upset at myself for coming up the stairs, it had been 4 days until I caved in. Her words kept spiraling into me, the words were moving my feet close to her. Before I knew it, I stood in front of the mirror. Don’t look up. If you don’t look up it won’t happen.

  Her voice got harsh.

  “Look up Fiona. Now. Come on, you know I control you. Look up. Look up. Look up at me. Look up.”

  She repeated that short sentence over and over until my head felt like dynamite had just exploded. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I couldn’t handle the words. I needed it to stop now. The words were making me crazy, I wanted to pull my hair out. I needed this to stop. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. If you look up she gets the control, don’t look up. I didn’t want to look up. A sharp pain shot up my neck like a knife stabbing me over and over. She always played with me before I looked up. I stared at my slippers, the periwinkle color me in a trance. Don’t look up. I didn’t want to see her face, middle aged with a couple of wrinkles on her forehead. She had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, with noticeable gray hairs near the top of her scalp. I didn’t want to see her frustrated mood turn into a satisfied smile when I looked her in eye and she took over.

  “Look up Fiona. Now. Look at up. Look up at me.” I could picture her eyes displaying an evil tone, and her long hair resting behind her. I couldn’t handle that voice for any longer. It was going to me make rip out my own hair which is already thin and falling out. I needed it to stop. The door closed, making its harsh sound that traveled through my room. These were the normal things she did; closed door and windows, move things, and even hurt me.  I counted 22 bruises yesterday.

  “Look up. Look up. Look up.”

 I couldn’t hear the words “look up” one more time without looking up. Don’t do it. Don’t look her in the eye. The problem was I couldn’t handle those words, I felt my neck slowly start to move up, I could see her feet. The mirror reflected her  crimson red shoes with mammoth holes. My eyes followed as my neck rose up to a position where I could see her whole body. She was boney with long nails that looked they hadn’t been cut in 20 years, but she was overall pretty. I looked at her chin, I just couldn’t look her in the eye. Fifi, don’t look her in the eye, she wins then. I tried to turn around but I was caught. I felt like an animal in a small cage and the key wasn’t around.

 “Look into my eyes. Look. Look.”

 All I desired was for this to stop immediately, the words were engraved in my mind. My eyes followed up her face until I stared into her ocean blue eyes. Oh no. She disappeared from the mirror. I felt a sore feeling over my limp body, like something wasn’t right. Darn.

 She took over.

 Everything went black.