Slightly
fueled by caffeine, and her own subtly buzzing panic about her mental health,
she decided to google ‘psychotic break.’
A Forbes article popped up and she read, ‘In
terms of what it means, a ‘psychotic break with reality’ means losing contact
with reality, such as hearing, seeing, tasting, smelling, or feeling something
that has no external correlate (i.e., hallucinations).’
“Shit,” she
muttered, continuing to read, feeling worse and worse as the symptoms
uncomfortably lined up with her day.
Is this what it’s like to be crazy?
She didn’t feel crazy. She felt perfectly normal
outside of the… hallucination. It was just one hallucination though! No pink
elephants or strange voices in her head. Just one hallucination… that had
happened twice… in less than four hours.
Fuck.
Groaning,
she took another sip of the coffee and then immediately choked on it as her own
personal hallucination sat down in the seat across from her. Coughing, she
shoved her chair back, covering her mouth as another wracking cough almost
doubled her over while he just tilted his head at her.
“Are you
all right?” he asked, and she held up her hand, waving away the barista who had
started to step out from the counter. It took a minute or so, but, finally, she
was able to take a breath that didn’t pull hazelnut-flavored caffeine into her
lungs.
Glaring at
the hallucination, she hissed, “Are you visible?”
He smiled.
“No.”
Grumbling,
she wanted to yell so many things at him — it — whatever, but she scrambled for her phone first and pretended to
answer it, holding it to her ear. “Hey,” she said to her imaginary friend on
the line.
“Hello,”
her hallucination responded, looking extremely amused. Dick.
“Why are
you here?” she asked softly, trying not to look like she was glaring at empty
space in front of her.
“Because you did not go home.” He leaned back in
the chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “I waited for you.”
“You could
have continued waiting.” Forever, she
added in her head, and he chuckled.
“Patience
has never been a virtue of mine, and I think I’ve waited long enough for you.”
“What does
that even mean?” she asked, her voice
turning slightly high-pitched as she tried to control the feeling of panic
rising inside her.
“Just
another of the things I’d love to explain to you if you’d meet me at your
home.”
“I’m not—
you— this is insane! Why am I even arguing with a hallucination?” Leaning
forward, she blocked him out by bracing her forehead on her hand. “Maybe I should
go to a hospital.”
“That’s
unnecessary. You’re perfectly healthy and the tired feeling will pass. Have you
eaten yet today?” he asked, sounding almost concerned.
As if he — it — actually was. Or maybe that was her own mind reminding her
she’d skipped breakfast… and lunch.
Shit.
“Perhaps
you should get something to eat.” As the suggestion left his lips, her stomach
growled. The fucking traitor. He just laughed. “I think you’ll feel
better, be less grumpy, if you grab one of those pastries.”
“Don’t tell
me what to do,” she snapped, and he gave her a look that said this-is-what-I-mean. She returned his
snarky look with her own you-don’t-even-exist
glare.
“I feel
like we got off on the wrong foot. Let me feed you tonight, and then I can eat
too, and we can both go to bed much happier.”
Dammit, why
was his voice so sexy? Like a growly, buzzy, humming, low-thing that found its
way between her thighs and made her want… other things.
Things that
she didn’t actually want. Not. At.
All.
No, it was
probably just another symptom of the psychosis. This gorgeous man-hallucination
hybrid was most likely just a result of her dry spell since she’d broken things
off with Eric… which had been… hell,
had it really been nine months? Okay, yeah, that was a while. It had to be the
reason she was dreaming up Hottie McCreeper. The same reason she’d had a crazy
dream about a porno statue from both her best fantasies and her worst
nightmares. There was probably someone in her phone she could call to remedy
this without an exorcism or a padded room.
“I’m
leaving,” she said out loud, standing up from her chair to remind the pulsing
feeling between her thighs that she was serious.
“Well,” her
hallucination replied in that delicious voice as he stood. “Why don’t you go
home, and I will come see you later this evening. I think a good dinner, and a
talk, will make things much clearer for the both of us.”
Why was his
smile so charming? It was irritating, but she had to give bonus points to her
damaged brain for giving her a psychotic break with flair. It would be much
worse to be hallucinating something scary.
“Grace?”
hallucination-hottie prompted her, and she sighed, realizing she still had the
cell phone plastered to the side of her head.
“Fine,
sure, dinner. Whatever. Just go away,” she shooed him, and he laughed. Stupid, sexy laugh.
“One thing
before I go.” He crooked his finger and walked past her. “Come with me.”
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