least bit surprised about what had just happened. He had known I was going to attack him.
What the fuck was going on here? Why had he said what he did, if he knew how I was going to react? And more importantly, how could he have possibly known how I’d react?
For the first time in weeks, I was scared. I backed away from Ethan, shaking my head. Stumbled towards the bed, afraid to look away, even for a second. His eyes followed me across the room. There was no escape. I felt like he could see straight through me, as if I was fading away to nothing. I curled up on the corner of the bed, as far away from him as I could possibly get in this mad white room … this prison.
I closed my eyes. But it was no good. I could still feel him looking at me. I buried my head in my hands, pushing my palms into my eyes so hard that I saw stars.
After a minute or two, I spoke softly, my voice muffled. ‘Who are you?’ There was no answer. Silence in the room, except for my ragged breathing. I knew he’d heard me. He had to have heard me. So I looked up cautiously. Ethan had lifted up his vest, and was using the bottom of it to dab at his bloody mouth. My gaze flickered down to his perfectly toned stomach. I felt numb.
‘Answer me! For fuck’s sake, who are you?’
Ethan let his vest fall back into place. There was a lot of blood on it now. I was surprised, and a little bit disgusted, at the damage I’d done. He opened his mouth and started to say something, before stopping himself. He started again. ‘You know who I am. You know me.’
I was too baffled to speak. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me, and I had to stifle a yawn. I had so many questions, but what was the point? I felt beaten.
Ethan said, ‘You’re tired, Grace. You should rest.’ I nodded and buried myself under the covers. I heard the door opening and closing, and muttered to myself, ‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know a fucking thing any more.’ And then … well, I know this is going to sound mental, but at least there are mitigating circumstances here …
I heard Ethan’s voice inside my head. I didn’t imagine it – I heard it. And he definitely wasn’t in the room any more – I checked. I swear on my life that I heard him. And this is what Ethan-in-my-head had to say for himself:
‘You know much more than you think. All you have to do is remember.’
What the hell?!
I’m losing my mind. It’s the only explanation. I suppose there’s only so much the mind can take before it starts to fragment; the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle falling apart. I should be grateful I’ve stayed sane for this long. Reckon it’s only a matter of time before I’m sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, banging my head against the wall and drooling.
I can’t think about being crazy any more – it’s making me crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about what I heard. So I know much more than I think I know, do I? Just where is this information supposed to be hiding? In some cobwebbed corner of my addled brain? Maybe alongside that fucking song I can’t remember.
All I have to do is remember. Remember, remember, the fifth of November.
I could be dead by the fifth of November.
I slept all afternoon, I think. Feeling loads better now. I don’t feel like a crazy person any more. Well, not a proper crazy person – just a slightly eccentric one, maybe. Just because I ‘heard’ Ethan inside my head, it doesn’t mean anything at all. I’m so used to his stupid cryptic replies that I can fill them in for myself. It’s kind of like with me and Sal, when we used to say the same thing at the exact same time and then both shout, ‘Jinx!’ You spend enough time with a person, you start to think a bit like them, don’t you? Ethan’s become so predictable to me that I know what he’s going to say. I won’t need to speak to him any more; I’ll just hold the conversations in my head. They’ll go something like this:
Me: How did you know I was going to attack you?
Ethan-in-my-head: How do you