THE ONE WHO DELLS WITH ME

The pain started before Clarisse even opened her eyes — a dull, familiar weight pressing on her chest, waiting for her every morning like an unwelcome guest. Her body felt heavy beneath the covers, as if gravity had intensified overnight. Her fingers curled against the mattress in an involuntary attempt to refuse waking.

The room remained shadowed in deep darkness, where corners swallowed more than light. A faint gray dawn filtered through the window, while a tingling at the back of her neck warned that something unseen was present.

Clarisse opened her eyes slowly to the familiar ceiling, marked by a stubborn water stain she had promised to fix months ago. The stain seemed larger today — always larger.

Darkness engulfed the corners, making the space feel larger but emptier. She turned her head, eyes scanning the shadows by the door, under the shelf, in the curtain folds. Nothing moved. Nothing was there. Yet, that uneasy sensation lingered — a prickling at her neck signaling: look closer, there’s something you can’t see.

It must be fatigue, she told herself. It was two in the morning or… she blinked, trying to focus on the clock — 6:47 AM. Earlier than the alarm.

Light began to seep in. Not quite dawn — just a gradation of gray tones — but enough for the first sunbeams to pierce the curtain. A thin ray, almost like a blade, landed softly on her face. Warm. Gentle. Bringing a strange feeling of being watched.

Clarisse breathed deeply. The air carried familiar scents — unwashed bedding, a hint of perfume from yesterday (or was it the day before?), and something deeper, more corporeal. The smell of someone unable to leave the bed.

She rose slowly, as if fearing to wake something.

Bare feet met the cold floor. A shiver ran up her legs. The house was silent — the heavy silence of a school day morning when everyone else still slept with time to spare. From the back, she could hear the refrigerator humming, a constant, hypnotic sound.

Before the mirror, she saw her reflection: tousled hair, an old shirt with a hole near the collar, deep dark circles that no concealer could hide. Her face was pale. When had she become so pale?

Yet there was something in her eyes. A faint glow. Hope? No, it was more than that. Anxiety. The anxiety of knowing something was about to change. She didn’t know what, but she felt it.

The dance was near. Just a week away. And final exams too. Two things that should be completely different but somehow intertwined in her mind like a bad omen. The dance was a chance. A last chance. The boys would see her differently that night — at least, that was what she hoped every time she looked in the mirror and whispered promises she never kept.

Clarisse drew closer to the mirror, studying her face too intently. She fiddled with her hair, trying on a smile. No. That was her ‘please notice me’ smile. Tried another. That was her ‘I’m fine’ smile — but she knew it was a lie.

She breathed out and left the room.

The house slowly woke. Her mother still slept — she could hear soft snores from the end of the hallway. The kitchen was its usual morning scene: last night’s coffee cup on the sink, bread covered by a cloth on the table, a humble, noisy fridge. Clarisse poured herself a box juice in silence.

Through the kitchen window, the street came to life. A car passed occasionally. An elderly couple walked by, taking their morning stroll. Everything so ordinary. So… small. Sometimes Clarisse felt her whole life was small. That she was small. Invisible.

But not for long.

Something strange hung in the air that morning. She couldn’t quite name it, but it was as if the day held a silent promise. As if somewhere, something was stirring. Preparing.

Clarisse dried the glass and set it on the counter. Glanced at the clock — 7:15. There was still time. Time to get ready, to try to look a little less ghostly.

But as she turned to go back to her room, that feeling returned. The tingling at the back of her neck. The sensation of being watched. She spun around, scanning the empty kitchen with her eyes.

Nothing. Just the quiet kitchen, the juice on the table, the heavy silence of the dormant house.

It’s okay, she whispered to herself. It’s only a school day.

Yet even as she climbed the stairs to get ready, she couldn’t shake the feeling. The feeling that soon, something would change. That the universe was one small step away from making a move. Tying a tight knot in her life.

Clarisse entered her room, walls marked by time, the faint sunlight filtering through thin curtains. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and a palpable silence filled the space. Anxiety, heavy and unwelcome, squeezed her chest as she slowly approached the mirror. She crossed the small space to her familiar reflection, a face both known and distant. She wasn’t there to admire her looks; she wanted to see behind those tired eyes.