Chapter Text
It sounded different.
His voice.
He couldn't say how, just different.
Louder. Stronger.
The voices too. Loud and irritating. Like screaming buzzes that only he heard.
He must be crazy, that was the only explanation. Because he could see them too. Like shadows and shapes that appeared and disappeared. Like ghosts. Distorted ones that yelled for him to hear, so he yelled back. And then... the silence.
He didn't know what it meant. What it was. And it was terrifying. He was too scared to sleep. He would see death by his side anyway, so the sleepless nights weren't punishment, but deliverance.
Sometimes, the voices were... nice. Calm and low, sadder about death than angry. But those were rare and he hardly met them in the years.
But then he heard. Her voice, screaming inside him. But she was dead, she was just a remnant of what he never was. It wasn't real, he was sure of it.
And he researched. He tried to figure out what to do with himself.
It was like in the past, when he spent sleepless nights trying to figure himself out, to accept himself.
Girl.
Boy.
Both.
None.
She.
He.
Me, that voice screamed. But back then, he couldn't listen.
So he tried. Nights when he hid from his mother, afraid in the locked room.
She had accepted him, she had to. But this was something else, it was scary and painful and loud.
Supernatural, the voices screamed.
Monster, he tried to shout over them, scared and huddled against the bedroom wall night and day.
Like Lydia, that dead voice tried with the last of the hope he didn't have.
No.
No.
No.
Just… couldn't.
Banshee, as he discovered.
Banshee, a banshee. She!
He.
A banshee.
That voice was scared, because she had been killed. She had been killed. He knew she no longer existed, that he had died and he had made sure of it.
Expensive surgeries, isolation from the start, fear, acceptance, screaming, new clothes. The name.
She never existed and he erased any trace that he could prove otherwise.
He's a son. And not a daughter.
A friend. Not a friend.
An enemy. Not an enemy.
A monster. Not a banshee.
He could not.
However, he could still hear the voices. That. The screams and the feeling of despair. That was the part he couldn't suppress. disappear. To kill. To hide.
It showed who he once was and needed to disappear. He needed to disappear.
Monroe didn't know. She should. Then she would kill him. He knows so. She had already tried for other reasons.
The voices screamed, angry and aggressive for him hunting people like him.
But these people didn't know what it was like to hate yourself for your body, to look in the mirror every night and wish you were in another.
They didn't know how desperate it was to hear the voice of the mother, the father, when they approached and you still hadn't done what you were told.
They didn't know what it was like to concentrate late at night and have to wipe away the bruises and blood.
They didn't know what it felt like to circle every part of your body that you hated and realize there was nothing left.
They didn't know what it was like to be him.
And he didn't want them to know.
Because he would get pity, stares, maybe even hate. But it doesn't help.
He need help. But he refuses to ask.
He'll wait for her to find out and kill him.
Or else he will kill himself.
Because it's disgusting and wrong. He shouldn't exist. That part of him shouldn't exist. He hates himself because of her.
She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She. She.
Banshee. She. Screams. Help. Anger. Touches. Death. Please.
Banshee. She. Screams. Help. Anger. Touches. Death. Please.
Banshee. She. Screams. Voices. Ghosts. The death. Dreams. Anger. Screams. She. Please.
Tic Tac
Tic Tac
Tic Tac
Tic Tac
His head flew up, startled.
Books. Library.
He sucked in a breath, panting, and brought trembling hands to his face.
Hey, here.
The voices called to him, with shouts. Her hands skimmed over his arm, brushing the skin. He stood up, a shiver rippled through him, his insides felt like ice and he gripped the edge of the table, feeling eyes on him.
Is not real.
It's not real, he kept repeating, desperate to make it come true.
Nolan, the voices shouted.
Nolan- more firm.
He raised his head, startled by the firmness of the voice. Is not real-
Lydia.
Lydia was staring at him with slightly wide eyes.
Shit.