Deep in her subconscious she knew you weren’t real. You were here to mess with her. And it was working. She’d killed you, and now she was paying the price. At first the hallucinations started sweet. She didn’t know they weren’t hallucinations by that time.

But now? She’s sitting in the shitty motel room. Door blocked with a dresser. Window with closed curtains. Sitting on the bed. Looking at an older photo of you two. Crying. She heard you behind her. Now was not a good time.

your arms slowly wrappings around her shoulders. Tears freely falling down her face. Blonde hair messy from neglect. You pressed against her back. No comforting warmth.

Some days you’d blame her make her really feel the guilt and then disappear. Some days it was you holding her like you were still real. You felt so goddamn real.

“I know you aren’t real. You can’t do this. Not to me..” She said, her voice clouded by her own sobs. Even so she leaned into your touch.