"You should talk about it," Austin said for probably the hundredth time in the last six months.

"Hmm," I hummed, sipping my tea.

He may be my ex, but he's still my friend. Unreliable and immature, but a friend nonetheless. So, when he pops by I invite him in without question. I never reach out to him proactively, but he's decided it's his mission to keep our friendship alive despite my ineptitude at all forms of relationships.

"May," he sighs, "You can't keep it inside forever. It's not healthy."

I scoff then, glancing at him and shaking my head slightly.

I live outside on my back patio when it rains. The raindrops echo against the awning overhead, and the smell of rainfall fills the air. I look out over my green yard and the tree line behind it, my mind far away from Austin and his constant nagging for me to get a therapist.

"The last time I tried therapy I made the therapist cry," I chuckled humorlessly.

"Okay, yeah, that wasn't... Ideal," he cringed, "but one bad experience shouldn't keep you from getting the help you need. Just don't go back to that lady."

I shake my head with a small smile, though it fades quickly as Omi's voice rings in my mind.

"When therapy doesn't help, you come see me. I'll make Rouladen. You'll see. Much better than talking to strangers."

"I don't need therapy," I sigh, "I need a good meal and a strong beer."

"You Germans and your beer," he grumbles, slumping back against his chair.

The wicker chairs with the nice cushions Omi had mixed feelings about my buying... I love these chairs, and I think she liked them too but didn't want to admit she'd been wrong when she told me not to get them.

"Yeah, well, we make good beer," I shrugged.

"You know, you could talk to me, too, May," he said suddenly, his voice soft.

I know he wishes we'd never split. I don't know if I'm his pet project or what, but he's always been with me. When I first moved in with Omi after... Everything... He'd been the only kid at school I'd talked to.

Well, more specifically, the only kid who needed a bodyguard. I'd gotten into a fight my very first day defending him from his bullies. He'd latched on to me then, and we'd been friends ever since... At his insistence. I didn't let anyone touch him. Hell, I punched a kid once for just looking at him wrong.

But... I never loved him. At least, not the way he wanted me to. When he'd asked me to date, I'd agreed because I didn't really have a good reason not to. But I'd told him then that I wasn't sure I'd be a good girlfriend. That I didn't know how to love someone.

"Tell you what. No matter what, we'll agree to be friends first. If it doesn't work out as more, at least we tried and have no regrets!"

Hard to argue that, so I'd given it a shot. He was my first everything, and I'd enjoyed most of it... But I never could force myself to feel for him what he felt for me. He deserves a partner that can give him that. So, after three years, I ended it.

He hadn't even faltered. Never stopped coming to the house, uninvited. Never stopped irritating me about taking care of myself, even though he's one to talk. He kept his promise, our friendship came first.

"I know," I said gently, not looking at him, "I'll be okay. Really."

I felt the ghost of a touch then, a small caress along my cheek. The same touch I've felt ever since the night I buried Omi.

At first I thought it was my mind trying to convince me Omi was still close... But it didn't take long for me to realize it was different. Not like Omi at all. While it is still comforting, in its own way, there's something... Not familial about the touch.

I've never felt anything inappropriate or anything, but... The way the caress along my jaw lingers, or the squeeze on my shoulder is followed by a movement down my arm... No, definitely not like Omi.

I think my mind is cracking, and my desperation to not be alone is finally manifesting into something physical. My mind clearly desires company of the romantic variety... But my heart knows better.

I'm too broken for love.

When Austin waved goodbye, I returned to the patio with a fresh cup of tea. Curled up in my chair I leaned back and listened to the rain.

"Why won't you talk to him?" a whisper came from beside me.

I jumped involuntarily, looking around in confusion.

The fuck...

"He clearly cares for you," the whisper came again, a hint of the deep, melodic voice behind it seeping into the sound, "why not talk to him?"

I stand, slowly, placing my tea down and spinning in a circle. My eyes dart from shadow to shadow seeking any possible source for the voice.

Nothing. I'm alone.

"You could talk to me, if you like," the whisperer continues.

"Shit," I breathe, a smile of madness making its way to my face, "it's finally happened. I've lost it. My mind has finally cracked."

I continue to spin in slow circles for a moment longer, then chuckle sadly and sit back in my chair. Picking up the tea, I don't flinch this time when the voice comes again.

"What if I said I'm not in your mind?" the voice sounds almost amused, though not surprised, at my reaction.

I shrugged, laughing at myself now for interacting with the voices in my head.

"That's exactly what a person's delusions would say. That they're not delusions. Here I am, sitting alone on my patio... Explaining to my delusion that it's a delusion. There must be a German word to explain this phenomenon... I just don't know it."

There's a pause for a breath as I take another sip, wondering how far gone I truly am, before the voice speaks again.

"Well, if I'm your delusion... There's no harm in talking to me then, is there?"

I laugh out loud then, then again at the fact that my own delusion tried to convince me to act a certain way with a practical argument. The absolute lunacy is... Well... Actually, is hilarious.

"I always was a sucker for a practical argument," I say through my laughs, snickering at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Why did you move in with Omi?" the voice whispered.

And all humor fell away instantly. I froze, choking on my own breath. Memories jumping in front of my eyes against my will.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head as if to shake the memories away, "not that."

"I'm you, remember? What harm is there?" It asked gently, trying to coax it out of me.

"The harm is in remembering," I rasp, looking out to the trees as if I could run away and hide amongst them, "in... Admitting, even to me, what she did."

The voice remained silent then, as if waiting. Long moments passed as I focused on my breathing. The memories floated in front of my eyes, and I breathed a ragged breath out.

I shook my head, deciding to answer the voice's first question. To pivot the conversation away to something else, anything else.

"Austin was my first consensual... My only consensual... Anything. I care for him, and I tried. I really did. But... I never loved him. Certainly not like he loves me. I'm just too broken for love. He gave me something special, though. He showed me that touch didn't have to... Hurt. He was patient. Kind. Soft. He helped me discover intimacy can be good when there's consent and boundaries and respect. I'm grateful for him, I truly am. He's a good friend. My only friend. I just... I can't talk to him... Especially not about that. Can't talk to anyone about it," my voice sounds tired, even as I add with a grumble," Hell, I don't wanna talk to me about it. But here I am, I guess."

The voice remained silent after that, even my mind recognizing it's limits, I suppose. So I sat there, my mind moving through my memories of Omi... Of how my life changed when I came to live with her when I was 10. How different things were... How good. Precious moments I treasure just as much now as I did then.

I sat there, watching the rain and letting my mind wander right up until the sun began to set. Then, with a sigh, I finally stood and made my way inside.

My small two-bedroom cottage may not impress most people, but it's perfect for me. I live far out from the city in a small suburb beyond the craziness and rush of the world. My small town meets my every need, and when I found my home here Omi hadn't hesitated to move out with me.

I'd struggled through school, but when I finally graduated with my IT degree I was able to land a remote position as a technical support agent for a large software firm. The pay isn't amazing, but it's more than enough for me - besides, the freedom to work from home more than makes up for it.

The second bedroom was converted into my office when I moved in, and I keep it clean and professional for video calls. It's simple and has everything I need to do my job every day. The large window and window seat with the small bookshelf below it - just out of frame of the camera - are the only nonessential touches to the space.

The open floor plan is exactly what I wanted, and even though everything may seem a bit small to anyone else - I love it. My kitchen is large enough to make a real meal if I want to, the living room could entertain a few people if I knew enough people for that, and my bedroom is big enough that if I had a partner they'd fit right in. It's a home made for two people, honestly - a retired couple, perhaps.

It's the land that sold me on this place, though. Surrounded by acres of wildflowers and trees, my home is a slice of peace in a world that runs on chaos and pain... and it eases my mind. I tend to my garden out back daily, and I even can the excess I produce and give it to... gave it to Omi...

I spend most of my time at home, but every weekend I spend in town at the soup kitchen volunteering. They can't accept my canned goods because they're not regulated, otherwise I'd give it to them.

I suppose I could give it Austin, if he wanted it...

Shaking my head, I place my teacup in the dishwasher with a sigh.

"Why the sigh?" the voice whispered from beside me.

"Just thinking," I murmur, leaning back against the counter and looking up at the ceiling, "what will I do with the things I can from the garden now."

Grunting, I push forward and head toward my bedroom to get ready for a book and bed. I hesitate for just a moment before I go to strip, then laugh at myself for thinking about the voice as something to be bashful in front of.

"I really am losing it," I murmur, shaking my head and getting ready for bed.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, and I watch my frown deepen slightly. I look just like her... my mother. I have her same dark, brown hair and hazel eyes.

My round cheeks used to make me embarrassed, but as I've grown up they've come to be a feature I don't mind so much. My face isn't narrow, but it's not chubby either - I simply look... young.

Even as I get older I seem to look almost childlike with my softer features and big eyes, though my face has thinned some and my jawline is more defined.

My hair lives in a messy bun, even when I work, but right now it's down and flowing halfway down my back in frizzy waves that never do what I tell them to.

I'm tall, and always have been, and my long legs seem almost disproportionate to the rest of my body. Between my time in the sun each day and the mornings spent in the gym in my garage, I'm quite fit. Yet my thighs always seem a bit too thick and chest just a bit too big... and no matter how much I work out I can't seem to fix that.

Others may like the features... but for me they're just reminders of where I come from.

I do appreciate that the time I spend in the sun each day has my skin far more tanned than her porcelain skin was.

I feel a touch begin at my shoulder and trace down my arm, and I shiver slightly at the feeling. I've become used to this now, and as odd as it may seem to admit... I think I've even come to crave it.

If that doesn't scream desperation I'm not really sure what does.

I freeze when I see a black shape, wispy like a black mist in the form of a shadow, in the mirror standing beside me... but I blink and it's gone.

I slowly turn my head to the side where the shape would have been... and there's nothing there. I look around the room, and again... nothing.

Blowing a breath out slowly, I move into the bed and under the covers before reaching for my book.

"Tell me about the book you're reading," the voice whispers from beside me on the bed, and this time I do jump slightly before chuckling at myself again.

"This is Hannibal," I say smiling, looking at the well-loved cover, "and I've probably read it... oh, a hundred times? It's my favorite book."

"A bit dark for a bedtime story, isn't it?" the voice chuckles, earning a slight chuckle of agreement from me.

"Perhaps. I'm a big fan of horror, though. And thrillers, and suspense... I like things that make you question everything, things that get your heart racing in anticipation or fear. Things that make you feel... alive," I explain, opening the book to the place where the bookmark hangs out around halfway through.

"Not one of those romance readers, then?" the voice mused, and I paused, genuinely considering the question.

"Hmm... well, I guess I've never really tried, if I'm honest. Romance is... well it's confusing. Like, to me, personally. The closest I've ever gotten is Austin, but... hmm, I suppose I could try reading a romance book and see what I think," I shrug at the end of my mental spiral, deciding to look up popular romance novels tomorrow and add one to my tablet.

Why not?

"You've never been in love?" the voice asks, sounding shocked and perhaps a bit sad at the idea.

"No," I confirm, unbothered, "though, it's hard to find love when you avoid people. I met Austin in middle school, and he remains my only friend to this day. We didn't go to the same University, but we they were close enough to each other for us to stay in touch while we studied.

When he found out I was buying a place out here because the property prices were so good, he grabbed a place for himself nearby. We're only a little over an hour from where we grew up, so it's as good a place as any. With such a short distance, Austin has managed to keep school friends and Uni friends, as well as the new connections he's made since he's such an extrovert.

But me? People ask questions... they're nosy and judgmental. I never saw the appeal of socializing, so I never met anyone I could have gotten close enough to to love other than Austin."

Each time I went to open the book, the voice would ask another question... and eventually I put it down without reading any of it. I chatted with my delusion for so long my eyelids began to droop, discussing everything from my German heritage to my favorite color.

"I should give you a name," I yawn, shimming down into the bed and preparing to sleep, "calling you 'my delusion' and 'the voice in my head' just reminds me I'm slowly going crazy."

"Liam," the voice says gently, "you should call me Liam."

I chuckle, shrugging, "it's as good a name as any."

Then, with a final hum, I let sleep find me.

--

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