The morning rush at work goes by in a blur. I’ve been trying to escape my own mind by hiding in it, but my brain hasn’t been letting me do it as often as I would have liked. My break eventually comes around, and I find my locker empty except for the shattered pieces of my heart.
It has been five nights since my dream about the Faceless Man. Five days since the last letter that I received from him. Five days since my body has been hung on a string, begging for release that won’t come from my own fingers.
How dare he do that to me? He doesn’t just get to leave me high and dry like that. He’s been toying with me for so long, but bringing me to the brink of an orgasm, and then just leaving me? God, what does that say about me when I haven’t been this mad about the stalking or the letters, yet not letting me come is the thing that has me tossing and turning for five nights straight.
I keep wondering if I imagined the whole thing. I mean, he was there one second and gone the next. The nanny cam was wiped of the whole event.
I used to think that he was a ghost. For a solid two months, I dedicated my time, scouring the internet about getting rid of ghosts. He can get in and out of anywhere without being noticed, disappear into thin air, and it just so happens that only I can see him. I even wore a safety pin at all times because, apparently, it would prick any spirit that tried to touch me. Either his spirit is a masochist or the safety pin was another useless attempt.
I’m not the superstitious type, but I admit, at one point my apartment reeked of garlic before I realized that it was meant to be for vampires. Evan complained about the smell for weeks. After some research I spent my meager funds on sage. The next day the faceless asshole left me three bundles of the herb with a note saying, “Try again.”
I’ve crossed off—though not completely—imaginary friends. Because imaginary friends don’t leave a grand of cash in my handbag or restock my cupboard with food. I had checked, it wasn’t Evan who did it. This leads me to two assumptions: he’s a really talented human, or… No, that’s even less realistic.
Somewhere deep down, I know it wasn’t a dream. Not completely, at least. I couldn’t sit or walk properly that entire day, and I spent the entire time feeling both thoroughly fucked and not fucked enough.
He said that he has tasted me. How would it be possible for it to be anything other than a dream? How else would he have tasted me like he’s claimed? Usually, if Evan so much as turns in his sleep, I wake up. The Faceless Man had been leaving temporary marks on me for a year, never something as permanent as a handprint, bruises, or even a necklace, and I never woke from his ministrations.
But if it weren’t a dream and he was with me, why hasn’t he reached out to me since that night? I’ve heard and received absolutely nothing from him. I haven’t even seen him in any reflection. He’s never left me alone for this long before, and I can’t help the pain that has been ballooning in my heart. I’ve been checking my locker as soon as I get to work. I’ve even been pulling out my bed every morning to see if a letter dropped behind it. The Faceless Man doesn’t want me anymore, maybe he never did. He was just bored and I was easy prey.
Without his letters and little reminders that he exists, I feel the loneliness, ripe and raw. There’s a Faceless Man-sized hole in my heart now.
He’s left me, and it hurts. He didn’t even say goodbye.
All he left behind are patches of violet and green that will eventually fade back into porcelain skin. As if that wasn't enough, he left without saying anything; the last thing he did was leave cash in my purse like I'm some kind of whore.
I bought today’s lunch with the Faceless Man’s money. Everything I’ve eaten that was paid with his money has left a sour taste in my mouth and a hollow ache in my chest. Still, I sit at the fold-out table in the break room, on second hand plastic chairs with one of the local school’s insignia on it, and I nibble on the food in the hope that it might fill me completely.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, brushing the earring I put on this morning to match the necklace. I even put on more makeup than usual so that I might catch his attention or find a letter or even a text that says that he hasn’t forgotten about me.
Brit walks into the backroom with an almost innocent look on her face. My brows pull together as she heads straight for me rather than the office.
“Hey, Lili,” she starts.
I smile blankly at her, hoping that she reads the room and sees that I want to be left alone. But she has her manager-face on, and that’s never a good sign. The last time she looked at me like that, she dropped my hours for two weeks while they were restructuring.
“I didn’t want to tell you before because we were swamped.” I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable but. “We’ve never had this issue so it must have just slipped your mind. But you’re not allowed to wear rings while handling food.”
I look at her confused. The words “I’m not wearing any” are on the tip of my tongue. I almost let them escape my lips and lie straight to her face. Because when I look down all the evidence is there to prove that Brit is right.
Both happiness and fear strike through me at the sight of the thick gold band wrapped around the ring finger on my right hand. I can just see words engraved into the ring and I have to resist the urge to bring it closer to inspect it while in Brit’s presence.
I swallow. I swear it wasn’t there this morning. How have I not noticed it?
She watches me curiously, and I try to force a smile. “Sorry. It was an accident.”
Brit returns the smile, only hers reach her eyes. “That’s fine. Just leave it in your cubby hole before your shift.” She walks backwards in the direction of the door to the main cafe. “Give Sam a break once you’re done.”
I nod at her, willing her to move out of the room faster. As soon as she’s out of sight, I rip the ring off my finger. He must have slipped it on while I was asleep—it’s the only plausible explanation.
The ring is weighted and solid. It looks and feels more expensive than anything I own. The golden band glints in the light as I bring it closer to my eyes to read the words engraved in his writing:
EVEN IN DEATH
My heartbeat stutters at the words. I’ve stopped trying to decipher the meaning of the Faceless Man’s words, crossing it off as just plain poetry. But those three words hold too much meaning this time after the dream I had and the hours of research on the computer, looking at the meaning of his name.
The inside of the band catches my attention and turns my blood cold:
LETUM & LILITH
Despite the fear, something else shakes me to my core.
He hasn’t left me.
He still wants me.
I’m still his muse.
It wasn’t a dream.
I know who he is.
I’ve sat here for five minutes, staring at the ring. If Evan or any of his flatmates saw me sitting in my car outside of their house, no one bothered to check on me.
After my shift finished, I slipped the ring back on without thinking. Like it has always been there and I’m naked without it. The weight is comforting on my finger, a small reminder that he’s always with me, even though his mark is already wrapped around my neck.
I used to hate mixing metals; silver and gold. Now it feels like that’s how it should be worn, balancing in harmony yet perfectly opposites: love and hate; life and death; heaven and hell.
I glance away from the ring, then back to the text I received from him the second I slipped the ring back on. A single word.
Unknown Sender: Soon.
A shiver rolls down my spine every time I see it, and little bells go off in my head. Not in alarm, but in anticipation.