Stepping upon the toilet, I peer through the glass plane which is only a little bigger than my head. It’s the cul-de-sac I grew up on. Not only that, but the neighbour (Smith? Mike? Something like that) is clipping his plants. I extend my head out the window to see the side of my parent’s house. The dog is yapping. I withdraw and slam the window shut.

Only by accepting my reality for what it is can I move forward, I remind myself. If there is a way through the madness, I need to be open to it, rather than rejecting everything as delusion. I leave the door to the bathroom open and keep watch of it for a while to make sure it doesn’t vanish again.

I invite the others to discuss. Omari, Charlie, and Jazz all try peeking out the little window in my room. They verify the situation, as much as something like this can be verified.

“We all have one of these,” Omari says. “What’s yours?”

Jazz laughs nervously and steps back. Charlie puts her arms around her but is otherwise silent. A tear runs down the dimples of her forced smile, and Charlie whispers something to her. After that they leave to the main room.

Omari remains in deep contemplation over the window and what lies beyond it.

“Do you have any idea what this place is?” I ask.

Omari shrugs not bothering to turn from the window. “It’s beyond me. The Blossom’s special hallucination. It is what it is and no name we give it will tell us more about it.” He’s right, of course, and I feel silly for having asked.

“It has some rules, though. Or not quite rules. Themes, maybe.” Nothing so solid as a rule can be found in this place.

Omari nods in agreement. “He’s right that you’ve got something of an instinct for this thing.”

“Who?”

“The bastard who let this happen to us.”

I want badly to ask more but the vitriol of his words suggests doesn’t want to say more right now.

We return to the room where Charlie and Jazz have deflated onto the couch.

“You okay?” I ask.

Jazz wipes the side of her face and nods. “Okay, I’m only going to say this once … I don’t want to think about this stuff. I don’t want to get involved.”

Omari and I nod. I understand why she might want to forget about all this, especially since she has Charlie. “Can I ask just one question, though?”

“She just said she doesn’t want to be involved.” Charlie frowns at me.

“It’s okay.” Jazz lifts her hand and touches Charlie’s arm softly. “You can ask, Aster, but I might not answer.”

“Why do you get to keep each other?”

“What do you mean?”

“Both of our … companions vanished. Yet Charlie still has you, and you have Charlie. It’s a bit different.”

“How would I know?” Jazz laughs. “All I know is this place is weird. I’m happy enough here so I’m not sure I want to go poking holes in it. And I don’t know why you do. Don’t you like it?”

At first, I want to protest but the words don’t make it to my tongue. Do I really not like it? I’m stressed and lonely now but overall, it’s been nice; I got to spend lots of time with Julia and James. If they were still here, I might not want to leave at all. No worries about money, or grades, or getting a job or my mother calling me to ask inane questions.

Omari chews the idea. “Yeah, sure, but I miss my Aurelia. I don’t know how to get her back.”

Jazz rubs her hands and gives a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. It must be lonely for you both. I know we can’t replace your people, but you can hang out some time. Just don’t bring up this weird stuff, please?”

“Sure, I’d like that.” I see them out of my room, and once they’re out I ask Omari if he wants to walk with me. He agrees and we don’t waste much time.

Even in the twilight, I’m still sweating. The great body of water is radiating heat, but I need to stay close in case I lose sight of where I’m going. The sounds at night are different too; a rough chorus of croaks has replaced the cacophony of birdsong. The crickets chirp along and hope away from our drunken footfalls. We exchange the bottle of vodka between ourselves as follow the same path Julia and I took not so long ago.

Along the way, we talk about relationships. I thought he wouldn’t want to think about Aurelia more than he had, given how he reacted to her imprint in the fungal wall, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks of her. “She was my everything. We could not keep our hands of each other, especially when we were teenagers. I got her suspended. I regret that, because everything went bad afterwards. Her dad wanted to lock her in her room for a whole week, but I came over and I fought him.” He mimes some punches, smiling. “The man knew when he was beat. He said with bloodied lips, ‘Take the little whore off my hands.’ Aurelia stayed over with me for a week. We stopped getting so handsy in class after that, because we got more than enough time together at home.”

I nod as if this experience is something I can relate to, and I almost can. “What do you like about her?”

“She’s ace with words. She writes me poems every now and then. She makes me weep, although I try to hide it. Feel like I should have shown her. She earned those tears.”

“I hope you get the chance to soon.”

He smiles. I spot a toad jumping into the water and think about catching it and taking it back to the hotel. What if I release it through the bathroom window?

“So, which one of you is sleeping with James?” he asks. “You or the other girl?”

I cough. “Why do you assume one of us is?”

“I mean … you clearly like him, but it sounds like he’s known Julia for longer.” He makes a thoughtful noise. “Or hmm, maybe you both are? Is that it? I’m right, aren’t I?” His tone is so smug and I can do little other than confirm his suspicions by my silence.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve not slept with him yet but we’ve made out. And we spend a lot of time together.”

Omari covers his bemused smile, but not before I glimpse it. “I see.”

“It’s not like that. He would sleep with me if I asked, I just have a lot of stuff to work through.”

“Just sleep with him if you get the chance, girl. You like him and he sounds like a gentleman.”

He doesn’t know the details of the situation. For the first time he’s annoyed me, but I also can’t say that he’s entirely wrong; I don’t think I would regret it. At least not more than I regret not sleeping with him before he vanished.

“It’s too dark to see anything,” Omari cautions as we pass into a density of trees. “What is it you want to see in there?”

“I had another dream about coming here. When I knew how to distinguish them from reality. There was a fallen tree—a bit like the monster but I don’t think it has anything to do with William. It spoke to me. I want to know if it’s still here.”

Omari looks at me, his eyes bright against the darkening sky. “What’s the point?”

“I’m not sure … but I was told that I had to meet James, along the river in the deep forest. What if this tree is where we’re meant to meet? If there’s a chance he’s here or has something to do with that dream, then I have to see.” I get my phone out and shine my torch forward. The light does not penetrate as far as I want. It does not reveal the things that scurry between the treetops.

Omari takes a look back towards the hotel; one can hardly see it from here. “You want me to come with you?”

“I’d like you to, but I can probably make it by myself.” I take a long burning gulp of the vodka. “I’ve got enough of this in me.” Despite saying that, I’m not sure I’d be able to continue if it wasn’t for his company. I’d have to just fucking run and not think about it.

He grabs my arm and pulls me. “Yeah, enough for you to wonder straight into the river.”

“Thanks.” I swerve away, towards him, almost into him. He laughs loudly and I keep better track of the river’s edge.

We go on. I feel bad for making him walk so far with me, especially when he’s such good company. He doesn’t complain or ask how much further, just remains steadfast by my side. I want to introduce him to Julia and James.

“You’re a good person,” I say. “You remind me of J—”

I bump into the tree. At first, I grin eager to share the ecstasy with Omari. I’m ecstatic to find it, but then I remember the things it houses, and I back away quickly, into Omari’s arms. I shine my torch upon it. It’s big and as dark as if it were carved out of the night. Just as it was in my dream.

“This it?” Omari asks.

“Yeah, but the interesting stuff is at the other end.” I walk around the trunk, looking for a sign that James was here but find nothing. I yell his name. “James!” A scattering of awoken birds answers me.

“We could come back tomorrow in the light. If you get bit or drown, I won’t be able to see you.”

“It’s just around the corner, I’ll grip the trunk and move along, then come right back.”

“Aster, it’s not a good idea.”

I can no longer see or answer him since I’m holding my phone held in my mouth, but it’s so close. I wade into the warm water, pull myself along to side of the trunk, and towards the front. I tilt my head up to angle the light inside.

Something coils around my leg. I gasp, letting my torch drop in the water. There’s a splash and a “for fuck’s sake, Aster!” as Omari dives in. The thing tightens around my calf and lower thigh. I try to kick it off, but I can’t. I would swim away, but I won’t be able to keep upright if I don’t hold on. Another grabs my wrist. I wrench it away before it gets a good hold, and too late do I realise that’s Omari. He yells and backs away, his splashes getting more distant as the slippery thing is joined by another.

“Aster, I cannot abandon her. If you wake, if you get a chance to do bring what they did to light, the password to my account is her name.”

And then he’s gone. I don’t even scream for him; what could I say to bring him back? It’s just me and the things in the river. My initial panic is fading, however; they’re slow and very warm, even compared to the water, and contrary to my expectations they aren’t dragging my down, just holding on. In that moment of clarity, I pull myself along the trunk again, and onto the muddy riverbank. They’re still attached, and I tepidly trace my hands over their slick exteriors. They have neither bitten nor constricted me.

They aren’t snakes or leaches or lampreys. I’m sure they’re of this world; the things I saw writhing beneath the trunk during my first encounter. As I relax, they settle along my thigh, between by testicles and pelvis.

The voice from the trunk comes again. It’s like my own internal thought yet somehow emanating from outside of me. A psychic ventriloquism. “Are we friends?” It says more than this, but I can only get a handle on that much, the words slip out of my mind as soon as it speaks, like the remnants of last night’s dreams.

“Depends,” I say. “Do you want to hurt me?”

“I want to know you.”

“What do you mean?”

“ … your soul? Or your flesh? … confuses me.” Something firm and hot presses against my anus although I don’t yet protest. Maybe I should but the alcohol and fear have awoken that same arousal I felt for the bug lady years ago. I take a deep breath and try to relax my muscles in spite of the fear. Or the excitement?

It’s the Blossom, or some part of it, or somehow related to it. In any case, it’s what I’ve wanted and never before has the choice been so clear to me. It’s saying, as clearly as it can, that the wet cavern of my body is a suitable vessel for its beyond-human existence. Despite all my cowardice and failures of judgement and regrets it wants to make me into its home.

“… I had not known I was lonely.”

“I’ve been lonely too,” I tell it. “I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time. I worried so much that I was too tainted by—.”

A moan escapes my lips, cutting my words short, as a worm pushes past my sphincter into my rectum, and bunches up inside. I feel so full, the way I’ve fantasised about for years. God, I never even asked James and Julia if this was okay, but it is, isn’t? This is the thing we’ve all worked so hard for, and it’s leaving a wet trail over my breast and throat and lips as it finds all my warmest, wettest places.

As the worm in my anus inches up my bowels, another pushes past my now loosened entrance. Just how many of these things are there? Does the number suggest how much it likes me, how much of itself it’s willing to let mix with me? I spread my legs wider to accommodate them and throw my head back to facilitate the ones entering my mouth. They pulse down my orifices, making me shiver with each fattening and gasp with each thinning.

I stroke my dick rapidly. When I glance down, I am surprised to find something pale and fleshy blocking my view. I realise that it’s my stomach and bowels bulging with the Blossom’s envoys. What will my body look like after they’re done? When did that many come inside me? I hardly noticed. Something in their secretions must have numbed me.

I brush my other hand between my ass cheeks and feel three of their tails wriggling out of my gaping entrance. I help push them in, gently, and then bring my hand to my face. It’s covered in a thicker, whiter secretion.

My body is heavy, and not just from the added weight of the worms. When the river brushes against my toes and I try to descend back down now that I know the Blossom wants me, not to kill me, I find them barely responsive. Will my exertions disturb them? I hope not, I need to make sure I’m a comforting home at least. It’s the least I can do to thank it for accepting someone like me who took so very long.

I awake a few feet away from the river, my body aching, and covered in a white, and still somewhat wet, residue. When I stand up, I feel an unexpected shift in momentum and notice it from my bulging stomach. A weight slowly creeps within me and a thick goblet of the white stuff drips from my anus. Fortunately, I’m in time to catch it. I place one hand over the hole to stop more from leaking: it smells like semen and has little black spheres interspersed within it. How could I let what I worked so hard for escape me? I stuff it back inside and go lie in the shade of the tree.

Part of me thought that in addition to numbing my body the worms had numbed my mind, but it’s not true. They merely cleared the debris, returned to me the clarity I felt the very first time I saw the Blossom’s artistry in the Bug Lady. The Blossom has chosen me. It cannot be overstated that, wherever I am and whatever has happened to James and Julia, the Blossom has found me worthy and welcomed me. It so entirely accepts me that it placed its seeds, it’s wishes for the future, within my still human body.

It's now my duty to take care of them. When the substances the worms deposited solidifies enough, I rise upon my shaking legs and follow the river back to the hotel. I’m not sure where my clothes have gone, so I walk completely nude. I hold my stomach to stop it swaying.

It’s still early morning and has not gotten too hot, yet because of the weakness in my legs it takes me almost twice as long to get back. I also sweat from the effort of forcing my body to move when all it wants to do is rest. The receptionist does not comment on my damp, hunched over body, or the zealous smile I offer him. He’s of this place as well and understands that I’m finally doing what I was meant to do. He gives me another key to my room.

“Is there anything else for you?” Tau asks. “Do you need assistance getting to your room?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

He lets me sit in a bell cart which he wheels into the elevator, and then wheels to my room. Once he’s opened the door, he tells me to have a good day.

“You too.” I’m pulling myself towards the bathroom before the door has even closed.

The bathtub is empty this time. It’s dry against my fingertips, dusty even like it hasn’t been used in a long while. It’s a sad sight. Just for now, though. My stomach has swollen more, become taught and ripe, prepared to release the contents I’ve been trusted to incubate. I make sure the drain is plugged and position myself over the edge. My stomach tightens and I moan.

A dark, sticky, squirt comes out of me, but my hole squeezes shut involuntarily. I know why. The memories of emptiness had faded over the past few days but they flood back now, fresher than ever; how could I willing go back to that? How could I feel that way once more? I gently rub my hole, pushing my fingers inside to scoop out more of the substance.

Between the probing and the words, something works. My stomach tightens again. A torrent erupts from me, the backsplash hitting my sides and marking them with dark streaks. As it drags on, cramps set in, and all I can do to cope is moan-scream, cry-moan, and scream-cry until the last of the viscous Blossom-fluid is slowly dripping out of me. I worry that my muscles will never stop trying to force out the stuff that is no longer there. When they stop spasming, I realise the sensation of being empty is much worse than the pain. ‘

I try to soothe my instincts. “It’s okay. We need to do this; the release is part of our role as a vessel. We will not have to be empty again for long.”

I spent a few minutes curled up on the bathroom floor, crying. I regret letting it out; maybe I don’t actually understand what is going on here. I should have held onto it, give the Blossom time to twist around my genome so tightly we could never be separated. I pull myself over the edge of the bathtub intending to drink up the stuff once more, and my worries fade away: amid the Blossom-fluid there are fresh bulbs slowly uncurling to reveal the iris patterns. I notice at once the colour and hues are the same as my own. This is my crop.

I crawl into the tub and turn water on until it’s up to my neck. My skin tingles and my eyes grow heavy. An instinct tells me not to dip my head below the water. I ignore it. An older instinct tells me I need air. It makes me thrash, compels me to rise. However, older still, another instinct takes comfort in the weightless wetness. The Blossom draws this last one out, suppresses the others, and I breath deep, letting it into my lungs.

I don’t notice the hand around my wrist until I’m out of the tub, on the floor. It then takes me a moment longer to realise I’m in the air and as soon as I do I cough up bursts of black fluid onto the old woman who is still painfully gripping me. She backs away, swearing. She’s about to kick me but she stops herself.

As I gasp, she says stuff to me. I don’t know what words she is using, but I know her well enough that it doesn’t matter. It’s vacuous and cruel, whatever it is. What’s important is not what she’s saying but the fact that she removed me from my children, that she made me cough up their food on the floor. That she touched them.

Wobbly, I get to my feet. My right ear unblocks and the warm liquid spills out. “—you don’t even think about me, do you? How would I feel if you died? What would I tell, people? You’re so fucking inconsiderate.”

I want to strangle her, and she can see it in my eyes. That’s why she backs out of the room. But I don’t have the strength in me to do that. I also don’t know what the consequences of that would be; before, in a dream long ago, The Bug Lady defended me, but she’s not here and I’m not sure where this place lies on the spectrum of dream and reality, what the consequences are of damaging her.

Instead, I just hurry downstairs, to my room, and cloth myself. She complains that I haven’t even washed that rank stuff off me, but she doesn’t interfere beyond that. I take my wallet and (old) phone. I flip her off as I leave. She follows after me, and I’m surprised when she grabs my hand and crushes my fingers together.

“You’re so ingrateful. Honestly, who raised you? It wasn’t me.”

I poke her in the eyes with my free hand, hard. “No, you didn’t.” She lets go and I run off.

When I get to the station, I buy tickets and spend the next twenty-four minutes anxiously waiting for her to show up with the cops or my dad, ready to beat me up then lock me up. But I’m alone except for some pigeons trying to mate on the roof-support beams. My train arrives and it’s also empty. I take a seat near the front and catch my breath.

It stops at Lincoln and I switch trains. I consider going out to explore. Is it going to be as empty as the station itself? But I decide I’d rather just get back to the university as quickly as possible and hope James and Julia are there and that they know how to wake up from this. Even if they don’t, I still want to see them.

The countryside rolls by and I count the horses. I’m at twenty-two when I hear a familiar voice say, “Aster?”

I look back at Denise. Not the Denise I left; this one is a little hollower, with longer hair, and acne scars better hidden beneath a thin layer of make-up. Despite how things ended, I’m happy to see her again. She’s still dressed like she’s going to church. “Hi,” I say.

She takes a seat next to me, seemingly not put off by the residue that clings to me. We’re quiet. It’s a long train ride to the university so there’s no rush exactly. Still, I want to speak to her. I ask her, “Why are you here?”

My question startles her into flinching, but she recovers soon. “I wanted to come see you. I thought you’d have come here a lot sooner than me.”

“I’m not sure where here even is to be honest or how long I’ve been here.” I look at her and I want to reach out and hold her hand; but I remember what she thought of me, before. If she were just a figment then I might try any way but the way she speaks makes me think she isn’t.

“It’s what’s on everyone’s mind, at least those who aren’t just in denial. This is something the Blossom did to us.” She looks out the window and changes the subject. “So, what did you do after school?”

“I went to Chichester to study maths. It was fun, but I think I wasted a lot of time focused on the wrong things. Until I met James again and I had fun for the first time in years.” I look at her; she sits with her hand by her throat. I remember now why I started doing that, and I’m glad that I took that piece of her with me. “What did you do?”

“Apprenticeship at a software firm, but they went bust. Then I freelanced for a while, until I saved up enough to move out. Harold was getting to be a bit much.”

“Software? I thought you were more into biology?”

She laughs. “Well, I was until I saw how horrifying it could be.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Is that because of me?”

“To be honest, yes.” She touches my sleeve, careful to avoid the flakes on my skin. “Although I don’t mean it in a bad way. On the contrary, you opened my eyes terror of nature. It’s monster trying to consume itself, growing new heads out of self-inflicted wounds. The perfect engine of pain and suffering.”

“That’s … I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to. Sorry, I get lost in my thoughts so often these days.”

“What do you mean by this is something the Blossom did to us?” I ask her.

The train comes to a stop. I don’t recognise where we are at all, although it’s just as desolate.

When it moves again, she answers me. “I mean that … I was right. Most people infected with NILS lose their minds. And this is where those minds go while the Blossom puppets their bodies.”

I don’t feel awkward about going silent. It’s not like that thought hadn’t played on my mind before, but how did it feel so good if what happened wasn’t the Blossom accepting me? Why would it feel so right to be rejected and placed here rather than truly becoming one with it? There’s no reason for me to believe her. Like my mother, she could just be a reflection of my own fears, lying to me.

We distract ourselves playing eye-spy until the next stop, then Denise leaves. Then I play by myself until it finally stops in Chichester.

On my way out of the train, I realise that the station is much closer to Julia’s place than mine, so I head there first. I recall that she’s in room 304 and buzz it. There’s no response and my old phone doesn’t have her details in it so I’m left with no recourse but to continually dial her number. Eventually she answers.

“Yes? What?”

My heart skips a beat. She’s here. At least I won’t be alone here forever, even if I don’t know exactly where here is. “Julia? Hi, it’s me, Aster.”

“Aster? Come up.” She buzzes me in. The elevator moves painfully slowly. I stab the open-door buttons repeatedly as it comes to a stop on her floor. When they do open Julia is not in front of me, as excited to reunite as I am.

That’s okay. I run to her room and knock until she lets me in. She’s wearing a loose shirt and nothing beneath it and she’s blushing hard with a sleepy glaze over her eyes. That vanishes when she notices my appearance, replaced by a wakeful confusion.

“What happened?” she asks as she ushers me inside. “Is that blood?”

I take care not to drip anything onto her carpet and instead take a seat on her bathtub which will be easier to clean. I think she’s grateful for this because she offers a small smile.

“What’s up, Aster?” James says, entering the bathroom. He’s shirtless and my stomach sinks in time with my heart lifting. I get to my feet and fling my arms around him; never one to deny a hug to someone in need, James pulls he close and strokes the back of my head. “Woah, hey. It’s alright, Aster. You’re gripping me so tight.”

I let go, aware that I might have hurt him and tearful because of it. “Where have you been?” I ask them. “You both vanished.”

“What do you mean? You left an hour ago. Are you okay?” James asks.

“An hour ago? No.” I’m about to explain all that happened but I’m not sure how. Instead, I’d rather get more information. “What happened an hour ago?”

“Well, you said that it was a bit much for you because we were kinda … you know, getting to be intimate.” James gives an awkward laugh. “But you made it seem like you were fine with it, you just had to sort out your own stuff.”

Julia looks at me seriously. “Aster, how many fingers am I holding up?” She holds up three and I tell her as much. “Okay, what date is it today?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Who’s the prime minister?”

“Teresa May? Julia, I’m fine.”

She stops her questioning. “Sorry. But do you see how concerning it is to see you like this? Maybe at least have a bath first. I’ll run one for you.”

“Okay.” I get out of her way as she turns on the water. Meanwhile, James helps me out of my clothes stiffed with the dried Blossom fluid. He keeps rubbing my back and my head and I sigh as I lean into him. He smells like sex (they both do) but I don’t even mind at this point. Afterall, these aren’t the real James and Julia; they’re figments of the Blossom and myself, and in that way they are actually a part of me. How could I feel bad about aspects of my own self interacting with each other?

When the bath is ready, James helps me into it, and I don’t realise how weak I’ve become. Julia washes the stuff from my forehead—curiously, she does not use soap, just brushes into the darkening bath water. I suppose she knows the chemicals would be corrupting.

“Will you stay here with me?” I ask.

“Yes.” He gives my forehead a kiss. “Of course.”

“Me too.” Jullia gets seats from the other room for her and James, then holds my hand as I let the warm water melt my tension away.

“I know you two aren’t real,” I say. Looking at their faces it’s hard to believe it myself. The way James’s hair curls over his eye is as beautiful as snaking river by the hotel, Julia’s adorable nose and piercing gaze stand in such fierce contrast that I don’t think I could imagine them both at once. Yet I know these are not them. These doppelgängers only make me long for the real ones all the more. “But if you could keep up the act for just a little bit longer, I’ll be grateful. I’m ready to wake up. If I still can.”