She rests her head on her hands and glances around her. A near-empty classroom breathes around her, the chalkboard empty of words, and the world outside is raining. She does not understand who she is.
She gazes at the rain pattering on the window, and she can feel It inside her. The glass is warped by the rain slithering down its sides; the outside world contorted to a jumble of colors. She can almost feel the water sliding down her back, cleansing her. Uninvited thoughts stumble and clash through her mind, and one of her hands moves to her forehead to try and calm them.
The blaring bell rings, startling her. She stands up, packs up her things, and leaves. Walking through the hallway crowded by people, she pushes her way to her locker and open it.
She turns abruptly, almost falling into His arms. She smiles coquettishly, then turns back around to her locker and begins to empty it of the books she needs. Trista knows that He will wait for her, and give her a ride home as usual. But He doesn't know about It. When she is finished, she turns and kisses Him on the mouth. He smiles warmly at her.
"I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."
She smiles and giggles in response, and quickly tickles His sides. He grabs her hand, and not letting go of her hand, begins to lead her outside.
"Do you have an umbrella?"
Trista shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn't mind getting a little wet. Anyway, His car will warm her right up. They make their way over to the car in the rain, get in, and He drives off. The car is small and roomy, and there is a faint odor of vanilla coffee; which reminds her of being in the café with Him.
It was after the last time they went to the café that it happened. She didn't really understand everything that happened, it was like her mind was no longer in her body that night. Trista doesn't even remember much about it. But It will remember; It will at know. She knows that It is evil, and will rob from her life everything good that she had attained. But she doesn't know how to get rid of It.
"You seem awful quiet, today, Trista."
Trista looks at Him, almost started at the fact that He was there while she was thinking about Him. She leans over against Him, curling up as close as possible with the seatbelt restraining her. He takes this as an appropriate response as she stares dreamily at His face. The car goes over a bump, and Trista jumps in surprise. Nervous, she giggles and leans back into His shoulder.
He slowly pulls up the driveway to her house, and Trista gives Him another, longer, kiss on the mouth. He looks uncomfortable.
"You're still okay with what happened last Thursday, right?"
She pecks him on the mouth again, and, feeling skittish, leaves Him and walks into her house. Trista walks up the stairs into her room; no one is home. She sits down at her desk, and pulls out paper and a pen, intending to write a poem. But she can hear It inside her, screaming. Her hands tremble as It screams her name over and over. She clutches at her ears, fully knowing that It will not be quieted. She moans in agony as Its jumbled sentences get louder. Then, It is quiet. It coos softly to her, apologizing. And then it speaks to her insistently.
Trista knows she shouldn't listen to It, but when It speaks inside her head she cannot block it out. She tosses and turns in her chair as It takes over her body, transforming her. But before It takes her hands, she writes down one sentence on the paper. Then it has her, and she screams. Then all is quiet.

Pulling in the driveway, He is worried. He had called her three times and no one had answered. She rarely left home unless it was to go somewhere with Him, and there had seemed to be something wrong when He had dropped her off at her house. She was never so quiet. He hopes that it doesn't have anything to do with their mistake. Nothing bad could have happened, it was just once. But what if...?
Pushing the thoughts out of His head, He walks to Trista's front door and rings the doorbell. There is no answer. He waits a few minutes, then rings it again more persistently. Still, no one answers the door. She should be home, there is no reason for her to not be. Wild with fear, He pounds on the door repeatedly .
"Trista! Trista!"
No one answers His screams. Exhausted, He sits down on the front steps. Then, in sudden inspiration, he jumps up and turns to the door. He attempts to open it, but it is locked like He had assumed it would be. He is about to go around to the back door when He hears strange giggling coming from the upstairs windows.
He steps back and looks up, only to hear more giggling. Presently, the giggling turns to moans, and He rushes around the house to the back door. The moans turn into wails of misery as He frantically begins to run. He thrusts open the back door and runs up the stairs to the door to her room. He tries the doorknob, but it is locked.
"Trista! Are you okay? It's me! Let me in!"
Her wails turn into screams and shrieks.
"Trista! Trista!"
She shrieks over and over as He hurls Himself against the door, trying to force it to open. She is screaming words now, but He cannot understand what she is saying. Her sentences are jumbled and He cannot even understand the words. He hears her throwing things across the room, ripping cloth, breaking windows, still screaming like a banshee.
"Trista! Trista! Trista!"
* * * * * *
The men in the white coats took her away. They injected her with tranquilizer to stop her screaming, and the police questioned Him. They searched Trista's room, looking for anything that could possibly be a clue. They found one piece of paper that wasn't torn in her shipwreck of a room, and there was one sentence written on it. He went to visit her often, though she never left the small, white room, and always He kept with Him the piece of paper she had written on. After several months it was found out what it meant, and the doctors took care of It. Often, he would look at the sentence, just look: And now It grows inside of me.