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She hated it when her roots grew out like this; that was all Jill could think as she gripped the porcelain with white knuckles. Staring at her reflection, a sense of phantom nausea washed over her.
This same scene had played out time and time again here in the bathroom of her shabby little apartment. It really shouldn’t bother her this much. It’s been years, and yet she can’t help the cold sweat that overwhelms her. It starts at her nape and it spreads, like the toxins once had through her veins, till it covers her entirely.
She knew why this was happening, why her body froze in place against her will like she was still trapped, it was because of him. Wasn’t it always. He was always there, lingering, observing her silently from the safety of the shadows. Seems like some things never change, even in death.
He was here even now, especially now, his presence heavy in the air. It was thick with a hatred so immense it nearly drowned her on more than one occasion over the years. But then, there was something else in it, loneliness. The solitude of a burden so great was crushing in its gravity.
He never spoke, but she could feel his gaze all the same, prickling down her spine at every turn. Now and then she would glimpse him, maybe out the corner of her eye, maybe staring back at her in the mirror, but every time she did he always had the same expression. It was that smug grin he always used to wear, but sometimes in the quiet of her home, sometimes it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
That was just another thing added onto the pile of things she didn’t like to think about when it came to him. Like how in all the years that he’s followed her, he never has worn his shades. His eyes were nothing like the devilish things she knew them to have looked like in his final years, and she couldn’t help but to think that this was so much worse. They were glacial, an icy blue that could freeze anyone dead in their tracks. Yet, now they seemed more like the sky just before a storm, heavy with unspoken grief. Too human for the monster that he was.
The sight infuriated her to no end. How dare he. He did this to her. He made her like this. He was the reason he was dead. It was his own damn fault. So then, why did she feel so terrible when those thoughts crept their way into her head? Why did the hate feel like it was melting through her skin from the inside out? It reminded her of that time again. Everything did, maybe that was why. That burning anger was all she could feel once upon a time, but now, as she forced herself to ignore him and to continue applying the brown hair dye like she always did, she couldn’t help but feel like it never truly left. And sometimes, in the cold emptiness of her home, that line between them blurred enough that she couldn’t quite tell if those feelings were hers,
or Wesker’s.