She stands on the platform as if it were a cliff, her eyes wide. She could hear the sound of a strong wind rushing to meet her, but it was a sound coming from all around her rather than from just One Direction. Instinct told her this was no natural wind.
Then, she sees them: turbine blades stretching stories tall, spinning in the wind, creating an auditory and visual spectacle that is both mesmerizing and horrifying. The blades turn, faster and faster, till she sees one almost hit her, then turn sideways to obscure her view of the next one as it comes. She wants to scream, but she can't. She listens, trying to anticipate the blades' movements, but they shift and turn, unpredictable. The noise is almost deafening, and fear begins to replace awe as she realizes that the turbines might turn her into a human pinwheel.
The sound reaches a crescendo, then suddenly stops. The wind is gone. Everything is still.
Just as she breathes in a sigh of relief, she can feel herself being picked up by the same unnatural force. Like a rag doll, she is lifted and hurled against a wall she doesn't notice. Hard.
The world spins again, and she can feel her legs give out underneath her. Her shoulder hurts where it's been smashed against the platform, but it's her head that hurts the most.
She blinks several times, trying to see something, anything. And that's when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a young man's face.
He is ashen-faced, seemingly lifeless. But she can see his eyes move. They follow her as she looks around, the whites showing all the way around his eyes as if it were a hole. What does he want? Why is he looking at her? She tries to speak, but can't.
He lowers a shaky hand, and that's when she puts the pieces together. The wall she had hit was moving in sync with his hand. She realizes, with a slow, sinking feeling, that he is controlling the wall in front of her. He is trying to move everything along.
She tries to back away, but can't. He shifts her forward, her body floating off the ground as the tilting of his head and the controlled gesturing of his hands lead her where he wants. It was like she was a puppet, and all he had to do was gesture to pull the strings. He must've been the one who spun those blades with ease.
He continues to study her, those lifeless eyes boring into her. His mouth moves slightly, and she strains to hear his voice, but there is nothing. She deduces he wants something from her, but she has no idea what. He's not hurting her, at least not physically. He's not trying to. But she's being forced to move, whether she wants to or not.
She looks around and sees nothing but the blank, white walls surrounding her. She looks back at him. He doesn't move. She looks back at the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
Nothing. She looks back at him again. Still nothing. She strains to hear any sound, even the smallest. Nothing.
Finally, he shifts her back to the floor and disappears.
Those turbine blades were taller than her, and she is thankful that they kept missing her. She lies on the hard floor, not moving, not daring to. She doesn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. Even he with his small arms couldn't have turned her around in time to see the blades from every angle. Then again, he had been the one who was moving them, and she didn't see him then.
A hand on her shoulder pushes her to a sitting position. The same man who'd messed with her mind and body was mere inches away.
"What do you want?" she blurts out. "Why are you doing this?"
He takes a deep breath, and suddenly his lips are on hers, hard and quick. She pushes him away, unsure of what the hell just happened, but she knows it wasn't what she wanted.
At least she now was certain e was real. Real, powerful, and fucking crazy.
–––
Her eyes snap open. She's in bed and her heart is racing. How many times has she had this stupid dream about those stupid turbines and that stupid telekinetic puppeteer?
She rolls over, trying to block out the remnants of the dream. Nope, can't be happening again. She can still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. It's been only days since she's had the dream, not counting last night.
It's not right. It's not fair.
She stares at the ceiling, hoping to find some type of pattern, something to give her hope. But all she sees is the plain white tiles, the cracks, the bits of grout floating in the air.
She sighs, frustrated. She can't make him go away, and she can't figure out Who he is or why he's doing this to her.
That's all she wants to know.
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