Page 130 of Play Nice

Daphne follows me to the landing and down the second set of steps to the hall. All the lights are off. I don’t see Leda. She’s hiding.

“What if I told you I pulled the covers up over my head and promised myself that when I pulled them down, it wouldn’t be there. And I counted one Mississippi, two Mississippi, with Daphne across the room snoring, none the wiser. What if I told you, when I pulled the covers down, it was right there, at the foot of my bed. I remembered what Dad told me about bullies. If you ignore them, they’ll go away. And so I ignored it, and it stopped coming into our room. I was glad it was gone, but I missed it. I missed the attention. I missed how I felt with its eyes on me. I missed how it watched me. I knew we came second to you. I could hear you, sometimes, talking to it. Laughing with it.”

I take a cautious step down the hall, approaching the bathroom. I push the door back. “Leda…”

“There were times when I wondered if it’d be worth it, to invite it back in. Acknowledge its presence. Give it the attention it wanted so I could get some back. Didn’t matter what form the attention came in. If it made me afraid or sad or angry.”

The bathroom’s empty.

“Leda,” Daffy says. “Leda, where are you?”

“But I chose to ignore it. To shut it out. And I’ve held that door closed ever since. It hasn’t been easy. It requires such strength, such discipline.”

I can’t even tell which direction her voice is coming from.

“What if I told you I lied about the burn not because Dad asked or because Mom would drive us to school with vodka in the glove compartment, because she would get drunk and tell me how ugly I was. What if told you I lied because I wanted out of this house. Needed out of this house. Away from it.”

“Leda?”

“Goddamn it. It’s so cold down here,” Daphne says, her voice hushed. She blows into her hands. “How is it so cold?”

Daphne opens the door to Mom’s room and finds the light switch. “She’s not in here.”

That leaves my room.

The door is locked.

“Leda,” I say, pounding with a closed fist. “Leda, open the door.”

I will bleed you out! I will bleed you out!

“Leda, please,” Daphne says.

Now I can hear her. I can hear her breathing through the door. I can see her shadow underneath.

“Leda!” I say, trying the knob again.

“Move,” Daphne says to me. “Leda, I’m going to break down this fucking door.”

Leda erupts into a fit of maniacal giggles. “And here I thought if it was me alone in this house instead of Clio, you wouldn’t have come. You’d have just let me rot here. You…”

“One more chance,” Daphne says.

“Can you break down a door?” I ask her.

Leda resumes her deranged snickering.

“Guess we’re about to find out.” Daphne charges, bangs her shoulder against the wood. There’s a clunk—and Leda stops laughing.

“Shit,” Daffy says. “Leeds?”

A pause, a few seconds that hold back forever like a sharp knife.

“It’s…it’s in here. With me,” Leda whispers. “It says come in.”

35

Leda unlocks the door. She opens it just a crack, just enough so we can see her face. There’s a new welt on her forehead. Above her bloodshot eyes is all swollen, black-and-blue. She must have been up against the door when Daphne rammed into it.