Page 92 of Play Nice

Once I’ve had my fill of social media fluff and internet gossip, I get up to go to the bathroom.

It’s pretty dark out now. Getting late. Still raining, so I can’t open the windows even though it’s hot and sticky and gross. I flick on every light switch I pass. Living room. Kitchen. Hallway.

Bathroom.

I go, flush, wash my hands. Splash some water on my face. I look tired. Am tired. I lean closer to the mirror, my hips pressing into the vanity. There are bags under my eyes, a few blackheads on my nose. I haven’t been keeping up with my skincare routine, and it shows. While studying my pores, my breath fogs up the mirror. I take a step back.

As the fog dissipates, my surroundings arrive in my reflection. The bathroom. Tile. Shower. Shower curtain. Swaying. Moving. The squeal of rusty hooks traveling across the rod. There’s something in the shower, behind the curtain. It’s about to reveal itself. It’s—

I spin around, reach out and grab the curtain, yank it back. I’m too rough with it, and the rod dislodges, almost smacking me in the head as it comes down. The shower is empty.

There’s this heavy, animal panting. It fills the bathroom. It’s…me. It’s me. I’m the thing making these ugly sounds. Sounds I’ve never made before. Sounds of panic. Of fear.

I hold a palm flat to my chest and feel my heart thump against it. Again and again and again and again.

My phone rings in the living room.

I manage a long, deep inhale. Exhale. Another breath. I shake out my limbs, roll my shoulders back, and open the bathroom door.

It’s dark.

The lights are off.

“Really?” I ask through a clenched jaw. I sound like Leda. Is this what it’s like to be her? To walk around with all this tension and anxiety? Just a giant knot of dread.

Maybe Daphne’s right. Maybe I am too tough on her.

I feel around for the switch and flip it back on. The hall illuminates.

My phone stops ringing. Whoever was calling, I missed it.

I shuffle over to the couch, turning on lights as I go. I search for my phone in the abyss between the cushions. When I eventually find it, I have a missed call and text from Daphne on our sister thread.

We need to sit down and talk about everything. I made us reservations. Saturday in Manhattan. Mandatory.

Leda responds with Okay.

I give both messages a thumbs-up, the most passive-aggressive response I can think of.

But truth be told, this works out great for me. I want this sit-down. I need it.

Until then, it’s just me in this house. Waiting.

With the book.

More paper cuts.

27

The exorcism was scheduled for the following weekend. I asked my ex if he was available to take the girls, and he said he was. He didn’t ask any questions, and I was grateful I didn’t have to lie. He still didn’t know about the possession, and I thought I might be able to keep it that way.

Mariella returned to Connecticut, but Jed, Ruth, and Roy stuck around, renting a room in a local Super 8 hotel. I invited them over for dinner every night that week, as a thank-you and for the company. I told the girls they were friends.

Dee was fascinated with Ruth’s blue hair and tattoos. Elle had a crush on Jed. I was enamored with Roy, who was very sweet and attentive to Cici, even when she was peppering him with rude questions.

Their presence in the house made me feel safe.

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