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As I round the corner, he whispers without words, “I see you.”
I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.
8
Kimberly
The moment Mum and I are inside our house, I falter at the entrance, waiting for the inevitable.
Because of the fight with Veronica, the principal had to call our guardians. Usually, Dad takes care of anything that has to do with school, but since he’s not here, Mum was forced to come out of her beloved studio for me. I could tell she was irritated by the way she snapped at the principal and Veronica’s parents, telling them to rein their morbid daughter in. The video cameras showed that she slapped me first. In Mum’s words, my punch was a ‘knee-jerk’ reaction.
I wasn’t delighted she stood up for me, though. Mum is never on my side. She’s on the side of the press and her image. If the great Jeanine Reed is known to have a violent daughter, it’d fuck up her upcoming exhibition.
That’s why she gave it her all in the principal’s office and even offered the school tickets to her exclusive pre-show that costs tens of thousands of pounds. A form of donation, she said.
Then she talked to her agent on the way home, sparing me a glare every time I breathed wrong.
Now that we’re all alone, she’ll tell me not to pull her name down, that she didn’t spend years slaving in her studio to have a brat like me ruin her first exhibition in two years. She’s been in a slump and has finally found her muse again.
Quick fact about my mum – she’d rather kill me and Kir and the whole world as long as she has her precious muse.
I steady myself at the entrance, waiting for the onslaught of her words, secretly happy Kir is spending the night with his friend Henry and won’t witness this ugly scene.
Mum sighs and shakes her head, causing the perfect strands to move in an elegant kind of way. “Why do you have to be a disappointment, Kimberly?”
And with that, she retreats upstairs, oblivious to the blood trail she’s left behind.
It’s as if she stabbed me with a pointy knife and is taking the weapon of crime with her, letting the blood drip from it with each of her steps.
But this blood is different. It’s the type that you can never wash off nor sew the flesh back together.
My chin
trembles, but I inhale deeply and slowly go to my room.
“What would you like for dinner?” Mari asks me on my way up.
“Nothing.” My voice is dead as I get past her. “Absolutely nothing.”
The moment I’m in my room, I lock it and curl into bed, wrapping the sheet around me until my own breaths nearly suffocate me.
It’s dark in here, serene almost.
The fog won’t be able to get inside. It can’t. If it does after what Mum said, I don’t know what to do.
Kir isn’t even here to stop me.
Maybe I should go get him. I can kidnap him from Henry’s house or I can at least see his puppy eyes and hug him to recharge.
Without the warmth he emanates, I’m left in a cold, desolate space of my own making.
Tendrils of that fog seep under the sheet and surround me in a tight hold. I clutch the cover harder, needing the camouflage it provides.
No, no, no…
It’s not supposed to come in under the cover. It’s supposed to stay the hell away.
My wrist scar tingles and my nose does, too. There’s this overwhelming urge to cry, but I can’t. No tears would come out, even if I let them loose. Unlike common belief, there’s no relief in letting go and crying.
