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Exhausted. Confused. And freaked the fuck out, would describe my mental state this morning. My body aches.. I cried until no more tears could come out of me. Eventually falling asleep, while still cradling myself on my bed where it left me. Whatever ‘it’ is. I have no fucking idea.
I do know it was real.
I felt it. I still feel where it squeezed my neck. My face throbbed from where I was slapped. My head aches from where it hit the wall. It wasn't a hallucination, it was fucking real. None of this would have happened if my dad was still here. Why did he have to die? He left me. Here. In this creepy fucking house with his evil mother. If he would have stayed alive, this wouldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t have had to call her. I have never felt as alone as I do now. Joanie would hate me even more than she already does if I were to tell her what happened, and surely she would not believe me. There is no one I can tell.
Pull yourself together, Fallon. Goddammit. You are stronger than this. Self pity is not a good look on anyone. I allow myself one more minute in this state. Stretching my body out, rubbing my bloodshot and swollen eyes, I tell myself I will not let this place win. After blowing out one final breath, I swing my legs out over the bed. The last time I did this, I was assaulted. My heart races, waiting for it to happen again. It’s quiet. Sun is peeking through the curtains. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, it’s already past noon. Shit.
Standing, my legs shake for a moment. I reach the bed for support while my body catches up with my brain. Once my legs have settled, I walk to my closed bedroom door and open it, peering out into the hall. It is still quiet, no sign of life within the hall. The bathroom is next door to my room. Making my way to it, the floor creaks beneath me. As I enter the bathroom and flick the light on, I am captivated by one of the large bay windows at the front of the house. Each frame is lined with dark black wood, and there is a ledge running alongside one, where white and black candles sit, waiting to be lit. Most sit directly on the wooden ledge, but a few are in these incredible holders, with melted wax dried down them. A few green plants hang over the ledge of the other windows in the room. There’s a dark purple velvet chair sitting next to the black and gold standalone clawfoot tub tucked into the nook under a window.
The floor is black marble with gray veins running through it. It looks like one solid piece. The walls are painted black, with a filigree pattern on them. The same as what is on the mausoleum in the graveyard. Walking to the black basin sink that sits atop the counter, I turn the gold faucet and hold my hands beneath as cold water pools in them. Splashing my face with it several times, forcing my body to wake up and join the rest of me.
I grab the towel hanging from the ring and pat myself dry. I’d avoided the mirror since walking in, but screw it, let’s see the damage. Moving the towel off my face, I look up and see my reflection. My eyes are swollen, as I had already suspected. One cheek is red, but it’s not very noticeable unless you are looking for it. Dropping the towel onto the counter, my neck is exposed. It’s bruised already, and it is noticeably a handprint. Turning my head, I can see the thumbprint on one side and the ridged tips of fingers along with a palm print surrounding the rest. Subconsciously, I find myself tracing along it with my fingers. Enamored by it.
How is this possible?
Oddly enough, I kind of like it. The coloring, mottled purples and blues with a hint of redness. It’s satisfying against my pale skin. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. I am mentally and physically exhausted. But at the same time, I’m curious. The need to know more has heightened since last night. I leave the bathroom and race back to my room. The door is closed, though I don’t remember closing it. Strange. Maybe Joanie came by?
I am in a state of disbelief when I open the door. What little I had is scattered across the floor. Dresser drawers included. Why would she do this?
The only thing untouched is my dad’s ashes. They are still right where I left them.
This bitch has lost her fucking mind if she thinks I’m going to sit quietly and take this. She has no idea what my last twenty-four hours have been like. Today is not the day to test me.
Too pissed off to clean up, I quickly find an oversized hoodie to swap out with the one I’m wearing. This one has more give and will cover my neck to avoid any questioning. Once changed, I rush out of my room, slamming the door in hopes she hears it. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of rushing to her and confronting her, I pace myself walking down the stairs.
Once in the main entrance, I walk to the kitchen first, but she isn’t there. Then the TV room, study and finally the library. Still no sign of her. There’s no way she moved through this giant house this quickly. Frustrated, I go outside, hoping the fresh air will clear my head. The cool air against my skin feels nice. I walk briskly past the angel statue on my way to the gate. Maybe the graveyard will offer the silence I need to think. Taking the long path under the trees, I stop before opening it.
She’s out here. But how?
Joanie is bent over trimming the flowers around the kneeled statue, murmuring to herself, but it’s nothing I can make out clearly. Standing motionless, I continue to watch her as she makes her way to the mausoleum to tidy the vines up. As she finishes, she says, “Y'all are ungrateful. I keep this place tidy for you. Keep you from outsiders. The least you can do is show your faces and thank me!”
Who is she talking to?
“She does this every day.” A voice whispers in my ear. It startles me, but I’m careful not to make a noise. Turning around, I see it’s Harper.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I hiss back at her, and she mouths‘sorry’.I grab her arm and drag her into the thick tree line. She clearly has answers to my questions and she will give them to me. We are a couple of feet in when I let go of her. “Explain. What do you mean she does this every day? Does what? Who is she talking to?”
Harper just looks at me. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s thinking about how much she wants to tell me.
Finally speaking up, “You honestly have no idea?” she questions. Obviously not. Fuck. Who is this chick?
“No idea about what?”
Harper’s eyebrows scrunch. Her face goes from amused, to thinking, to confused, all in a matter of seconds. She slowly shakes her head in disbelief. “I shouldn’t. I can’t. You need to talk to Joanie.” Harper's eyes squint as she takes me in. “Fallon, you look like shit. Are you ok?”
Now is not the time.
“No. I’m not ok. My night… My night was completely fucked up. I was attacked. My room was trashed. I’m fucking exhausted. And now you won’t tell me what is going on here? Where am I?”
Harper is taken aback by my words, even taking a step away from me.
“Who attacked you? Did Joanie do something to you, Fallon?” She questions. I’m quick to respond, “No. She didn’t do this to me. She did trash my room. I have no idea who choked me out and threw me against the wall. So, tell me something. Anything. Please.” I beg.
She takes a deep breath in. Her mind is racing.
“It can’t be, can it? I wonder. No.” She’s mumbling under her breath.
“What can’t be?” I snap back.
