My Friend is the Devil

Chapter 13

There's no way I can sleep. I try listening to a meditation podcast for fifteen minutes but my thoughts overpower the host's voice in my ears. I take a hot shower, then afterwards I stare at myself in the mirror long after the glass defogs.

I want to look at myself through my father's eyes. What would go through his head when he looks at me for the first time?

I stroke my ribs. Will he insist I "put more meat on those bones"?

I grab the bottom of my hair and scrunch it up in my fist, squeezing the water out of it. What will he say about my hair?

I hope he remembers the necklace he got me. I hold it against my cheek. It's cool touch is comforting, enough to calm my nerves.

The sun doesn't rise until seven-thirty and Liz doesn't wake up until eight. I hide under my covers and count my heartbeats. They feel faster than normal but according to Web MD, the beats are at a perfect, relaxed rhythm.

I fall asleep with my two fingers pressed against the pulse on my neck.

Knock knock. "Are you still asleep?"

When I open my eyes, I'm still underneath the covers and sweaty from the hot cloud of my own recycled breath.

"Is that you under there?" I can hear Liz's voice clearly. She's let herself in.

"I'm hungover!" I shout back. "Can you close the door?" I don't want her to see me.

She slams my door shut. When I flip over the covers, my realize that I've been asleep for a very long time. The sun is already on the other side of the flat.

This is it. It's time.

I jump out of bed, put on a pair of clean clothes, and run out the door. Liz tries to call after me but I scream back "Library study group!"

The closer I get to the Green Lady, the harder it is to see and the harder it is to breathe. I have to stop and hold myself steady against the wall of Kings Theatre. I stare at the opening to the close. The sign for Nickie-Ben's Close wriggles and bounces. It slides from one stone to another and when I blink it slides back.

I walk a few more steps towards the Close and look inside with one eye. The window into the Green Lady is dark and the padlock is clipped to the door. I step in the Close and cup my face against the window. The chairs are all up on the tables.

There's a twist in my stomach. "No. Please."

I refuse to believe last night was a dream so I'll wait. I'll wait all night if I have to.

I walk to the end of the Close and kick the gravel away to make the ground smoother. I squat down, but my legs aren't strong enough to hold myself there for long, so I sit back on my butt. A cold wetness seeps into my jeans near the left back pocket. I look down and realize there's a small puddle of water—I hope—beside me. I scooch over, hug my knees to my chest, and watch the entrance to the Close.

People that walk past the Close keep their heads down or they step off the sidewalk, onto the road, just to avoid passing it. A woman in running gear looks in, we make eye contact, and she snaps her head forward and jogs away.

After some time passes, I stop watching the street and let my eyes wander up the wall beside me. I notice that some of the stones are newer than the rest. They're beige and the cement keeping them together is smooth and thick like peanut butter. The older stones surrounding them are discolored and crackling, but even more, their edges that touch the newer stones are charcoaled black.

Is this patchwork from the so-called fire? I forgot all about that.

I rest my cheek on my knees and imagine the Green Lady bursting into flames, the fire started by Graeme's fingertips.