Lips Red As Blood

12 |

Cora stares down at the batches of cookies that lay on the plate, unsure if she should be revolted or somewhat impressed that her mother made the cookies look even more interesting today. 

One looks like it got whacked on the side with the cookie roller. Another has a dark liquid, presumably chocolate, that oozes onto the plate. The other looks like it was set through a torture chamber, electrocuted, and then set on fire. 

"So have you figured out which college you're going to?" Irene asks, munching on one of the cookies — an oatmeal cookie, though it looks more like a mashed up, misshaped, lumpy dessert. "After this summer, you're officially going to start college, so that's exciting." 

She hasn't fainted or choked yet, Cora notices, eyeing the burnt cookie. But it's still questionable if the cookie is hazardous or not. 

Her hand hovers above the plate, and before Cora can give any more second thoughts, she snatches a cookie up and crams it into her mouth. She immediately regrets it. 

Dry crumbs clog Cora's throat as she grips the couch's armrest, trying to gasp for air. She tastes burnt crusts before being crushed by a wave of tiny sugar cubes. Letting out a wheezing cough, Cora frantically grabs the tea sitting on the side, drinking it in one gulp. 

Sweet relief bursts through her, finally happy that the cookie is finally out of her mouth — followed by panic. The tea still hasn't cooled down, the burning liquid scorching her tongue. 

"You looked at the list of colleges I recommended, right?" Irene is completely oblivious to the daughter choking beside her, casually applying more butter to the oatmeal cookie. "I think they'll be good for your future." 

Cora's nails clutch the armrest, the burning tea still in her mouth. Spit it out or swallow the tea? a tiny voice in her wonders, as Cora wildly looks for something that can help her. 

Sink? Too far away. Bathroom? Also too far. 

As the liquid gets unbearably hot, Cora knows she has to make a decision. Fast. "You're not still into digital art, are you?" her mother murmurs, frowning when Cora grabs Irene's arm. "I understand this is a hobby, but don't take it too seriously unless you're considering that as your professional life, which I wouldn't— Cora, why are you squeezing my arm so tightly?" 

Cora points at her throat with exaggerated motions, praying her mother will understand. Irene looks annoyed instead. "Sweet heavens, child, just speak," sighs Irene. "I can't understand anything if you're just doing charades." 

The liquid burns hotter and Cora knows she only has five more seconds until she has to choose. That's when realization flashes in Irene's expression. "Cora, are you okay?" she stammers. "Here, drink some tea—" 

At that moment, when Irene shoves a cup of tea under Cora's mouth, two things happen at once: Cora's hand knocks away the tea glass and it flies out of her mother's hand, shattering onto the floor. Then she spits out the remaining liquid in her mouth. 

Silence. 

Cora stares at the ground. Glass shards lay on the white carpet, brown liquid pooling into the fur. Then she stares at her mother, who looks as horrified as she feels. 

"That... was an accident," Cora says, breaking the silence. 

Irene's cheeks turn fiery red, the same shade of red that always occurs when she's pissed off. The same shade of red that happens when she is about to do some intense scolding. The same shade that happens when something bad is about to happen. 

Fear curls through Cora's stomach. "I'm sorry," she whispers, even though she knows apologizing won't defuse Irene's explosion. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to." 

The way Irene's cool gaze cuts into Cora makes her feel small, as if disappointment and fury is radiating through Cora's body. 

Is this how Harper felt six years ago? Cora wonders, flinching when Irene glowers harder. Except with way more disappointment directed in her direction. 

Irene takes a deep breath, about to start shouting— 

The ground beneath them starts rumbling and Cora looks around, baffled. "What's happening?" she asks, the ground unsteady. Teacups clank together, the light rattling around, confusion searing into the air. "There are rarely any earthquakes here." 

"Get down!" Irene snaps, grabbing Cora's wrist and wrenching her under the table. A slew of colorful swears escapes Irene when a bookshelf starts wobbling. "You better not—" 

The bookshelf slams to the ground, books scattering everywhere. Glass shatters from the window, as Cora huddles with her mother, her breath shallow. A shriek erupts from outside, a full-fledged scream filled with terror and alarm. 

Cora's blood freezes. 

That voice... 

Chills crawl over her skin, goosebumps rising. Fear — the color of the ocean wave, right when it rears up high, prepared to kill — splashes over Cora. 

It can't be, Cora thinks, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mind replays the scream over and over until she can't tell which is louder: the phantom scream or the sound of plates shattering. Don't do anything rash... 

The ground splits into two and Cora's eyes snap open. "Harper," she gasps, starting to crawl out from under the table. "She's still out there— we have to do something—" 

"Are you an idiot?" Irene demands, grabbing Cora's shoulders. A vase smashes down, narrowly missing them both. "If you go out there, you're dead." 

"Mom, let go of me!" Cora spits back, adrenaline slithering through her veins. "We have to get to Harper!" 

Irene's mouth twists, glare deadly. "We are not going anymore, you hear me? We're going to stay here like rational people and we're going to wait until the earthquake is over." 

Cora gazes back at her mother, stunned. Her throat turns dry, lips trembling. 

"Then that's your decision," whispers Cora, tears pricking at her eyes. "I'll make a different one because unlike you, I care about Harper." 

With her mother sputtering out words, trying to convince Cora to stay put, she crawls out of the table. 

Run or proceed carefully? Cora asks, and then the answer locks into her heart: run. 

Avoiding the shattering plates, Cora dashes towards the door, flinging it open. She almost stops when she reaches the curb, because there — dressed in all black — is William, cradling an unconscious Harper in his arms. 

Blood slowly drips from Harper's head and that's when Cora shatters. 

Author Note: 

well, that happened. cue the nervous laughter. question (this one isn't really related to the book): how do you all balance your daily lives/school time with writing?