Cluttered {Watty Awards 2016}

One

Cluttered

A novel by J.N. Cahill

Cluttered was written during the month of July for Camp NaNoa few years back. It was completed at 50,198 words. This manuscript is a rough draft. I appreciate all suggestions and error findings. Please do not repost my work or add my books to Goodreads as a published book. Thank you.

To my grandmother, her many treasures, and the "hallway."

One

I follow the sound of Emily's coughs. When I'd first heard them from my room, where I was watching the first season of Veronica Mars, I dismissed them. After all, Emily coughing is nothing new; it's a constant side effect from her asthma. I paused my show when I kept hearing her cough one after another with barely any pauses in between. Almost as if she were choking instead of coughing. Within seconds, I jumped up from my bed and into the narrow hallway. Now I am trying to pinpoint where Emily is. You'd think it would be an easy task—just going from room to room, but we don't live in a normal house.

"Emily? Where are you?" I call, squeezing myself past the wall of clutter so I can peek into her bedroom. Not there. When I look into Rory's bedroom, he's just sitting there on his beanbag chair, focused on a XBox game. "Where's Emily?" I ask.

He shrugs and I resist the urge to groan before I follow the maze into the living room. Emily's coughs seem to be coming from everywhere. She's not in the living room. Kitchen? Nope. Bathroom? No. I pause outside of Mom's room. The door hasn't been shut in years because of all the stuff that is laying against it or is in the way. The coughing seems to be louder inside, but hardly anyone but Mom ever attempts to go in. There's also not a single light on. What is Emily doing in there?

"Emily?" I call into the room.

I hear a gurgle in between the coughs, as if she's attempting to speak.

I push myself into the room, past the heaps of stuff. My hand blindly fumbles against the wall for the light switch. It's already on. I flip it down, but nothing happens. Same thing when I flip it up. Great. The light's out. Perfect timing. Emily's coughs seem to be getting worse, so I stumble into the room, hoping I won't break my neck.

I try to move toward the sounds of the coughs. A pile of clothes nearly make me tumble, but I manage to keep my balance and maneuver my way around it. My hands are outstretched in front of me in the dark to hopefully seek out any other obstacles.

"Haiiiil," I hear to my right. Coughing follows.

Turning toward her, I crouch onto the carpet and move on my hands and knees. I let out a sigh of relief when I finally bump into Emily. My hands find hers and I stand, lifting her into my arms. Emily isn't very heavy; she's never weighed much. Somehow I manage to navigate my way back out into the hallway without falling.

In the light, Emily lifts her head and looks at me, still coughing. Her arms droop uselessly at her sides. Dark green eyes are halfway open and so wet that they glitter. Dirty blonde hair sticks to her wet face as her body shakes from the coughs.

Holding her to me, I make my way into the kitchen. Sliding open the top drawer beside the stove, I reach inside and grab her inhaler. Then I sit down on the grimy floor, help her to sit upright and shake the inhaler a few times. She tries to exhale, her eyes now focused on the inhaler. Removing the cap, I press the spacer to her lips. Instantly her hands go up to the inhaler as her mouth closes around it. I watch as she presses the top and takes a deep breath. She pulls the inhaler away for a moment, then breathes out slowly. She waits, weakly shakes the inhaler again, and gives herself another dose.

"Do I need to call 9-1-1?" I ask as she exhales deeply again.

She slowly shakes her head, holding the inhaler against her stomach.

"Do you want a drink?"

She nods. After I have her sitting against the cabinets, I grab a glass and fill it with water from the ice maker. When I hand it to her, Emily drinks it greedily, but stops when it's halfway empty. I take the glass and put it aside as I join her on the floor again. I'm glad to see the color slowly filling her cheeks again.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods and gives me a flicker of a smile. I can tell that she still doesn't feel too well. I'm sure I wouldn't be feeling so great after all that coughing, either. Smiling back, I lean toward her. My fingers smooth back the stray hairs on her forehead before I kiss her there. She giggles and I take it as a good sign.

"What were you doing in there anyway?" I ask.

"Summer." Summer is our two-year-old orange tabby.

"Don't go back in there until the light gets working again, okay? It's not safe."

She nods and reaches out for the water. I return it to her and watch as she takes a few more gulps. When she's finished, she hands it back and smiles at me. "Can I stay with you?"

Nodding, I stand. I reach down for her small hands and help my little sister slowly rise to her feet. She's still smiling up at me. A part of me still wants to call someone, but she seems to be doing better. It seems like this is the first bad attack that she's had this year. I know it has to be because of this house. Refilling the water glass, I lead Emily to my room. Veronica Mars is frozen mid-sentence on my laptop. Emily crawls into bed and I press the space bar on my computer.

Instead of joining Emily, I make my way to Rory's room. "Your sister is fine, by the way," I say.

He pauses the game and peers over his shoulder at me with narrow eyes. "Good." His comment somehow sounds more like a threat. "But Hailey, I knew she'd be okay. She always is."

"Where's Mom?"

He shrugs. I grit my teeth as I glance at his car-shaped clock on the wall. She should be home by now. It doesn't take three hours to go grocery shopping. But of course, I know she's doing more than that. I bet she's back at the thrift store again. Swallowing hard, I return to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Emily looks up at me with wide eyes, but doesn't say anything. I snatch my journal from my desk and go into my bathroom, needing to be alone before I explode. Sitting in the coolness of the empty tub, I open my journal to today's date.

March 15, Thurs. 7:00 p.m. 640 Days.

Scary asthma attack. Hard to find Emily. Mess getting worse and Mom is still not home, out buying more junk. Can we make it to 640 days? I hope so.

Shutting the journal, I lean my head back against the tile and shut my eyes. Six hundred and forty days feels so far away. But somehow, we have to make it. We have to.