Uprooted (COMPLETED)

10| A Head Full Of Ghosts

Sierra's POV

My eyes were far too tired to cry, let alone pry open long enough for me to fake it. I hadn't slept at all last night, worrying about where I would be sent to next. My pulsating brain wouldn't stop booming with meticulous what-ifs and endless possibilities.

I need a shower to clear my head. I leisurely walked into the bathroom with my other set of clothes and placed a plush towel on top of the toilet seat. I stripped my clothes to the floor sloppily as they sprawled across the tile.

I stepped into the shower, my toes flinched as they touched the cold tub. I turned the metallic dial that instantly released the water, darkening my hair faster than the night sky. My skin was bathed lightly and I took careful notice to avoid touching my wrists that still wrung with pain from the night before. I looked at my wrist rose tattoo again and hoping my mom didn't blame me. Water trickled down my back gently and it seemed to calm me. As the water poured then dripped down my sides my mind faded into the room's foggy illusion. I seemed to like that the mist would blur my edges while the water defined my every curve. The therapeutic sensation of the surrounding steam and everlasting waterfall left a much needed curl on my lips.

Suddenly my heart skidded to a halt in my chest. Footsteps that had yet to walk quietly were muffled under the sound of running water. Each footfall was chaotically spaced from the last and held confidence in each click of shoes hitting the floor.

My hands fell to the lever, but the steam seemed to thicken and rise to my aching face. Then the pipes moaned like a ghost and spat out its last droplets of cold water.

My eyes shot open as I watched what seemed to be a hazy shadow beneath the steam. "Hello? Stormie? Ross?" Mark? My pulse ramped up, but my mouth became dry despite the water that had previously splashed around it. I was frozen in place, straining to breathe, too scared to pull back the curtain that awaited me. The steps had stopped, yet my heartbeat wouldn't settle. Something wasn't right and the horrid feeling of darting eyes were on me. Mark is in here, what do I do? I looked without moving my head, there was nothing but soap and shampoo to arm myself. I snatched up the shampoo bottle and aimed it towards the curtain as if it was a gun, but I was appalled by how much my hands shook. The shape moved closer and grew larger in the shadow. I was trembling and backed as far as I could against the wall.

A cry broke from my quivering lips as I pulled back the cloth rapidly. I clenched my eyes in surrender and held myself in a ball waiting for horror to strike.

My pulse roared still, but confusion flashed in front of my eyes that opened when I hadn't been struck. Nothing. Nobody was there. My clothes had still been slopped onto the floor, not a hair out of place. I stood up cautiously and my hand dropped the bottle in relief. I chuckled to myself, "Sierra, you're going insane," No I'm not. Yes you are. "Doesn't exactly help your case when you're fighting with yourself." I slapped my forehead at my stupidity at my own retort.

My eyes fell closed in exhaustion, but each time showed the haunting images like photographs. My mind was shredded and I couldn't tell if his despicable face, tight grip, and beating voice would never leave my mind. I was reliving the moment over and over.

I forced my eyes open again and made myself get dressed. Another moment in there and I would have driven myself crazy--well, crazier. I placed myself on the bed for a few moments before I heard a light knock on the door. "Uh, come in."

Ross's blonde locks curled around his face strategically as he peaked in the door. "Sierra, do you--" I wasn't listening.

"You need a haircut you know. I would cut it for you, but I would be like Edward Scissorhands back there and trust me you do not want that."