It's not real... they're not real. It's not real. They're not real. It's not—
Huddled in her bathtub, shielded by the clear plastic sheet around the tub to catch water, Keya picked at her skin—not realising she'd drawn blood from several spots. The water rained down as it had done for the past half hour, going cold, while she waded through murky memories and scrambled thoughts, cursed to relive an undying nightmare, it seemed.
It's not real. They're not real. It's not real—
It had become a morning routine, this bathtub vigil, staring out over its ceramic rim, past the plastic curtain, with vacant eyes. At strange figures hidden beneath several dust sheets that gleamed in the light of every morning. The windows high above them framed them perfectly, like a macabre painting from where she sat. Sometimes she sat there naked, sometimes clothed, and she stared, water slithering around her body like a clingy lover ignored.
Somewhere in the once-roomy loft, now too crowded by ghosts of things she didn't recall, her phone rang. She could hear the chirpy tone letting her know Stella was calling for the hundredth time.
And a hundredth time ignored.
She stayed where she was, for it was the furthest she could get in that loft from those things without venturing out into the world, a world she'd grown to fear for many, many reasons.
They're not real...
Her makeshift bathroom was one wall of the loft. A shower, a toilet—tucked behind a cloudy piece of plexiglass—and a vanity, all on display like a showcase at a museum; all vintage pieces she'd sourced from old homes about to be demolished to make way for another skyscraper, another roadway to The Havens, to her dad and his glittering world.
The phone rang again. The sheeted figures loomed. Outside, thunder rolled like a giant in the sky snoring, and suddenly that large loft shrank till Keya could breathe no more.
"Walls," she mutters absently, wishing suddenly that her open bathroom had walls. Walls that would allow her a moment's escape away from those hidden remnants of her work. Work she didn't quite remember carving, but vague memories suggested they were indeed hers. It was hard to tell what she'd been up to. She remembered little these days. But between that long-ago night in the club and now, many moons had passed—many frantic, sleepless, sleep-addled nights.
"They're not"—Keya shook her head, pushing down the nausea bubbling up her throat.
"Keya!" A distant voice broke through the murk. "Keya! For fuck's sake! Answer my phone." Bang bang. "You better still be alive or I swear"—bang, bang. "Keya!"
Keya blinked at the door. One way in and out of what used to be her sanctuary, now a lonesome cage. There was no strength left in her trembling limbs to push off the tub and let Stella in.
"It's not real," she mumbles again, eyes on the door. "She's not real."
"Kay!" Bang. Bang. It was followed by what Keya imagined the faint thud Stella's large handbag would make if she were here. So, she remained in her crouch, gaze flickering between the sheet-covered standing vigil beneath the large industrial window panels of the loft and the door. Five haunting mammoths lurked in her home. Five figures she—It had started with one. But over several months, one had become two, two had become three, three, four, and so on.
They're not real... they're not—she's not real—
Where did they come from? She'd been pondering that question relentlessly, going mad on her own. I didn't make them. They're not mine...
A faint jingle reached her next. Stella's voice was now all but another distant noise. "I swear if you're dead in there... I'm killing someone..."
The water shifted another degree colder. I should move. I'm exhausted. I should sleep... But she made no move at all, suddenly frozen with fear at the thought of sleep. No. I can't sleep. Never.
"Kay?" Stella's voice bloomed in the loft, timid at first. "Kay?" It drew closer next, a figure clad in black emerging from the dark doorway.
Next, the makeshift shower curtain from a plastic sheet drew away, and Keya peered up at her friend through the shower of freezing water.
"What the fuck are you doing?" There was anger in that usually sweet voice as Stella turned the shower off and threw a towel over Keya's body. "You're shivering. How long have you been sitting there under the cold shower?"
"Stella?" Keya heard her own voice crack like a dry cracker. "I was just—it's morning."
"Yes, it's morning. Now let's get you out of that tub..." Stella's grip tightened around her shoulder. "When was the last time you ate?"
Ate? Keya couldn't remember.
"Have you had any food?" Stella pulled her out of the tub and planted her on the wet bathroom tiles—the tub had overflowed. "Your apartment's a mess... you're flooding the bottom floor. If your neighbour hadn't called"—Stella thrust a fresh long-sleeved shirt and lounge pants into her hands from the closet. "Get dressed!"
Keya stayed rooted in her wet clothes with the towel draped over her shoulder. "My floor is wet." Why is my floor wet?
"Yes, well, so is the one below." Stella blew air out through her nose, then grabbed the clean dry clothes off Keya, tossed them to the messy bed, and helped pull the heavy wet sweater off her. "You're gonna get sick.
"What are you doing, huh? I mean, I know I said I'll give you some space. You go weeks without coming out—I mean, I miss our lunches, but I figured you have shit you're dealing with"—a deft hand quickly pulled the dry shirt over her naked torso and dabbed the towel over her wet hair stringing from her head. "But, you don't even answer my calls anymore... and then I get your neighbour calling me, basically to come and see if you've died in here? Come on, Kay. It's too much. I wanted to throw up all the way here... Lucky for you I remembered I have a spare key you gave me ages ago—that time you got sick when you first came to live among us, mere mortals."
"I'm sorry." That was all Keya managed. She's not real. This is a dream... they all are. She eyed the sheeted figures. They're all a dream.
"Oh, I'm very real, mate!" Stella waddled through the inch of water to Keya's closet and grabbed an armful of clothes. "Where's your overnighter?"
"What are you doing?"
"What I should have done ages ago when you decided to turn into a bigger hermit. Took you home with me."
"I can't"—Keya eyed yet another figure hidden beneath a sheet at her workbench, separate from the huddle. "I have work."
"Yes, well. So do I, but here I am, saving your skinny butt instead of out there trying to sell real estate I can never bloody afford. You're coming with me."
"My show is in a couple of weeks."
"And a couple of days away from here won't kill you. Now, you need my help changing your bottom too or can you manage to adult for five minutes? Where's your bag?" Stella waltzed over to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink. "Even a rubbish bag will do."
"I can't go with you, Stell." Keya ducked behind her bed and changed into dry underwear and pulled on her pants. "I don't think it's a good idea. I'm not sure I should leave my place." I'm not sure I should go anywhere. I don't feel safe... like I might hu—
"Look at you." Stella paused in front of her, a roll of rubbish bag in her hand. "You look like shit, you sound like shit, your place is definitely shit. You have piles of rubbish and dishes in the kitchen. Your bed looks like you haven't made it in months. Your floor is a shallow lake, and I think that phone call could have been very real this morning. And there's no way I'm coming back here to find your dead body. I won't do it, Kay. So that settles it. You're coming with me for a few days... and maybe I can call Mr Sapkota and let him know the loft needs a thorough clean. He'll send a cleaning squad—"
"No!" Keya hadn't meant to scream. "No. Don't call Dad."
"Okay? What is going on here, Kay?" Stella stopped packing the bag full of Keya's stuff and turned. "You've been very off lately. Even your HausMaid sends me alerts of your irregular comings and goings... leaving your place in the middle of the night, alone, but you won't come out to lunch with me anymore...? And I've said nothing. But you need help."
"Not Dad."
"Why not your dad?"
Keya looked around her loft, finally seeing it for what it had become: a pigsty. "He won't let me stay here."
"Well, maybe that's not a bad idea at the moment." Stella placed a hand on her hips. "You're the president's daugh—"
"Don't say it."
"—ter," Stella finished.
Keya finally met her friend's gaze. "I'm not just his daughter. That's not all I am."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Stella fixed her with a look that warned her—you're on dangerous grounds, Kay. "Will you please tell me what's going on? I miss my friend. I'm worried for my friend, and"—her voice caught for a moment—"I want to help but I can't. Tell me what's going on with you, please. Tell me what's going on and I swear I will do everything to help you and keep it all from reaching your father. But you need to trust me here, babe. It's me. Stella. Your best friend. I can't help you if you won't let me and today, I refuse to leave. I refuse to give you space."
Keya watched her friend sit on the bed and fold her arms. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. So tell me what is going on."
Keya swallowed nervously. Her eyes flickering to the dust sheets still glimmering in the morning light. Should she tell Stella everything? Everything she had felt wrong with herself? But how? How do I say I think I'm—
"Are you sure?" Keya nervously asked, unable to help herself. The possibility of spilling her dark secrets for someone else to make sense of it all called like a siren.
"Yes. You can tell me anything."
Keya hesitated.
"Babe."
"I think I'm hurting people," Keya finally blurted those words she'd been trying to bury along with her murky memories.
"What are you talking about?"
Keya eyed the figures that had haunted her day and night for months, the statues that weren't statues at all. Not really. "I think I'm hurting people," she repeated, not that she knew how she could ever do such a thing. "I think I'm killing them..." words that felt like ash in her mouth.
WC: 9, 868
A/N: I struggled to find an entry point to this chapter for days—the life of a pantser!
And I'm sure you can guess what figures she's looking at. What do you think this might mean for the story?
The next chapter will be from Reina's pov or a victim. I haven't yet decided... but we're getting close to that promise of the premise, where these two ladies' worlds collide.