The grey light of evening filtered through the faded brown curtains. An irritating countdown had started in my head, warning me there were three days left until New Year's Eve. Three days left before I had a right to call myself an adult. Not that it mattered; I felt closer to forty than eighteen right now.
However, a more important issue needed my attention. I had avoided Sam all day, hiding in my room, thinking the problems would just disappear. If thinking ever got you what you wanted. Hell, it never did for me. I'd wanted to tell her everything about that night. I'd wanted to every day for the past week. What was holding me back? The worst she could do was laugh.
Do it. I forced myself out of the chair and headed for her room.
I gave the door a feeble tap, wondering if I was doing the right thing after all. But before I could turn and make a run for it...
"Come in," her soft voice drifted through my wooden barrier of safety.
What else could I do? I eased the door open and stepped inside.
Her room was a total contrast to mine: the walls painted in a deep cerise pink, makeup and accessories cluttering every available space. All the things you'd expect to see, apart from the dressmaker's dummy standing in the corner. Sam studied fashion and had no problems telling everybody of her ambitions. "I'm going to be the next great designer," she'd say. I saw no need to disagree with her.
She turned her head in my direction. "Eve! I was beginning to worry. Where have you been?"
"Coursework, you know." I walked over to her desk.
"You look tired," she said, seated at her sewing machine, her thoughtful eyes probing mine.
"Do I?" I looked away, focusing my attention on the dress pattern beside her. "That's... interesting."
"Oh that. Just a working copy of a more elaborate design. I'm toying with the idea of adding extra frills to the neck. What do you think?"
"Are you sure you're asking the right person?" I could never be what you would call, fashionable. I glanced up, catching the flicker of amusement play across her lips.
"You never know, grunge could be making a revival. Anyway, I value your opinion."
"Sure you do," I said and snorted.
She let out a gentle laugh. "Okay, I'll let it go. So, why have you honoured me with your presence?" She lifted her foot off the pedal and turned to face me. The room went quiet. Too quiet.
Now I was here, looking into her questioning eyes, the thought of divulging my crazy notions catching in my throat, I knew I'd made a mistake. "Been busy." Come on! Even you can come up with something better than that.
"Busy." She rolled her eyes, adding a brief shake of her head. "Eve, it's me. You can tell me anything."
Not this. Of course she knew about my nightmares, but how could I explain to one of the most normal people in the home—my best friend—that the line separating fantasy from reality had vanished from my world.
"Look, I just came to inform you I'll be holed-up in my room for the next couple of days. I'm behind with my work, and you know Mr. Humphreys."
"Really! You're behind. As if." The sewing machine hummed to life.
I took it as an indicator to leave. "Okay. Well, I guess I'll catch up with you at dinner."
"Whatever you say, Eve."
I slammed my door and slumped in the chair. "You handled that well. Coward." A pitiful sigh grumbled in my throat. Forget it. I turned my attention to my laptop, struggling to focus on the words of my history paper. No matter how much I tried, my mind kept wandering back to that night before Christmas.
I had battled to find a reason for Sophie's desertion. Sure, she may have threatened to leave, but she'd never done it before. Could my incessant whining tipped the balance. Had she grown tired of being my protector? Was I that pathetic that none of it mattered anymore?
My life was on a downward spiral to Freaky Town.
Why did you leave me Sophie?
I'd even spoken to Jane about the nightmare in my last therapy session. She tried reassuring me it was due to late night studying and early mornings. Her flimsy, yet well-intended explanation might have succeeded. If not for the fact these issues had disrupted my life since childhood.
One massive problem with her theory: how much longer could I keep this freaky shit from the people who knew me? What petrified me the most though, was the thought of Jane appearing in the middle of the night and locking me away until everyone forgot I existed. If my parents abandoned me as a baby, what hope did I have?
"Maybe that's why they left me." My mumbled words echoed through the silence, invisible restraints shackling me to a lifetime of hell predetermined by my birth. "Why can't I be normal?"
I peered up from the screen and shivered, blinded for a moment by the darkness. A waft of cold air blew across the back of my neck— it had happened a lot since Sophie's desertion. Not even wanting to look behind, I grabbed the cardigan from the backrest, put it on, and swivelled the chair round to face Jodie's side of the room.
The light from my desk lamp barely reached her bed. Any other time I hated the mess of her discarded clothes and overflowing bin. Right now, it was all I wanted to see.
My eyes froze on the black mass leaning against her headboard. Tiny disembodied hands and feet protruded out of the emptiness, reaching out to me; haunting glass eyes glinted in the sepia glow. God I hate dolls. I shuddered and looked away.
Do it now. I spun the chair round with one big push of my feet.
The immediate rush hit my head. And in those brief seconds of weightlessness as the dizziness floated away, I saw the room creep tighter in. The light flickered; my heart responded as the dull khaki paint formed dark shadows ready to ensnare me. Not giving myself time to think, I stumbled to the light switch by the door and flicked it on, and watched as the shadow people disappeared.
No more. Time to talk to someone, and quick.
I paced the room for a while, comforted by the illuminating glare of the overhead light. Everything appeared normal. Except for the coven of evil dolls. Jodie's blanket lay on the floor so I picked it up and threw it over them, blocking them from my sight, and flopped on the bed exhausted.
My findings looked dead in the water.
Option 1: Jane, champion of rational thinking. No, she had left for the holidays and I refused to hold out for another five days.
Strike one.
Option 2: Sam, my best friend— my one real friend. Beautiful. Talented. Quick-witted, and above all, modest. Almost everyone in the children's home loved her. Hell, I loved her. Who wouldn't?
The best thing about Sam was, despite my lack of communication she accepted my quirky ways. Although, I still hadn't found the courage to tell her the truth. Okay, so I hadn't reached that desperate stage to risk losing the one true friend I had. Anyway, how did I know if she would understand? Besides, her idea of an emergency involved a chipped nail or wearing the wrong colour for your skin tone. My emergency stretched the boundaries of our friendship.
Strike two.
I pushed deeper, trying to find any other available choices. No one came to mind. Am I that much of a loner?
Strike three. You're out.
Sophie was right to leave me. I lived a pathetic excuse of a life.
The tears breeched the dam of my tear ducts, burning a trail in their hurry to get away. No point in fighting; no one was here to witness my epic downfall. So I let it go, crying until the tank ran empty and no more tears stained the pillowcase. Until every muscle in my body ached for someone to hold me— to soothe away the pain.
The last indulgent tremor rippled into nothingness.
No. This self-inflicted pity party needed to stop. No way could I allow it to take hold. To remove every trace which made me different. Even if, it meant a lifetime of loneliness.
Get up you idiot. My body responded without question. I refused to let this thing win.