The first time I met Gianna Ramos, she had grazed her knee by falling in the dirt. She hadn't cried about it, though; girls didn't cry on soccer camp. She stood proud, even showing off the gash to her peers. I had won her affection by pointing out it was in the shape of a love heart. Even now, she still had the scar across her knee.
Today, she stood bent over the kitchen counter, scribbling haphazard words onto the notebook in front of her.
"Washing liquid, eggs, milk and what?" she asked Isobel, blowing a string of silken hair which had slipped from her ponytail.
"Toilet paper. Keep up. Shops close in twenty-five minutes!"
"You go then," she grumbled, ripping the paper away from its binding.
"I can't! Aaron's meeting me any minute now." Isobel was wildly shoving things into her handbag, her pretty dress hinting a special occasion.
"Are you sure we should be... you know. Leaving her alone?"
They both turned to me.
"I can't believe she just... hasn't said a word."
It was hard to form words when words themselves didn't offer a solution. Or even an explanation.
I didn't see Gia lounging against the bench pretending she had no interest in picking up groceries, nor Isobel's enthusiasm about dressing up nice for her boyfriend.
I saw Gia carrying a knife, and running through the woods with the girl from her French class. I saw her clawing at the ground with her hands, digging up enough dirt to cover her bloodied body, and I saw Conrad, sitting contentedly in his office, tapping his thumbs against one another as he somehow absorbed the life of the girl Gia had killed.
Nobody would ever know. It would all go unsaid, unseen. Nobody would know Gia's hands were dirty with another's blood, or that the girl's life had been ripped from her by someone without the intention to do so. It was all swept under the rug, aided by the power that had been stolen from her. By Conrad spindling his web, casting the illusion that nothing was wrong.
I pictured the tally on his blackboard. Seven dashes for seven lives, all ended by members of the psychology class.
It's not about having power over the minds of others. It's about having control over our own.
"I'm okay," I croaked, running my hands over my upper arms, shooing away the thoughts spreading an angry poison through my veins. I searched my brain for something to bring up, to take away their worry. To keep them safely oblivious. "Just... wondering what happened to our phones. It's so weird."
Lying came so easily.
"Oh God, Aspen, we were getting so worried. Something is so wrong with you. You said it was just homesickness, but this is so much more. It's... wrong," Isobel said, dropping her bag to the floor and taking me into a tight hug. "You know what, I'm cancelling. We can hang out instead, talk about things-"
"No," I said quickly, my words muffled against her chest. "Please don't."
Isobel pulled back to give me a concerned look, which was mirrored by Gia behind her. "It's fine, when he comes I'll just tell him we're having a girl's night-"
"No, Bel," I said, a little more sternly. "I want you to go."
She stared at me blankly.
"Go. Stop worrying about me. Stop it." My temper was spiking, and I didn't know why. It was as if I were lashing out, as if my helplessness and horror was translating into rage.
Bel's baby blue eyes searched mine, unable to pull away.
"We're just freaking out about you, Aspen," Gia said. "You're skipping class, we hardly see you, and you haven't uttered a word all afternoon. Now you're-"
Then Gia's eyes found mine too. And I realised that all of my anger, all of the hopelessness and fear burning within me, was somehow leeching onto them, somehow capturing them.
What am I doing?
"I want you to stop worrying about me," I said through gritted teeth. Though my tone was brittle and thick, they hung onto my every word.
I couldn't control the tears brimming at my eyes. The madness clawing at my mind at the thought of what I was doing - what I was somehow managing. It was like screaming at Evan had released something within me, like telling them what to do was natural, simply an instinct. A hunger for control.
"I want you to stop going to psychology," I said. "God, I want you to drop the course. I never want you to think about it again."
They were still listening, unspeaking. I licked my lips, and they were salty, already drenched with tears.
"Please?"
They should have been looking at me in confusion, as if I were absurd. They should have been laughing, asking why. Calculating the time it would take to get me to the nearest mental hospital. But they weren't.
"Please talk to me," I begged. I had no idea what I was doing. It wasn't like with Evan, when I had been blinded with desperation. I was calm, my body surpassed its capacity of feeling afraid.
And then they spoke, both at the same time.
"Sure."
"Whatever."
The pace of my breathing escalated, and I was left feeling a surge of both hope and paranoia. Was it as simple as this? Somehow controlling them? Or was it a trick, something posed as a false hope by Conrad?
Was there a price to what I was doing? Could I afford to lose anymore?
"I'm sorry," I said, my words hanging in the air. The girls were already in motion, my words having released them. Gia scooped up shopping bags and Isobel gave me a wary look, stepping backward just as there was a knock at the door.
"That's probably Aaron," she said, her eyes still not leaving mine. It was like they were filmed with a barrier to reality, her expression as if she were deeply locked in a daydream.
My hands found the wall behind me, and then I was using it as my guide to find my way back to my bedroom. I felt a strange boundary clouding my senses, as if what had happened was a delusion cast by my own mind. How had they been so quick to believe me?
I was doing exactly what Conrad was. Did that mean there would be a price for me too? I wasn't quite sure whether there was a line separating good and bad, but if there was I had stepped over it. I was just as bad as he was.
I didn't leave my room until I'd heard both of them leave. Neither of them called a goodbye, and I wondered if they were resenting me, at least subconsciously. It had felt as if they were repelling me in some way, as if annoyed that my words had entrapped them.
Our phones were still hidden, and reluctantly I retrieved them. Maybe I could trust them to obey my words now, to stay safe. It was a dangerous thought, but I wished I could lock them away somehow, or send them off. And then the conclusion came to me. I could either take them away - take everyone away I cared about, or I could remove the threat.
How extensively did he overpower me?
How many people were like him? Like us?
Frantically, I pocketed the phones. I couldn't continue keeping it all in my head, to keep my fear suppressed for my friends. My chest was bursting, not just with terror but with rage. With a desperation and a dangerous hope that I could do something. Even if it was just to run.
Locking the apartment behind me, I ran down the spiral stairs, taking some two at a time, my feet tripping over themselves. The idea of toppling down the six floors arose a manic kind of hysteria at how easily I could escape this nightmare. But I could not be selfish.
They were killing people. Killing people. They have blood on their hands. Seven lives were taken - likely to never be remembered.
In passing, Isaac had mentioned his apartment on the other side of the forest. I navigated there quickly, cutting across the grass and dodging tree trunks rather than taking the footpaths which wound around and took too long. My feet sunk into the dampened ground, and I wondered how deep into the foliage the bodies were buried.
It was crazy.
I could tell someone. I could release my thoughts, my fears, and my hope, to the ears of someone else. And then, when they thought I was mad, when they stopped understanding or when they became instead scared of me, then I could make them forget.
Just like that
It was a risk, such a risk. Such a stupid risk, to listen to the shallow voice within me begging to turn to somebody else. It was the selfish need to not be alone. It was a test.
And I wanted Isaac. I wanted his logic, and I wanted to test the care he promised to have. I wanted to see the whirlwind behind his eyes - the one that had been so quick to entrap me the first time I'd found them - turn into a storm.
I wanted to know that I wasn't crazy.
When I got to his building, I turned on my phone and texted him, attaching a brief message explaining that we'd managed to track down our phones after a long afternoon of looking. I asked him if it was okay to hang out. I told him I could really use someone.
There was a chance I was putting him in danger. A chance I was selfish, and it furthered the uneasy feeling that was quickly growing within me, that told me maybe I was just as bad. Maybe I could be just as bad.
Unlike mine, Isaac's building had an elevator.
I anxiously tapped my heel against the metal floor as it rose, wondering what exactly it was about Isaac that made me want to confide in him more than my two best friends. Maybe it was his lack of attending psychology classes that made him feel safe, one person who was out of Conrad's reach.
"Hey," Isaac said, opening the door seconds before I'd managed to knock. I hated that my heart squeezed painfully at his appearance. Though it had only been days - days which had been filled with anxiety and fear - his smile made me feel like I was returning home. It brought with it a completely unjustified safety, and I found my lips creeping into the faintest of smiles.
I could do this. I could tell him.
"Hi," I said, almost forgetting I was supposed to reply.
"I was just cooking dinner," he said, searching me. I was sure the bags beneath my eyes hadn't faded since the last time I'd seen him, and the worry lines on my face were likely etched further into my skin. "My roommates are out tonight. Do you want to eat?"
"Sure," I said. I didn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Since returning from Conrad's office, I'd locked myself away. I spent hours crying for her. And not just for Gia. For the seven dashes on his board, and the seven people that had created them.
My chest was bursting now, my internal instincts begging me to release the burden. But I didn't even know how to start.
I was in control. I had things under control. Conrad couldn't hurt the people I loved, not if he wanted my cooperation. They were under my protection now, the protection of my promise, and the protection of my words.
"Come in and take a seat. Where are Bel and Gia tonight?"
"Out and about," I said. I almost laughed. All of the chaos had taken away what had previously seemed like the biggest issue in my life: my shyness. "Bel's with Aaron, and Gia is getting groceries."
The smell of cooking food soothed my nerves.
"I actually really need to talk to you," I said, watching as he bent down in the kitchen, his shoulder blades stretching his shirt over his broad shoulders. God, I was so desperate to let the words bubble from my lips, to see his reaction instead of imagining it. To understand whether my world was pure delusion. Whether I was destined to be alone in this mess.
Isaac gave a half smile, looking a little curious from where straightened behind the counter. "You know I'm here. Go on, spill."
I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for every probable reaction that could occur. And then, like releasing a flock of birds from the confinement of a tiny cage, my secrets - the weight crushing my chest - were set free.
AN: sorry for taking so long to update! i thought i'd be mainly focussing on this project for nano but i've learnt if i want to actually succeed this year i can't constrain myself to one project.
what do you think, is aspen making a good decision?
thanks so much for reading! - ann