Tasha rushes in the room just as I hang up the phone, her expression alarmed like she's overheard something awful.
"What on Earth was that?"
I guess she was in earshot the whole time.
"I don't even know," I say honestly and rub my temples. I didn't know, I didn't want to know, I didn't have to know, and wasn't going to know. I wanted to stay in the dark so badly.
"Was that a scream?" She pesters, grabs my phone from the pillow and scrutinises it.
"I – I don't know," I repeat with less confidence.
"Well can you check? Call it back?" She jabs at the phone to revive it.
"No," I snatch it from her grasp. "And why would I?"
Damn white people and their overzealous curiosity for the unknown. Not every day investigate, sometimes stay in your deep, dark, black lane of ignorance.
"To see who it is, duh?" She says in her know-it-all tone. "It obviously wasn't Konni."
"The number is withheld."
"Hmm," she checks her phone and scrawls through purposefully.
I creep to her. "Tasha, what are you doing?"
"I'm checking if Konni replied, duh?"
My stomach lurches. I don't want anything to do with him. I don't want anything to do with this call. I don't want anything to do with this life that has come to be my own. She looks at me in horror when I snatch her own phone from her hand and back away.
"Enough."
"Karma, stop being silly."
She reaches for the phone but I am too quick with ducking and moving around the room in efforts to keep it from her. She could be so vivaciously stubborn sometimes and I didn't like it. I didn't need her in my business, pushing me into relationships against my will and then complaining about the outcome. She wasn't my mother or my father or any relative of that matter. She was a friend, a best one, but alas, she had no jurisdiction over what or whom I pursued relationships with. Technically, nobody did.
I stand on the coffee table barefoot and scroll through her many Snapchat contacts with my arm raised high above my head to keep it out her reach. Midway through her contacts I find Konstantinos and proceed to block and delete him before returning her phone to her. Unless she had some other form of contact with him, I know there is no way she will add him back. Her reputation wouldn't allow for her to broadcast that she was in need of Konstantinos Stanis' Snapchat username so she can add him back when none of our secondary school friends recognised his existence in the first place.
"You blocked and deleted him?"
I nod in affirmation as I step down to the plush carpet and back into my slippers. "That's what you get for trying to set me up."
"Karma, you're so –" she trails off in frustration and unclenches her fists. "You know what, I need a cigarette."
She disappears from the room into the back garden and I am left standing alone, wallowing in the déjà vu of that resounding scream. It was like a horror movie without the fiction, all elements included: from the mystery and drama to the black folk dying first. It was real in some ways. I would be fickle to downplay that.
Tasha returns, summoning with her the smell of smoke. She watches me idly at the door before beckoning to me with a rotary wrist.
"You're sleeping with me tonight come on," she extends her arm and drags me from the living room to the master bedroom she shares with Reece. Dotted around are portraits of the two in different embraces – some staged photographs, others abstract paintings, framed and positioned either on the walls or on flat surfaces. I've seen them all thousands of times but I admire them all for umpteenth time as Tasha excuses herself to the en-suite to shampoo her hair and shower.
She emerges as I'm tucked up in bed, her head and body towelled in matching colours as she strolls to her drawer to find some nightwear.
"Let me find you something to wear, what size are you?" She rifles through a bunch of clothes in search of something that will fit me.
"Well I've been a size 8 lately."
We both know from her size 2 frame that there is no way any of her skimpy little clothes will be fitting me but she continues searching anyway, throws an oversized top in my direction. Her eyes glower for a moment before she grabs a turquoise slip dress and immediately strips off her towel to put it on.
"What?" She turns to me starkly nude and I avert my eyes. "Don't I look good?"
I peak an eye to see she is dressed, the dress clinging to her every crevice as she holds her waist and cocks her gymnast body to one side.
I step out of the bed and shed my clothes knowing full well Tasha is gawking at my body as I pull the T-shirt over my head.
"What?" I fluster once the shirt is over my head. Tasha's mouth is still slightly ajar despite the fact I am now covered – the hem stopping only a few inches above my knees on account of Reece's long torso. "You act like you've never seen my body before."
"Yeah, but you look... fuller now," she saunters over to me and pinches my cheek, groping my bum and thighs. "I mean, what are you eating?"
"Yams." I think of my mother's sublime meals and bristle. Damn, I missed home: not for the company but for the food – these meal preps, cheap snacks and outdoor takeaways just weren't doing it for me.
I admire the shirt I am wearing, fingering the round neck and soft material. It's too large and inexpensive to be anything that Tasha would purchase, plus she wasn't one to wear men's clothes.
"Where did you get this?" I enquire.
"It's Reece's."
We leap into her extra king sized bed and rustle under the covers to get comfortable. She watches as I unleash my hair from its high bun and wrap it with a silk scarf she has draped over her night stand – it's not nearly thick enough to cover my head of hair completely but it will have to do.
"Why are you staring?" Through my periphery, her eyes haven't left my profile. "You've seen me do this a million times."
"Yeah but it's still fascinating," she delights as I knot the ends securely and tuck them under before throwing my head on the pillow and facing her. "So elegant."
I roll my eyes and switch off the nightlight in summoning of slumber. Hopefully my submersion into darkness means I won't be able to see the frights that await me in my nightmares.
*
I don't sleep a wink. My legs perform gymnastics, hiking, straddling, stretching over one another so I toss and turn for the whole night – too hot to be fully under the covers, too cold to not have any cover at all. The usual resolution of sticking one leg out does not work either.
I remember I am not in my own room. I am at Tasha's, crashing on her massive bed alongside her, trying desperately not to stir her from her slumber as I throw my body about in efforts to find sleep. She's such a deep sleeper; she doesn't budge from my movements or the sound of my incessant groaning as I struggle to find a comfortable position. Her face remains serene as she dreams what I assume to be desirable visions of Reece and I try to follow suit. But every time I close my eyes, the sirens start to scream and the sensation of loss swirls within me, sickening me and I have to open my eyes again. It's like a nocturnal switch – eyes closed, memories on, eyes open, and memories off. My resolve is to stare wide-eyed at the fluorescent stars tacked onto Tasha's ceiling to distract myself from sleep, even though I know it will not come.
Through the drawn curtains, I can see the sky shifting from a turquoise black to an earthy green and I know its dawn, it's morning. It's been a few hours since I reached this bed and not a wink has been slept. I jolt my body up, so fast last night's alcohol swishes and I have to catapult out of bed to reach the toilet in time. The sound of my retched heaving echoes off the walls of Tasha's en suite and I hear Tasha's mattress squeak with movement. There are footsteps, and a sleepy Tasha is kneeling by my side, her hand flat on my back, rotating in perfect circles as she whispers words of complaint and condolence to me, all in one breath. The sound of my regurgitation drowns her out though and I keep vomiting until I'm sure that I've up-chucked last week's meals also.
Anyone who has ever vomited knows that the duration is probably the most horrific part but the end is weirdly worth it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not romanticising bulimia or eating disorders, but something about getting the vomit out of your system was orgasmic. Like waking up with your nose unblocked after a week of sniffling. It was a rewarding feeling, albeit a period of light-headedness, and I suddenly feel free of the poison that has now left my body.
Tasha reaches up to flush the toilet as I move away from the toilet seat – my legs positioned in a dishevelled heap under me.
"You've totally ruined Reece's shirt," Tasha murmurs. "He's gonna kill us both."
I don't even bother looking at the stains I've created – mostly because I can't focus my vision to stare at anything too long before it distorts and blurs.
"I'll buy him a new one," I mutter and attempt to stand up.
Tasha gives me a helping hand, her face screwed into an expression of distaste at my state. "You need to wash up." She holds me at arm length to avoid my stench rubbing off on her and walks me over the rim of her and Reece's huge bathtub.
"I'll run you a bath," she instructs whilst twisting the faucet.
Water gushes into the bulb of the tub and she plugs it, dashing in bath bombs and soaps so the whole bathroom interior is submerged in the scent of what I imagine the Amazon rainforest smells like. Very fruity.
"I'll leave you to it," she walks over to the bathroom door, closes it and I lock it after her. I then lower myself into the bath and soak my body: allowing the illustrious scents of mechanical nature to nauseate and calm me at the same time. The only thing keeping me from being sick in the tub is the deep, relief-inducing breaths which settle my body into a mode of calmness. I don't know I've fallen asleep until my eyes open and my ears are alerted to the continuous sound of knocking echoing against the door, scattered and forceful like more than one individual is behind it.
My name is being called loudly by two panic-stricken voices that sometimes overlap: Tasha and Reece.
I jolt so violently water sloshes out of the tub and I have to tiptoe to wrap myself in a towel and unplug the bath.
"Guys, guys!" I respond to them over the sound of glugging water. "I'm fine, give me a minute."
They immediately end their racket of noise and I hear the sound of hushed conversation as I gather myself to leave the bathroom and open the door discretely to see Tasha on the bed, her legs crossed as she eyes her phone.
"About time," she mutters without looking up.
I throw my stuff on the bed. "Where's Reece?"
"I sent him downstairs to make us some breakfast," she informs me.
I sit on the bed, watching her as she flips through her phone before tossing it down. Then she stalks up to her floor length mirror and admires her sleepy reflection – releasing her hair from its loose bun and twisting her fingers through it.
"Are you going to church today?"
I look at the clock. 7:58: that kip in the bath didn't draw on as long as I'd thought so I still had time to prepare for morning service. I shrug. Lately I had been absent more times than I was present for church; not that I was an avid churchgoer before the incident, but my commitment had waned even more so since then.
"Don't think so."
"You should," she suggests evenly. "You seem to have had a lot on your mind lately."
I consider it.
There has been a lot on my mind lately: many of which I don't know how to handle. Maybe it would do me good to ask for guidance counsel from one of the church elders or unload on the reverend the crises I was dealing with. They knew my name, my circumstance – they'd probably be compassionate like most. But the inner workings they did not know – the nightmares, the sirens, the scar, the fear, the triggers – these were conditions reserved for my mind only. They just didn't know my situation well enough: any of them.
"Maybe next week I'll go," I decide.
She's done twisting her hair and encases it with a hair net before stretching a shower cap over it all – then she grabs her dressing gown from the hook near her mirror and sashays to the bathroom with a pride in her step. When she's gone I borrow a few of her products to moisturise and then slip on the clothes I came in.
I then stroll down the stairs in pursuit of the smell that is driving me mad: buttery toast, grilled sausages and cooked eggs. It smells like my dad's favourite breakfast. Reece stands in the kitchen, aproned with casual clothes underneath, one hand gripping a metal turner, the other the handle of the frying pan.
"Good to see you're out of the bathroom," he tells me concernedly. "Thought you'd hurt yourself for a moment."
I scoff, typical Tasha, probably planting thoughts in his mind that I was on the verge of self-destruction or some shit. Sometimes she seemed so far removed from my life I did not know how we were best friends.
"What like, slipped and cracked my head open?" I steer him on another tangent so he's as far away from this wavelength of self-destruction as can be.
He pauses. "Well..." he stops looking at me, focuses on scooping an omelette. "Yeah that."
I roll my eyes, knowing full well Tasha had been feeding concerning information about me to her boyfriend. Information she hadn't even conferred with me about.
"Smells good," I divert the topic again and enter the kitchen; eyeing the three plates of beans and peppered tomatoes he's already placed on the counter.
"Of course," he answers confidently. "I am the cook of this house after all."
"Right."
"And what have you been eating?" He scrutinises, his eyes glazing over me in slow perusal. "You're looking a lot... fuller."
He and Tasha really have rubbed on each other - lingo included. I perch one hand on my hip and squeeze. I know by fuller they meant fatter but I hadn't noticed any weight gain. Then again, my jeans were sitting tighter against my thighs. Plus my waist did feel a tad thicker. Maybe my metabolism was finally slowing down, especially with all the stress I'd been enduring.
Once I've finished analysing my new figure I look up to see Reece gesturing for me take the plate full of food he has just cooked.
I take it, stalk to the TV room and seat my body on the lounge chair, my food on a tray. Reece and Tasha join me soon after – huddled together on their love chair as we sit and watch the morning news.
"Babe how was the library?" Tasha asks, her sharp nails combing through Reece's head of curls affectionately.
"Good," he answers with a mouthful of food. "Quiet. Think I'm gonna do all-nighters more often."
"Nooo!" She pouts her bottom lip. "I missed you last night."
"I missed you too," he tilts his head up at Tasha who looks at him fondly from above, her body seated on the arm of the couch. Her breakfast is discarded on the coffee table, her light brown eyes focused on his equally brown hair, her fingers twiddling with the ringlets that spring from his head before rubbing at his scalp.
"Why're you looking at me like that?" Her tone is light but her certainty is abrasive, like that of a temptress.
"You know why."
They talk like I'm not here.
"Tell me," she insists girlishly.
Tasha adjusts her position and lowers her lips to his forehead, leaving the impression of red gloss in the shape of her lips on the honey brown complexion of his skin. Then she pulls away and rubs her gloss away with a manicured thumb. An exchange of messages occurs between their eyes and Tasha smirks bashfully, reaches for her plate of food and stays silent as she eats – the humour still dancing around her eyes and lips. Like schoolchildren after naughtily having been caught flirting, the two exchange fleeting glances throughout the rest of their meal and grin cheekily. I don't hide the smile on my face as I walk to the kitchen after Tasha, a sly smirk on her face as I watch her wash and rinse her dish off before she collects mine.
"I see them googly eyes," I chuck with my arms folded.
Her pale white skin grows red in the cheek and neck area. "You don't want any coffee?"
I shake my head. "I'm trying to cut down on the caffeine."
"Really?" She responds with a surprised tone. It's uncharacteristic for her to sound so taken aback by something I've said.
"Yeah..." I stall as I open the fridge. "Why are you so surprised?"
She says nothing – focuses on switching on the kettle and dunking coffee powder in she and Reece's matching "Best Boyfriend" and "Best Girlfriend" mugs. I grab a bottle of water and unscrew it immediately: I am suddenly parched from where this conversation leads.
"If you were really trying to cut out caffeine, you'd have slept like a baby last night."
Shoot.
My muscles tense innately but I will them to uncoil by stepping from one foot to another, flexing my fingers, twinkling my toes in their socks – anything to keep the circulation of blood moving so I don't become stuck like a statue. The kettle clicks and she fills both mugs to the brim before adding milk and sugar, all the while, concern worms into her expression.
"I did sleep."
"No you didn't," she insists. "You tossed and turned the whole night."
"I was hot," I fire back.
"It was like 10 degrees Celsius," she rebuts.
I was so sure she'd slept through my tossing and turning, I didn't think I'd have to answer to any questions about last night's bout with insomnia. But clearly she hadn't. Perhaps I disturbed her... or maybe she noticed it throughout.
I jump when Reece comes through the door with his plate in hand.
"Jesus!"
They both look at me in that square, concerned manner they've become accustomed to. Tasha's eyes gape with worry whereas Reece is more sullen in the eyes – the creases in his forehead speak for him whenever he looks at me.
"Reece, you remember Konni?"
My heart begins thumping at the sound of Konstantinos' nickname and all of the memories from last night come flooding back. There was a still a tiny part of me that desperately wished that episode had been a part of the extended nightmare that my life had become.
"Erm," Reece screws his face up in thought as he leans against the counter in thought. "I don't recall."
"Creepy guy from Ravensbourne," Tasha supplements. "Come on you know him: lanky, dark eyes, straight nose, long hair."
She rattles on with the physical description – so superficial in her knowledge of the guy that she can't draw upon a single encounter or experience that goes beyond his exterior. All she can talk about is the way he looked and the weird way he popped up yesterday on Snapchat.
"Doesn't ring a bell."
She rolls her eyes. "Doesn't matter, the point is, he messaged me last night -"
Reece's eyebrows rise and fall in interest as his girlfriend proceeds to divulge every detail of yesterday night to him – starting from my arrival at her home leading all the way to my vomiting on his shirt. By the time she is done, both their coffees are finished and I have washed all of the dishes. It was habitual of me to do something with my hands when nervous and since I refused to switch on my phone after last night, cleaning plates would have to do.
"So you think this Konni guy called Karma last night and screamed down the phone...?"
It sounds incredulous when said like that. Stupid. Infantile. Quite ridiculous.
"YES!" Tasha yelps. "He's a creep!"
Reece gives me a side-eye but I just shrug in response. I don't know what to believe myself. There was no way I was going to criticise Tasha's theory when it wasn't dissimilar to my own. I believed Konni had something to do with this. Except I believed the scream was a pre-recording and not live.
"What would this Konni guy have to gain from this?"
"We don't know," Tasha speaks on my behalf. "Like I said he's a creep."
"What about that person who was calling you on private not long ago?" Reece recalls. "Isn't it more probable that it was them?"
"That's what I thought initially," Tasha perks up again. "But the call literally happened seconds after I gave him Karma's number."
"You're sure?"
Tasha switches on her phone and begins going through it for a few seconds before displaying the screen to Reece. He takes it in.
"Karma, get your phone, we need to compare time-stamps."
I shake my head. Like I said last night, I didn't want to be enlightened. I wanted to remain in the dark about this because that is where I felt safe. There was no need for answers if I didn't have questions.
"My phone's dead," I fib.
"Liar!"
Without further ado, Tasha pounces from the kitchen and I am hot on her heels. Her head-start and adept flexibility means although she is shorter than me, she gets possession of my phone before I do and is able to shuttle herself in the bathroom.
I bang on the door crazily when she locks it: fearful that the secrets I have been hiding will be uncovered if she advances too deep into my communications. My arms and legs thrust at the wood until Reece enters the room and he forces me to resume my cool.
Tasha emerges from the bathroom seconds later with an even expression: she looks like a detective who's just got his hands on damning evidence. I can't tell whether it's good or bad until she hands the phone back to me.
"Was it Konni?" Reece asks. "Is he making the private calls?"
Tasha shakes her head and wraps her arms over her flat chest before turning to me. "I don't think it is."
"Why?" The voice comes from me.
She huffs before looking down at the ground.
"Your phone rang at 23:02, but he didn't open the snap until 23:05."
She shows me the phone screen for confirmation and I realise that although Konstantinos is blocked and deleted, he has left a time-stamp of his last activity.
My stomach lurches before dropping and I sit on the bed to keep from collapsing. This is exactly the pain I was trying to avoid, yet here it was, back again, nestling inside of me. If I could I rip it out and kill it: stab at it repeatedly before watching it bleed out, I would. But feelings didn't work that way. They were intangible. Which means they never really disappeared: they lessened, grew, metamorphosed into other channels and forms but they never died. Running from the pain wasn't working anymore when the emotions were faster than me. Sooner or later they would catch up and take over me... all of me.