CHAPTER LXXIX
There was a heavy smell of citrus in the air like a spray can had been emptied out. My nails dug into the thick skin of a tangerine, and tore away the skin in strips that gathered in a small pile at the table where I was sat. My eyebrows dipped in concentration, lines appearing on my forehead, mouth falling to my chin.
After peeling the skin, I tore a fat chunk away, hand moving to my mouth, saliva gathering. My teeth sunk into the tips of my fingers and pain skittered down the length of my thumb and forefinger. Perplexed, I stared at my empty hand. My gaze dragged. The tangerine was sat on the table in a thick layer of skin, untouched. The pile of peels was nowhere to be found.
I shook my head slightly. I must've been tired. It was the only explanation. I dug my forefinger and middle finger into the thick skin, tearing a strip away. A squirt of orange hit my face, my eyes became inflamed and I squeezed them shut, gasping. It was like being hit with a spray of tart vinegar. I slammed the pads of my hands into my eyes and I staggered back, the chair falling on its side. Half-sightless, I stumbled towards the kitchen sink, hurrying to open the cold tap. I gathered water in my open palms and splashed my face repeatedly. It was an almost-instant relief.
My eyes felt considerably cooler after and I blinked a few times, rubbing my face down with a rough hand. Something flashed across my vision, a sudden blur of black. I stared out of the open window overlooking the back garden. There was a couple of new additions to the garden: imposing trees that bore fruit, glints of oranges that reflected the sun's glare. I looked down and my feet were buried in wet grass.
Head straight, I called out uncertainly. "Eton?"
There was an expanse of overgrown weeds and dandelions. At the far end of the garden was a small shed made from oak. It was painted brown. It was a small room with no windows and a single latch on the door. Sort of like a prison-cell. I knew what was inside: garden tools, dead flowers in pots that had been forgotten about and decomposing bodies under the floorboard.
Sweat rolled down my back and the slope of my forehead. I felt sluggish, my feet dragged through wades of grass that was waist-high. It was like moving through wet sand. I raised a hand to my forehead to ward off the sun's evil gaze, squinting, trying to find the gleeful laughter of my brother. He sounded happy.
A bird squawked seemingly close by. I caught a glimpse of it: grey-bodied, beady-black eyes that locked onto mine. I saw through its' eyes: My chin was heavy, my hair was greasy, glinting in the sun. My face had ballooned out. My eyes were sunken in, brown circles prominent. My jaw had disappeared in fat. My heavy belly hung over my belt.
I despaired. Tears sprung to my eyes. I felt grimy. I was fat. My features had disappeared in flesh that weighed heavy. My armpits stunk. I was disfigured in rolls of fat. My feet plunged into depression, it was like a sinkhole.
My hands went to my stomach. It was the pregnancy. It had to be. Hope dared to be birthed: It was only temporary, I would lose the weight. I was fine. I didn't need to worry.
There was a tree that was slightly stooped, nosily creeping in the neighbour's yard. The tree's thick body half obscured a figure. I caught sight of a jean-clad knee, an arm in a faded denim jacket, a glimpse of a side profile. It was Eton.
I called for him once more and was ignored. Maybe he didn't hear me. I imagined he was wearing earphones, listening to Nas or Jagged Edge. Nearing him, I couldn't help but grin. It had been far too long since I had seen him.
I came to a slow stop, chest tightening.
Grey eyes glimmer with the sun's glint, squinting. "Calla," Eton greeted, teeth white and shining. There was a smear of red across his chin. He swiped his tongue over his teeth and flashed a smile. "Come and sit with me."
His hands were wet with blood and he gestured to the spot next to him. His t-shirt was stained and resting on his crossed legs was a small body, undistinguishable and a mess of flesh. It looked like an animal. He sucked the blood off his thumb. It was clear he had teared through the animal with his teeth and with greedy grabby hands.
"What are you ...?" My eyebrows fell in concern.
His gaze fell to my stomach, flitting away.
Something trickled down my bare leg. It felt like a wildflower brushing against my skin. My hands moved to my stomach, it was deflated. Sick with fear and distraught, I stumbled back, trembling. Vomit surged up my throat. My gaze watered, sight blurry. And then rage billowed from me. I shot forward, expression misshaped, hateful.
He disappeared.
I fell to my knees.
My eyes snapped open. My breathing was harsh, heavy. My hands moved under the duvet to rest on my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing. Remnants of the dream remained: the uncontrollable fear in my chest, franticly pulsing. The hateful anger that burned in its embers, eager for a rebirth. The fading grin of Eton with his bloodied hands and his greed of my unborn child.
Unable to lie under the white ceiling, I sat up, antsy with unrest. My stomach churned, a continuous cycle of spinning, sick with the thought of Eton touching my child. My hands fisted, nails digging into my palms.
I didn't return to sleep's embrace. When morning rose, I followed in its footsteps: heading down the stairs to the breakfast table. Zeus was sat with a newspaper, stirring a coffee cup. Greetings were exchanged. Uncle Hektor set down a plate of meat and toast in front of me. My nostrils flared at the smell. I raised my gaze.
Sat across was Eton with a bowl of sliced fruit. "Not hungry?" grey eyes watched carefully.
"Famished." I said and picked up the knife and fork. I couldn't stomach the flesh of pig. It was off-putting. I moved my fork across the fried egg. The thought of yolk spurting out like pus out of a spot flashed in my mind's eye. My finger twitched, I wanted to upend the entire table.
"You have mail," Uncle Hektor set two envelopes down, sitting next to me.
I took it as an excuse not to eat and set my fork and knife down. Sliding a thumb under the flap, I tore it open. The first was from a marketing company which I discarded. The second was from the University of Springbridge. "I've been accepted," I disclosed after a short pause, setting the letter down.
"Congratulations!" Zeus commended, mouth split into an overjoyed grin.
"I'm proud of you," Uncle Hektor hugged me to his side. "Hard work pays off. Your mother would be proud of you."
I accepted their praises. I already knew I would get in. I wasn't excited about it like the pair were. I took the opportunity to say, "There's a birthday weekend getaway next week at a cabin. Can I go?"
Uncle Hektor's smile faltered slightly. "Who's going?"
"People from class. Winnie."
"Any boys?"
"I'm legally an adult."
"Well?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"We're hoping to leave on Friday and get back on Monday."
"You can go,"
I couldn't help but feel surprised. "Really?"
"Yes–"
"I want to go." Eton interrupted abruptly.
I looked at him. "You're not invited,"
"Then invite me, Cleo." He counteracted rudely.
"Be quiet, Eton." Uncle Hektor said sharply.
"Why can't I go?" he argued and looked to Uncle Hektor. "I've been slaving away at those fucking online classes every day. You can log in and check my progress. It's not fair how you favour Calla and let her get away with murder."
"Poor word choice," Zeus pulled a face, awkwardness hurrying into the room.
I made a nonverbal noise of agreement.
"It's not up to me." Uncle Hektor said. "Calla can make the decision."
The corners of my mouth uplifted slightly. "Ask nicely and I'll consider it."
His expression hardened. He pressed his lips together in a tight line.
"Will you be needing a lift?" Zeus queried.
"No, Winnie's boyfriend will be taking us."
"Boyfriend?" Zeus questioned lightly. I could sense he was disappointed.
Eton's expression was impassive, intent grey eyes fixed on every word I said.
"Well, he's not her boyfriend just yet. He is someone she's interested in though," I commented nonchalantly. I looked down at my plate, dragging a fried tomato piece across the plate. "Not hungry?" I taunted my brother.
His expression was cold. He looked as if he wanted to leap across the table and throttle me. He shot upright, fruit bowl upending, jaw tense. "Excuse me," he stormed from the room.
Uncle Hektor shouted for his return to clean up the mess he had made.
He had squashed banana under his boot. Browning apple chunks across the kitchen tiles. Handful of pomegranates rubies across the table. And the bowl which clattered loudly until Zeus reached to retrieve it, finding a single piece of tangerine inside.
His jealousy had been provoked.
***
There was a single knock on my bedroom door a little after midnight. I answered and smiled in amusement. "Isn't this a surprise? I'm so used to you running away from me, I've forgotten what you look like."
Grey eyes flashed in irritation. He shoved past me, marching into the room.
"Well, don't forgot your manners," I dropped the act and crossed my arms, leaning against the closed door. "What do you want, Eton?"
"Winnie's not going to your sleepover."
"She is,"
He rubbed a hand across his jaw, moving to warn lowly in my face. "She goes and I'll fucking kill her."
"First of all, you don't scare me. Second of all, if you don't get the fuck out and go clean your damn teeth–"
"I'll gut her and I'll gut you after. If she dies, you do, too. You're going to force me to ruin her pretty face and I won't forgive you for it. Don't be stupid, Calla," he placed a hand on my cheek, and said lovingly, "think about it. I would love to be an uncle, but that doesn't match the desperation you have to be a mother. Wouldn't you like to give birth? Do as I say and I won't hurt you or the child who'll continue our legacy."
"I can't force her to stay home," I said in anger, batting his hand away.
"Then invite me," he forced.
"No,"
"Invite me, Calla."
"No."
"I'll make it a triple murder-suicide. Is that what you want? It'll be all your fault."
My gaze flickered across his expression: he was entirely serious. Grey eyes clashed with one another. "Then come," heavy eyebrows lowered over a hateful gaze.
His mouth broke into a smile. "I knew you'd see sense."
He moved to kiss my cheek and I moved back. "Get the hell out."
He laughed. "Sleep tight, sis."
I shut the door after his departure. My faux anger slipped through my fingers. It wasn't a celebratory moment. Grimness crept upon me. Grief weighed down heavily on my shoulders. It was time. He had to be killed.
***