"They play so well together," Freya comments as she grins toward Grayson and Harriet. They were pretending to be pirates, Grayson in charge of driving the boat while Harriet looked after their treasure.
Andrea didn't respond. She couldn't. Why had thinking about Joanna this one time brought back her anxiety? Out of every other time she pondered on her death and how it drove her insane?
"Are you okay, Drea?" Freya questions, placing a hand on her best friend's knee. Andrea jumped back, pulled back into reality by that single touch.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine." But she wasn't. Freya hadn't noticed, but Andrea was gripping at her thighs again, tugging at her skin harder than she ever had. How stupid of her to wear a sundress. "Just lack of sleep."
"I completely understand," Freya chuckled, placing her hand back into her own lap and folding both of her hands together. But she didn't understand. She didn't understand why Andrea was lying to her — or even thought she could try. But Freya would let it alone this time. She's slowly regaining her best friend back, and does not want to risk losing her all over again.
"We need to go," Andrea spoke, her voice cracking. She picked up her purse and gathered her grumpy children, practically sprinting them back to her car. This made Freya worry, and in response to witnessing all of this, she phoned Josh on her way home.
♡♡♡
"I'm going crazy again," Andrea mumbles, slamming her palms against her head and digging the heals into her temples.
"What was that?" Simon questions, stepping out of the walk-in closet. Andrea drops her hands and sighs, forcing a smile.
"I have a headache," she lies, clenching her teeth together afterwards. Lying to Simon gave her stomach cramps.
"Maybe a bath would help?" he suggests with a warm smile. Andrea hesitates, but nods anyway. She actually could use some relaxation. "I'll run one for you." Simon walked into the bathroom and did as he said while Andrea tried to wrap her head around everything.
"I did not kill her," she reminds herself, "I did not."
"Of course you did," a voice spoke. Andrea's head snaps up. Her lips tremble at the sight. Joanna stood in front of her, slashes on her wrists and a deep stab wound in her side. "You murdered me."
"I did not," Andrea whispered, spit spewing from her mouth as she spoke with rage. "I did not." Her eyes filled and soon overflowed with tears. Agitated, salty tears.
"You deserve the same fate I had," Joanna cackles. "And I can't wait to watch it happen." Andrea's right eye twitched, her blood boiling. "I even have a front row seat."
"Shut up!" Andrea screamed, covering her eyes with her hands and leaning forward. "Stop it," she whispers, sobbing into her palms.
The water stops running, Simon poking his head out. "Drea? Are you okay?" She hated that question. Especially now. When she wasn't okay.
"Oh, yeah," she lied once more, her stomach twisting, "my head just really fucking hurts."
"Well, your bath's ready," Simon softly spoke. Andrea didn't move. Simon bit his lip, worried, and stepped over to Andrea, sitting beside her on the bed.
"I don't feel like walking," she finally replies, lifting her head up and gazing into his eyes. He could see something in her — something that begged for help. Hell, it screamed for help. But he didn't know what was making the loud call, he didn't know how to bring it up. He didn't want to trigger something in Andrea and bring back old shit.
"You still want a bath?" Simon questions. Andrea nods, not lying this time. She sniffles, her lips automatically falling into a puckered pout. She wasn't trying to pucker her lips, it just seemed that way when they swelled from her sorrows. "Lay back."
Simon slid off Andrea's shirt before having her lay back so he could slip off her pajama pants. As he did so, he fell back, almost as if he had tripped. Tears sprang to his eyes. "W-what's this." His voice quivered, his hands shook. Andrea moved her head to give him a funny look. "W-who fucking to-touched you." His throat was growling now. Oh, the images running amuck in his head in this moment — he wanted to punch something, or someone.
Andrea sat up, confused as to what he was on about — until she saw her thighs. They were covered with scabby cuts, some fresh. She gulped, her heart stopping altogether. She forgot about her cruel artwork she'd painted onto her flesh.
"Who fucking hurt you!?" Simon shouted, bending over with a queasy stomach.
"Si, calm down," Andrea coos, jumping off the bed and sliding over to his side. She hooked their arms and helped him stand straight, but he couldn't. The thought of someone hurting his wife gave him the worst internal pains possible. "Simon, sweetie — It was me," Andrea whispers. Simon silences himself, glancing up at her with worrisome eyes.
The room filled with silence, but Andrea could hear Simon clearly. She saw the hurt in his eyes, her mind acknowledged it to the point where the voices that reminded her of Joanna had shut up. She couldn't hear them anymore — her only worry and thought was what Simon was thinking and feeling.
"What?" he mutters. Andrea dreaded this talk, but knew it needed to happen.
"Let me put a robe on and then we'll talk, okay?" she responds, settling Simon to sit on the bed before she wandered into the closet to cover her body and prepare herself for what the future now held.