Hunching over, I fall onto my side. White tiles fill up my distant gaze and burn my eyes. White and small droplets of red. Scooting closer, the white vanishes from the tile and all I can see is red.
Four tiny red droplets that seem much bigger than they really are.
Four tiny red droplets that burn my eyes and make my stomach clench.
Four tiny red droplets…
Of blood.
Chapter 12
~AFTER~
Someone is trying to kill me.
There’s a pillow over my face. Hands pressing down on it with force. I open my mouth, but can’t scream. I’m using up all of the precious oxygen in my lungs by trying to inhale. My arms flail and claw at the air. They connect with an arm and I dig my nails into their flesh and scratch, hard. I hear a muffled cry, “Fuck!”
The pillow is lifted off my face and I suck in lungfuls of air, bolting upright in my bed. Aurora clutches my pillow, fingers curled tightly around the edges.
I catch my breath and rise to my feet. “What the hell were you doing?” I stalk toward her and point my finger. “You could have killed me!”
She chucks my pillow into the corner of the room and folds her arms across her chest. “You could have killed yourself!” she s
naps. “You were screaming again and I didn’t think a trip to the basement was on your agenda today.” An eye roll. “I tried to wake you up normally, but you sleep like a damn corpse.” We plop down on our cots at the same time. Aurora casts her eyes downward, glimpsing at the bloody scratch marks on her pale, freckled arm. She winces and her eyes meet mine. “Jesus, haven’t you ever heard of a file?”
“I’m sorry, okay,” I huff. “I thought you were trying to kill me.”
Aurora shakes her head and lets out a soft laugh. A genuine laugh. Not an ounce of crazy in it at all. “Nah. I’ll leave that to the staff.”
I laugh with her, not because it’s funny, but because sometimes when you’re in a harrowing situation like Aurora and I are, sometimes all you can do to make yourself feel better is laugh about something. Our laughter dies down and Aurora clears her throat. “So,” she raises an arched eyebrow, “who is that boy you’re always talking about in your sleep?”
“Boy?” I question her even though I know she’s referring to Damien.
“Or man.” Aurora shrugs. “His name begins with a D.”
“Damien,” I say and turn my head, looking out the barred window.
“Was he your beau or something?” She tucks her legs under her butt, getting more comfortable. “I know you told me before he was only a friend, but I find it odd that you’d call out for him the way you do if he was only a friend.” She pauses a beat. “I only ask because I worry about you. The way you scream every night and try to escape. You know it’s only a matter of time before they send you to the basement when you act like that.”
Her sincere words bring a smile to my lips and an overwhelming calm to my heart. I study her face for a moment. Her eyebrows are furrowed. There’s a frown on her lips. Not an angry frown or even a disappointed one. It’s a truly and utterly sad one. I don’t want to talk about what could happen to me because of my night terrors or midnight escape routes. It’s not something I want to think about either. So I tell myself that pretending my actions will never lead to the terrifying consequences adapted by this asylum is much better. Easier. It helps me wake up every morning. It helps me get through my day.
“He is my beau,” I tell Aurora, changing the subject. Hopefully this will keep her from talking about my wild shrieks in the night, and the possibility of subliminal torture because of the wild shrieks and rapid runs down the hall at midnight.
It does.
Aurora’s face lights up. She looks intrigued. And there’s a slight hue of pink in her cheeks. The involuntary bodily function tells me that boyfriends are not a topic of conversation she has too often. After a minute of silence, she fidgets, playing with her fingers, her eyes cast downward in a bashful way. “I had a beau once.” The tone in her voice is soft yet distant.
This surprises me. Not because Aurora isn’t lovely with her thick, curly red locks, flawless freckled complexion and petite yet curvaceous physique, but because she acts so childish most of the time. Then I have to remind myself that most of the time I’m around her, she’s an actress playing the biggest role of her career as a nut job. I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and she peers up at me through her long lashes, her cheeks now a deep shade of red. “Why don’t you tell me about him?” I mention. Then I reverse the question. “I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine?”
Aurora purses her lips and thinks over the question. Finally she says, “Okay.” Seconds pass by and she says nothing. I keep my eyes on her and by the way she’s chewing her lip and rolling her thumbs, I can tell this is going to be difficult for her. “His name was Edward.” Her voice is filled with emotion and even from where I’m sitting I can see the tears glistening in her eyes.
“Aurora, if this is too difficult—.”
“No,” she snaps, cutting me off. “It’s just that I haven’t seen or thought about him in years. I can’t even remember how old I was the last time I saw him. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. I could have possibly been fourteen, so who knows. But one thing I do remember more vividly than anything was the sound of his laugh. It was a deep, booming rumbling laugh. Even if I was having the worst day ever, just hearing it would brighten my day.” She sighs. “He had beautiful sea green eyes too. Not too light. Not too dark. They were enchanting.”
“Sounds like he was a real dreamboat,” I comment with a smile.
“Yeah.” A hint of a smile forms on her lips. “He was.” Aurora does her best to hide her face from me, but she’s not fooling me at all. Tears dribble down her cheeks, her features are twisted in pain and it’s during this moment that I know she loved this boy. And it saddens me more than anything that her coming here was probably what ripped her away from him. Aurora clears her throat and does the best she can to wipe all of the emotion off her face. “So,” she says. “Tell me about yours.”