“Unfair,” one of the twins snarled, and from his angry tone I knew him to be Addison, my salt twin. “Unfair? What the fuck do you know about unfair?”
“This isn’t the time, twin,” Abel tried to reason with his brother. “Don’t do this with Ariel here. We have more important shit to deal with right now than being petty. Save it for later.”
Why did none of them seem to care that my mother was dead and Quinton had accidently killed her? Why didn’t they care? Shouldn’t someone care? Shouldn’t I care? Why didn’t I care?
Julian sat me carefully down on top of a table and I finally got my first look around, taking in the room we were in.
“Umm…” I mumbled, at a loss for words. This room was not a normal room. Or, at least, it didn’t fit in with what I’d seen of the rest of the house. For one, the floor was dirt. Dirt. The walls were painted black. The room itself was very narrow, but long. A tall table ran along the entire length of one long wall. Different plants sat atop the table, covering the surface in a sea of green. Bright lights hung down from the ceiling above the plants. The other side of the room had another tall table that ran the length of the room. Atop this table sat glass beakers, glass vials, and glass jars. Some were full, some half empty, others simply empty. They held a variety of things and liquids that I had no knowledge of. And they were a multitude of different colors.
Towards the other end of the room was a circle on the dirt floor created of tall, fat, white candles. That circle made me nervous for some reason.
The far wall at the end of the long room was made entirely of brick and would have looked out of place if not for the weird white chalk markings that covered it. The chalk reminded me of the rug under Tyson’s bed in his room.
I wrapped the towel they’d used to cover my nudity with around my body, not caring that I flashed everyone in the room as I did so. They’d already seen me naked, what was the point in modesty now?
I looked around the room with wide eyes and wondered what secrets the other hallway held.
A glass jar was placed on the table beside my exposed thigh. It thumped loudly against the wooden table, making me jump.
“Easy, honey,” Julian said. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of here. I promise.”
I sighed. Here was another one with promises. I wondered if he’d take it back if I told him how stupid I thought promises to be.
Julian unscrewed the cap of the jar and stuck two fingers inside. He came out with a big drop of some kind of light pink thick cream.
“Tilt your head back and close your eyes for me,” he ordered gently.
I thought about asking questions but the look in his eyes told me not to bother. His gentle tone of voice didn’t match the hard determination in his eyes.
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes like a good girl.
He smeared the surprisingly warm goop all over my face and neck, having to go back several times to scoop out more of the pink cream. He was careful with his touch and I knew he was trying to avoid causing me further pain. I appreciated the gesture, but everywhere he touched stung and I fought flinching.
“She really did a number on your pretty face,” he said as his fingers ran across my neck in a soft caress. “There. All done. Your face and your neck should be back
to normal in a few hours. Well, except for the mark on your temple. It only works on fresh marks and wounds.”
I opened my eyes and noticed the twins standing behind Julian. Both stood tall, with their arms crossed over their chests, their burning, furious eyes locked on me. I think they were mad at me.
“What-”
I was cut off by the door bursting open and slamming into the wall. I jumped and turned to see what was going on.
My body started to shake uncontrollably as I watched Quinton and Tyson walk through the door with my mother. Tyson came in first with his back to the room. He had ahold of my mother by the legs. Quinton held her by the underarms.
They dropped her prone body unceremoniously on the dirt floor beside the table I sat on. She flopped to the ground, and her eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.
Her hair was wet, covered in blood and clung to half of her face. Her dark, expertly applied eye liner was smudged under her eyes, leaving dark, raccoon like circles. Her bright red lipstick looked like someone had taken the back of their hand to her mouth and wiped it across her cheek, smearing her lipstick and making her look like a clown.
My mother would have been utterly humiliated.
She wore expensive looking black stilettos with a heel so high it was downright scary. The tight dress she wore was on the shorter side of what she’d been wearing since we moved in with Mr. Cole. She was showing more thigh in her dress than I was in my skimpy bath towel. The dress was sleeveless and way too much of her breasts were displayed.
From the way they’d dropped her, her thighs were left wide open, letting us all know she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Wonderful.
Even in death she was still a piece of work.