Initially, the first thing I notice is how dark it is inside this room. Not from the lack of lighting, but more so the obscure aesthetic. There’s not a stitch of colour anywhere to be seen. Black bedding, and midnight-grey floor length curtains hang from the two large windows. Even the ornaments decorating the shelves are as dark and gloomy as the fabric.
Why does this feel so familiar?
I’ve been to the Gamma Nu house once before but never ventured upstairs and away from the party-goers.
At least… I don’t think I have.
So, why, in this moment, does it feel like I’m having a weird case of déjà vu? Why is my heart beating so fast? Why is my skin igniting with tiny little goosebumps that don’t feel likeexcitement, but something akin to sadness. I have no reason to feel as forlorn as I do, nor do I understand why all of a sudden my emotions have changed so quickly.
The callous night air blows against the dark drapes so softly they ripple as the breeze flows against the fabric, and for a few seconds, I’m hypnotised by how the dark-coloured silk dances beautifully in time with the wind.
Why?
Ricky must close the door behind me as he follows me into the room, because the music from downstairs muffles slightly, and even though I feel weird, I also begin to feel a calming sense of relaxation swirling through me at the same time. Which is weird, because how can I experience both fear and relaxation at the same time?
“It’s really… morose in here,” I mutter under my breath. “Clearly the person who owns it has no taste,” I snort.
“Thanks.” Ricky chuckles softly from behind me, his warm breath dancing over the bare skin on my cheek.
I turn to face him, the space between my eyebrows creasing slightly in surprise. “Wait, this is your room?” Ricky doesn’t answer, he just simply nods. “Don’t you think having a little colour scattered throughout your bedroom would help it feel a lot less” —I think for a second— “like Death lives here?”
“I like the obscurity of it all. But you can leave if—”
“No, no.” I smile sweetly at him, patting his upper chest playfully as I turn back around to take in the darkness of the room once more. I mean, it’s not so bad. Each to their own, I guess. “I wouldn’t have put you for such a—oh my god.” I beam with delight, bounding over to the computer desk with excitement and picking up a black photo frame of a little boy and an older woman. “Is this you?” I grin, pointing to the little boy as I glance over my shoulder.
Ricky’s slow footsteps close the space between us and when his chest presses lightly against my back, my body warms with the closeness of him. All the nerves I once felt instantly falling away. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever made me feel this way before, and it confuses me as to why he’s the one to do it.
The problem is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing him, and I’m not like this. I’ve never felt so connected, or sexually attracted to a man before, especially someone who is the complete opposite to me. I don’t know if it’s because it was something he said, or the fact he can make me laugh so much. Maybe it’s because he’s so handsome. Even more so when he smiles. But tonight is about him getting revenge, not about this newfound crush I have on a guy I’ve only just met.
I place my plastic cup down on the computer desk next to the keyboard—careful to keep it as far away from all the electrical leads as possible—and when Ricky’s hand comes into view, taking the picture frame from me, I do all I can to keep myself from jumping his bones.
I didn’t realise it before, but Ricky smells like every dark thought I’ve ever had. Like murderous intent coated in spicy nodes of cinnamon and vanilla. It’s invigorating, new, tempting, but again… even his scent is familiar to me somehow.
It’s flowed through my nostrils before, I know it.
But why?
Why would I—
“I was five when me and my mother took this photo, and—”
Ricky’s words fade into the background. My body instantly becoming rigid as I spot the picture three frames back from the one I just had in my hands.
I’d know that face anywhere.
But what I don’t recognise—in fact, what I don’t remember at all… is when, or how. My blood runs cold as I lean forward and wrap my fingers around the pink wooden frame dotted with redlove hearts, and lift it from the windowsill. My mouth becomes so dry I can barely swallow. Terrified prickles of confusion dance over my skin, sweat builds at the back of my neck, and all those tiny blonde hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“Heather,” he whispers to me.
“What—”
“I need you to breathe.”
But I can’t… I can’t do anything except stare.
“I… What… What is this?” I ask with dread and misunderstanding at what I’m looking at. “Why am I… H-here? I don’t… I don’t remember this. What is—”
“Heather, baby, please just… give me a second to—”
