Five count. Five. Four. Three. Two. Wait a second…
I take my hand away, stretch and shake out the fingers that feel like they belong to someone else’s body. My mind recreates thelayout of the house. En suite. Bedroom. Hallway. Staircase. Ballroom. Foyer. Outside.
I mumble them under my breath, then again, then again. When I recognise I’m just stalling for time, I take the doorknob in my hand again and force myself to open it. My heart jumps as it sees the shape of Lachlan, lying asleep in his bed. My feet refuse to obey me, trembling instead of walking.
Another five count and I move. I have to move. If I don’t move now, I’ll be trapped in place forever.
The first step is hardest. By the time I reach the end of the bed, my legs are fully under control again. I whip my head around, trying to see the entire space at once, trying to find what I need so I can get them and get out of there.
My dress lies in tatters on the floor. Even in the dim light, I can see it’s ruined. I snag the heels neatly lined up at the foot of the bed. It looks like he took them off my feet and set them ready to step into again, in the morning.
They’re ridiculously tall, completely impractical to walk more than the length of a driveway. They’re also better than nothing so I clasp them to my chest while peering about me for anything I can use to cover my body.
A shirt. Lachlan’s shirt. I clutch it to my chest along with the heels and scurry for the door.
The sidetable near it catches my eye. My mother’s jewellery box is sitting on the top, next to Lachlan’s phone. I stretch my hand out, then retract it, hesitating. It feels like stealing, though really, I was the one stolen from. He got his date, he got his fun, my dad got his debt wiped. The least I should get is my heirloom jewellery back.
I tuck the shirt under my arm, leaving a hand free to flick open the box.
It’s empty.
My eyes immediately scan the vicinity, in case the rings fell out, then I stop. Another, more logical thought occurs to me.
I replay Lachlan, sitting at the table, glowering at my father. He’d taken the ring box, flicked it open while I explained how much value the items inside had. His expression hadn’t altered in the slightest.
Then he’d snapped it closed and tucked it in his pocket.
Did I really believe he’d later emptied it, leaving just the box sitting out?
No.
The answer to that is no.
With a sickening bump, I understand there was nothing in it when I handed it to him. My dad must have already taken the jewellery, returning the box to its hiding place because he always plans to pay back the things he takes. Always.
The betrayal on top of everything else that’s happened tonight makes my knees weak. I want to slide to the floor, curl into a ball, and cry.
But I can cry anywhere.
I like it when girls cry.
My memory repeats the words so loudly, my eyes dart towards the bed to see if Lachlan uttered them aloud. He’s still sleeping. With the amount of alcohol he drank, I’m not surprised.
I put the box back where I found it and move to the door. No more time-wasting. I need to get home, then I can wallow in the poor-me’s as much as I like.
Opening it a tiny sliver, I put my eye to the gap and stare through. I can’t see far but the bit I can see shows me a clear hallway. I pull the door wide enough to slip out, closing it with a tiny puffof relief.
I drop the shoes and pull on the shirt, fastening the buttons. I swim inside it but rolling up the sleeves helps, and the length means that on me, it looks more like a dress than a top.
The shoes, I continue to carry as I walk downstairs on tiptoes. The large house is silent but full of noise. Creaking and groaning as the boards, beams, and struts contract with the cold. There’s the low patter of rain and I grimace at the thought of trying to walk along that long winding entrance road in high heels in the drizzle.
Downstairs, the ballroom is dimly lit by glass cases with artefacts inside them. The low lighting illuminates the objects and the resulting glow spreads far enough for me to see my way across the cavernous space with ease. I pause at one case, displaying a suit of armour, dented and rusted. There’s a plaque but I tear my eyes away before I get close enough to read. I’m escaping, not taking a tour.
The entrance from the foyer is locked. I jiggle the handle in case it’s just sticking, but it doesn’t budge. To my right is the large dining room where we ate our meal, to the left, who knows.
I opt for who knows, opening the door slowly as though that helps make me invisible. There’s another long hallway and I head down it, not expecting to find an exit but needing to keep moving before fear grips me into paralysis.
When I push open the door at the end, I expect it to lead me into another corridor, and it takes me a second to work out I’ve walked into a room instead. There’s a crackling fire halfway along the right-hand side, the blast of warmth as I enter reminding me it’s freezing out and I’m freezing inside.
