6
Chapter Six
SIN
I should let her go. I should tell her to run—to get the hell away from me and this fucking nightmare she's been held hostage in for the past three years. But I won't give her that chance again. I wasn't sure if she was actually going to take the opportunity and run into the night blind and desperate for freedom. Clearly, she's smarter than I've given her credit for, which is good because what's out there isn't better than what is in here. She just doesn't know it yet.
Go figure the lights power back on the second I tell her I escaped from the goddamn psych ward. The look in her eyes should have filled with more fear than what she let on, but she's obviously too numb to comprehend the danger in which I've become.
Rather than shoving through those metal doors, she's been sitting on the top step staring at me for the past hour. I haven't had this much time to look at her in much light, but now that I'm knee deep into this staring contest, I can see what the darkness has done to her. Her skin is pale—ghostly white, and her eyes are the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen. Her lips are dry and cracked, and her cheekbones are slightly sunken. But even with all of the flaws, she's still beautiful, like one of those porcelain dolls Ma used to collect.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, her eyebrows scrunch together.
"Like what?" I ask her.
"I don't know. It's like you're waiting for me to run away or something." She combs her fingers through the length of her long hair and tucks the sides behind her ears.
"Aren't you afraid of me?" I ask her.
She stands up and slowly makes her way down the steps to where I'm standing. "I'll tell you what I'm afraid of, Sin," she begins. "I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of starving to death, or worse, getting sick. That's what I'm afraid of."
"That's all?" I ask her, knowing exactly why those are her simple answers. There's nothing else to be afraid of when you're in solitary confinement.
"No." She narrows her eyes and bites down on her bottom lip. "What I'm mostly afraid of…is that I may never find my way back to a normal state of mind."
"As you should be," I tell her. Her eyes widen at my remark or possibly for the reason I'm agreeing. Maybe she wants me to tell her she'll eventually be okay. But I doubt she will be, and I'm not one to give false hope.
"I want answers, Sin. Tell me what has changed over the past three years? Where are we? Do you know my mother?" I was wondering how long it would take for her to start asking questions. "And how did you escape from the hospital? Did you kill someone to make that happen?" At least it's clear she knows the reasons why she should be afraid of me.
"I don't think you want to know the answer to any of your questions. You're too fragile right now."
"Fragile?" she shouts, her voice hoarse and broken. With her thin finger pointed directly at my nose, she continues, "Don't confuse my weakness for being fragile. I'm alive. Therefore, I am not fragile."
Her anger excites me a bit, and I do my best to hide the twitching smile piercing through my permanent scowl, but I find her humorous, and a little cute.
"Come with me," I tell her. I bring her to the other side of the basement where Ma's closet has gone untouched. I open the door, and for the first time since her death, I inhale the perfumed scent permeating the closet and now the air around us. A pain in my chest makes it hard to touch the material of her clothes, but I grit my teeth and yank out a pair of her overalls and a shirt. "Here, clean clothes." I thrust my arm out to her with the clothes. "Take them."
"Are these your mother's?"
"They were, yes. Now put them on." I squat down to the shoe rack and grab a pair of Ma's work boots as I look over at Reese's bare feet. The size is close enough. "Here." I toss them to the ground in front of her.
"Why is your mother's closet in the basement? Did she live here? I thought you said your dad wouldn't come in here…"
"Enough. Just take the damn clothes, will you?"
"Thank you," she says, holding everything tightly against her chest.
I walk past her and back over toward the door to give her privacy, although there isn't much isolation in this wide-open basement, except for the dozens of beams supporting the ceiling.
I sit down on the bottom step and try to avoid her movement out of my periphery. Although the paleness of her skin glows brightly enough to make avoidance difficult, and I'm losing the battle of attempting to give her privacy. Perfect, untouched porcelain is all I can see, even when I close my eyes.
"It feels nice to change out of those clothes," she says, folding up the grey sweat pants and the white t-shirt I assume she's been wearing for the past three years. She steps into each boot and tightens them around her ankles. "They're a tad big, but shoes are nice." What the hell did Pa do with her shoes? Why would he even take those from her?
She sits down beside me, folding up the extra long pants at her knees. "I guess I'm ready for whatever is out there now that I'm in clean clothes."
You're in mydead mother's clothes; I want to say.
"I'm glad you think you're ready," I say, leaning back against the cement wall as I fold my arms behind my head. Closing my eyes, I add in, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
