My eyes are closed. I’m lying on the bed, chasing a dream that never came last night. Strips of sunlight already slip through the cotton curtains, and the bedroom is no longer dark. I don’t want to get up. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do in this house. This job didn’t come with a to-do list. All I know is that I have to watch a house.
With a sigh I open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling, at the chandelier with its sharp, pointed edges. Thinking about how morbid it would be if it crashed down on me and split my head open across the white sheets.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I roll onto my right side, staring at the wall in front of me.
I spent the whole night awake, reading the diaries of someone who was like me, only born in a completely different time and living a far more interesting life than I live mine. I wonder what she was like. If she were here now, would we be friends?
I close my eyes again, but the image of the chandelier cracking against my skull comes back, and I pinch my brows together in disgust.
The doorbell rips my thoughts apart.
At some point last night, I must have gotten up and squeezed into Levi’s high-waisted jeans, then pulled on a white T-shirt because it felt a lot more comfortable than the paper-thin nightgown I thought would look cute to sleep in.
And for who, exactly? That stalker man I don’t even know exists?
The doorbell rings again, and I jump to my feet, then storm barefoot down the stairs to the front door. Pushing the handle down and the door pulls open, but no one is there. I step outside and look left, then right, but whoever came here is already gone, vanished by the time I reach the door.
As I’m about to close it, my gaze shifts on the envelope in front of me.
I crouch down and pick it up, then carry it inside and shut the door behind me. There’s no address on it, and it isn’t even sealed. I slip it open and find a single sheet of a handwritten note.
My heart starts pounding so hard in my chest I can barely catch my breath as I read the letter, each word wrapping tighter around my throat while I hear it all over again in my head. My hands begin to shake, and I crumple the paper in my fist.
I rush to the phone and grab the receiver, but there’s no sound. I push in the numbers too fast, trying to get help, but it doesn’t ring. I slam the receiver back into place and stumble away from the wall. I move, but it feels like I’m not moving at all. Everything blurs.
Somehow, I start running toward the front door, but my own feet don’t listen. They twist and carry me toward the staircase instead. My vision stays hazy. I can’t tell if I’m crying or if my own mind is turning against me, feeding the panic until it swallows everything. My breath is the only thing I hear, ragged in my ears, then the ringing starts, chased by the violent rise of my heartbeat.
I reach the top floor and run to the right, trying every door until one finally opens. I slip inside and shove it closed behind me, leaning back against it.
Why am I even here?The question repeats over and over again, but I already know the answer. I had no other choice. If I stayed, I wouldn’t have enough to survive even a few days, and I didn’t want to burden Dasha with my life. So, this is my only option.
My gaze lifts from my feet to a window I hadn’t noticed before, then drifts slowly to a cabinet covered with a white sheet. I move further into the room and turn in a slow circle, taking in the brown walls. The bed no one has slept in for a long time, now hidden beneath another white sheet. I take another step and notice a wooden door to my right.
Something pulls me toward it.
This is the only bedroom in the house that doesn’t feel like the others. It doesn’t feel like someone is breathing quietly in the corners, watching me. I take another step. A cold breeze brushes against my skin. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I keep my eyes on the door.
I stare at it, trying to decide if I should go inside, even though I already know the impulse will decide for me. My hand hovers over the handle. I exhale, then push the door open.
A sharp, awful smell hits me instantly. It floods my nose so fast that my face twists, and I lift my hand over my mouth, trying to keep it out.
I step inside.
The bathroom is completely clean.
A bit too clean.
There’s no source for that smell.
A pale white bathtub sits on the right, matching the sink on the opposite side. I move toward it, my eyes fixed on the mirror above it, framed in black with carved roses.
I look at myself.
At how pale I am.
I turn on the water. It runs hot within seconds, steam spreading across the mirror until my reflection disappears into the fog. I lean over the sink and splash water onto my face, then straighten and open my eyes.
