I pick up my phone, wanting to text Cohen, Chelsea, anyone. But I close my eyes and hang my head. The last thing I want to do is mess up our weekend.
I sigh, shoving wayward strands of hair from my face. I hate the fact that this incident dampens my mood. I need to stop making up shit in my head, coming up with theories that sound crazier by the day. I open the liquor cabinet and pull out the whiskey, I have to be at my hairdresser in an hour, but I have to stop this trembling of my hands. I pour three fingers and knock it back, letting the alcohol burn my throat and quiet the erratic beating in my chest.
The only secret people keep
Is Immortality.
Another one of Emily's poem’s words play over and over in my mind as I pour another drink, trying to ward off the niggling feeling of impending doom. I look at the family pictures on the wall, and I am resolute. I will not delve too deep into the darkness. If I do, I'll be clawing my way out.
* * *
"Hey, Jess,"I greet my hairdresser as I rush into the salon a few minutes after twelve noon. The bell above the door climes, and the sign flaps back and forth when I slam the door behind me. My senses are assaulted with the smell of hair products, my ears ringing with the buzz of at least three hairdryers. Blow First, yeah, that's what Jess calls her salon, has grown in the years we've lived in Tynemouth
She’s got five staff members. Most of whom look up and smile a greeting when I walk in.
“Hey, babe. Where were you? I was worried. It’s unlike you to be late.”
I groan. "Mommy duty. I had to get everything sorted for the weekend. Sam will be babysitting the girls. Willow can’t wait to hang out with Daphne."
"Lucky you. Come take a seat." She pats the backrest of the chair next to her as she finishes up straight, ironing a woman's raven mane.
"It's about time you two had some time away." She winks. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look a state, blotchy skin, eyes red-rimmed. Is that what she means, that I'm a washed-out old hag now? That Cohen will look elsewhere if we don't do things?
“You sure you're okay?” She meets my gaze in the mirror.
"Of course. Just a bit frazzled, I guess. Ran most of the way here." I give her a tight-lipped smile. Stephanie, the receptionist, brings me a bottle of water, and I take it from her thankfully. I open the top and drink nearly half in one go.
Jess finishes with the blonde woman who kisses her on both her cheeks in that“hello, darling"kind of way. She sashays away, Jess behind her.
“How are things with you and Cohen?” Jess asks when she returns.
“Good. He’s just been busy lately. So this weekend, two days of relaxation and no distractions, is something we both need.”
My phone vibrates, and I look down at the display. My jaw clenches. Unknown caller identification. I tuck it away and look up at Jess in the mirror.
"So, are we feeling adventurous?"
I shake my head. "No, just a touch-up."
“There are some incredible winter colors that would go perfectly with your skin tone.”
“Maybe next time.” I always say that. I’m happy with the way I look. Co likes it.
She smiles, her heavily made-up face scrunching.
She rolls over a mobile basin and positions my head inside it. The water is warm and soothes my scalp as it cascades through my hair. I slowly give in and close my eyes. The words from the poem drift away as I enjoy my wash and head massage.
The dreams are always the same, I'm walking down a darkened corridor. No running down it, my feet slamming against the tiles. There are doors on either side of the passage, but there aren't any handles. I try to push my upper arm against one, and it doesn't budge. There is a light at the end, and I want to get to it, but the closer I get and the faster I run, the farther away I seem to be. The air is getting warmer, stifling hot, and I can't breathe. I try to stop for a rest, to get some movement back into my legs, but I'm suddenly rooted to the spot. Large hands reach in from above me and pick me up effortlessly. I realize I'm being lifted from a box. Why am I in a box? I start to scream, but no words leave my lips. Angry eyes meet my gaze.
My eyes fly open at the sound of a crash. I’m in my living room. I must have dozed off. Another crash has me bolting up from the couch. I feel woozy. I shouldn’t have had more whiskey when I got back home from the salon. I’m not used to the poison. I wobble out of the room and down the passage. “Who is it?” I slur. There is no answer. I use the wall to steady myself as I move in the direction I think the noise came from. I cannot be sure. Not when I was drunk and passed out. How reckless could I be?
“Who is it?” I croak.
"Sin, baby." Co rushes toward me. A dishtowel over his left shoulder. "You okay?"
He grips my arms with one hand and tilts my chin with the other. I try to focus on his eyes, but I’m drowsy. God. How much did I drink?
“I’m sleepy.” I stammer. He lifts me with one sweep and is carrying me back to the living room. He sets me back on the couch and pulls the throw over me.
