Emily Davis spends most of her evenings slumped over a toilet bowl. Cheek pressed against the cool porcelain, arms hanging limp at her side. She would shift her gaze rotationally between the two fluorescent eyes on the ceiling, judgmental and blinding, and her reflection in the water, dark hair and pale skin bleeding into each other like murky watercolours. Even though the colours were dull, and her features unrecognisable, she sought her own image. As if it was only a matter of time before she found herself staring back.
Every time she slunk down the side of the bowl and curled up against the harsh tiles, she awoke on velvet sheets. One of Matt's heavy arms would be draped over her waist and the other, radiating heat under her cheek. His lips would be parted, crusted saliva on his chin, making the occasional whistle with each breath. She would pull him closer, desperate to feel his heartbeat against her own. She was always fully clothed, ashamed and frightened of her wendigo scars. She placed an open palm on the nape of Matt's nape, relishing the burning sensation where their skin met.
She had the occasional fleeting dream, a momentary blessing between all the nightmares. She would be running barefoot through a field after a light sun shower. Her muddy feet collecting pieces of loose grass and an occasional loose petal. Rays of light would peekaboo! through migratory clouds. The youthful sunflowers turning towards the sunshine; Emily turning with them. She would close her eyes, absorbing the smell of petrichor and savouring the warmth on her face. She did not open her eyes, trying, instead, to fuse them. Trying to escape an inevitable sight.
Her eyes would be pried open by bony, leathery fingers. They spread her lids, causing her eyes to bulge, and froze them in place. She was at the bottom of the cliff, the broken danger sign to her right, Beth's decapitated head to her left. They stared at the moon as it waned into nothingness, taking the stars with it. Darkness. It was then, Hannah would start singing, harmonising with the chilling winds swirling around the cavern.
Today, Matt shakes her awake before Hannah can plunge her teeth into Emily's skin. She stares outside the window, observing the first stages of an orange dawn. Matt makes crashing noises as he scrambles through the kitchen. He makes a strong coffee, the potent scent welcomed by her nostrils before she returns to the bedroom. He hands it to her and stares, unblinkingly. "What a lovely song," Emily says, searching for herself at the bottom of her mug. "What a lovely, lovely song."
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