PART FOUR, THESE THINGS
Fear and Tears
She was five. Tracey, 7, chased her down the stairs. "Leave us alone!" Tracey complained.
"Why?" Lila turned back, brown eyes wide.
"Me and Jack want to talk alone!" Tracey stated harshly.
"Fine." Lila sat down down on the bottom of the stairs. "But what if-"
"Lila!" Tracey shrieked in frustration.
"What?" The small child asked, slightly afraid. Why was her sister yelling?
"The monsters are coming! Hide under the table, I'll tell you when it's safe!" Tracey said quickly.
"Mom says monsters aren't-"
"Mommy can't see them," Tracey whispered, cutting her off.
Lila yelped, and ran under the table. Tracey ran up the stairs, to the waiting boy up top. "Isn't she stupid?" she snickered. "Oh, there's a nice view from the window in here."
Jack said something in response Lila couldn't hear. Crouching under the wooden table in the dining room, she stared up the stairs. She sat up, knees clutched to her chest, for maybe half an hours. She was afraid to move. Why did she say I was stupid? Lila wondered remotely. It was in the back of her mind, until she faced the truth. Tracey was giggling upstairs, probably from a game she and Jack were playing.
Slowly, she crawled out from under the table. Standing up, she looked around anxiously. There were no monsters.
Sighing, Lila walked to the stairs, dragging her feet. She sat down on the white carpet stairs. Lila hung her head. I am stupid. She clenched her tiny fists and began to cry. Softly, so no one would hear.
*.*
Lila was 10 years old. She pushed her scooter out of the driveway, determined to catch Tracey and Jack who were ahead. She didn't look at the elegant, tall blue house with the rose garden behind her. The house she'd lived in for 8 years. They'd moved from a small apartment she didn't remember when she was 2.
She pushed off, down the street with all the pretty houses. But she wasn't paying attention today. She felt the wind rush through her hair. She rounded a corner, squinting against the sudden rush of afternoon sunlight. Then, the wheels began to skid.
The next minute, stinging pain shot through her knees and the palms of her hands. Lila whimpered at the impact and the stinging pain. She gingerly inspected her hands. They were red, and raw, and the stinging pain had turned to a throbbing pain.
Standing up hurt, and after two attempts she gave up. Her knees were skinned, and she thought they might be bleeding. Lila looked around the sunlit street, considering her options.
Tracey and Jack wouldn't be back this way, they were looping back around to the house. It was a Sunday afternoon, but if anyone was home on this street, it looked like they didn't care.
Slowly, she lowered between her knees on the rough, black concrete. And cried.
Half an hour later, she walked stiffly into the kitchen. Her mother, Anna, walked over. "Lila, where were you? Tracey and Jack were back 40 minutes ago, you were supposed to be back with them."
Lila opened her mouth. "I..." she shut it again. Did she want to look like an idiot? "It doesn't matter." She trudged up the stairs, knees still stinging.
*.*
4 years later
"I can't believe we're leaving," Anna sighed. She bent forward, picking up another box. Her auburn hair came back to normal as she stood up.
"Yeah," Lila said, wishing she had her mother's hair. Both she and Tracey had black hair.
"James, do we really have to leave?" Anna asked as Lila's father came down the stairs.
James nodded. "We're renting a place nearer my new job. I'm sure we'll be happy there."
"I don't want to leave," Anna muttered.
"We're leaving." So they got in the van, and drove away.
*.*
Lila sat in her room. She didn't like it. She definitely didn't like it. Everything was the same, bright, white. It was cold. She could feel the floor boards under the thin carpet. The bed creaked whenever she moved. The long mirror near the door seemed determined to make her look as pale and ragged as possible. The stairs from the upstairs to the downstairs felt like they would collapse at any moment. And her bedroom window was higher up than she thought any window should be. There were 10 floors below them. Lila looked around, trying to like her room. She knew the stairs wouldn't collapse, and there wasn't really a murderer hiding in her closet, as she vaguely suspected there might be.
Tracey knocked on the door. "Hey, Lila, do you want to go to a party? Come down in 20 minutes."
Lila sighed. Tracey had spent at least an hour talking to the neighbour's 17 year old son.
Looking in the mirror, she thought, Okay. Go out. Make some new friends. Or run away because everyone there is 5 years older than you and flirting with your sister.
She walked downstairs, after changing into different clothes. She knocked on the door of their neighbour's apartment. No one answered, so she pushed the door open. Loud music was playing, typically. Tracey smiled. "Hey Lila! This is Simon. He's 14 like you. Simon, this is Lila. She has tragically underdeveloped social skills. You don't have to talk to her. Bye!"
Lila silently cursed, looking at her shoes. "Hey," Simon's voice came.
She looked up, and her breath caught.
