Disclaimer: I own Maria, the plot, and any other OCs.
"Crap," I say angrily. The knife hits the water with a splash and sinks below to the bottom of the sink.
"You okay over there?" Martha asks from her place by the stove.
The trail of blood is thin, at least. "I just cut my finger is all."
Martha steps over to a drawer and shuffles through it, picking up a small box with a red plus sign. She hands it to me without a word and I pull out a chair at the table.
"You know," Martha sighs, stirring a spoon in a pot, "you've been really out of it lately."
Smoothing out the band-aid, I place the kit back in the drawer it came from. "I'm fine, Martha."
"As a woman who's aged as nicely as wine, I've seen my fair share of people who are fine." She turns away from the stove and stands in front of me, moving a hand to push hair from my eyes. "And you're not fine."
When my gaze trails over to the sink, she assures me, "I'll do the dishes, don't worry about them."
But I need to do something. I need something to keep me busy.
"Now, I'm sure this has a thing or two to do with that gambling ring situation," says Martha while her hands hold my shoulders, "but we've already talked about it. You went with that girl—what's her name?"
"Carly."
She nods, goes back to the pot and speaks without looking at me. "You went with her to help get the story for her newspaper. And, although I really wish you would've asked me beforehand instead of sneaking out," the emphasis on her words causes my head to sink, "you were only trying to help out a friend.
"You know I don't keep too close of a watch on you because you're practically an adult and I trust you to take care of yourself," she continues, "so just in case you don't know, you're not in trouble. You don't have to exile yourself to kitchen duty."
It's useless to argue. Though I can't help but linger in the kitchen until Martha waves her hands at me, "Now, go. Shoo. Do something normal."
I walk into the living room with a sigh, slightly hoping I can catch a movie on TV. It's something, and at least it'd be a two hour something.
However, there's an audience of tiny heads skimming through channels. I sit on the couch arm, looking along with the three girls at the television, and ask, "What are you guys watching?"
"We're trying to find some good cartoons."
"But nothing's on."
"Would you mind if I take it from you then?"
The eldest two shrug, one handing me the remote and the other picking up their snoozing sister. "We'll be playing with our dolls if you need us."
I smile, "I'll try my best not to interrupt."
It's unusually cold today, especially downstairs, and I curse my sock-less feet as I rummage the hallway closet for a blanket. Coming back to stretch across the couch, a sudden melody chimes, changing the screen from its current show to an anchorman behind a desk. Next to his chiseled jaw-line appears the headline BREAKING NEWS.
My head leans into my palm and I mutter, "It better be breaking enough to cut into my TV time."
"This just in," says the suited man. "Sector Security has just released a report about the deaths of two men at the warehouse gambling ring that happened a week ago. The initial cause of death was thought to be homicide, but under a closer investigation Security officers have now declared the cause of death to be animal related."
The channel changes with a hasty press of a button and I spend the rest of my time awake watching a documentary on the life of deer.
—
When I hear the screaming, my eyes flicker open and I'm driven awake. My feet pound against the floor as I lift myself off the couch, head whipping to survey the room.
No one's around except me. No one but a heavy breathing, sweaty, and terrified girl waking up on the living room couch.
The screaming was my own; I had a nightmare.
I push off the blanket, fold it into a neat pile, and wander into the kitchen. Coming out with a glass in hand, I amble up the stairs.
Just drink some water, I think, and lay back down. You've got work tomorrow so there's no time for nightmares.
If there's one thing I hate more than simply being afraid, it's being afraid in a creaky, unlit house. Too many movies are made off this type of stuff, I tell you.
"I need to go to bed," I murmur, scratching my head.
But when I reach my room and as I open my door I almost want to spit the sip of water back into my cup. Hand gripped tightly on the knob, I blink a few times to make sure I'm actually awake.
At the sound of my door opening her ears prick up and an eye opens.
"How did you get in?" I whisper, glancing at the closed window. "And when did you come back?"
Resting in the middle of my bed is Annie, curled up in a black ball on top of my sheets.
Sorry this one's so short. I didn't realize the last one was so long! There's really important stuff plot driving events that happen, though, which is why it's important even if it is short.
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