Burn
Twenty-Four
Visitation
The taste of something sour fills my mouth, lining my tongue and the back of my teeth, when I'm shaken awake by my aunt.
"Your friend is here," she says.
Hell, I think as I push my face deeper into the wet fabric of my pillowcase.
"Chloe, come on." She grabs my blankets and yanks them off in one sweep.
When I sit up, grinding my teeth, she gives me a flat, dark look.
All the sour, curdled tar that seeped out of me while I slept is churning in my stomach.
"What friend?" I manage to ask passed my cracked, bleeding lips as I push my hair out of my face.
She pinches her lips together, frowning at me. "Some boy…er, his name is Ramon, if I'm corr—" she says but I'm out of the bed in an instant, rushing to put on some jeans and a bra.
Ramon.
He's here.
At my house.
He must've managed to track me down and now he's here, asking for me. It'll be just like before, talking on the floor of a wet bathroom, except Royce won't be here to ruin anything and we can talk for as long we like.
"I take it you're excited," Aunt Lauren snorts and it's the closest thing to a laugh I've heard her do in months.
A knife of guilt stabs me in the stomach and I bleed out while I stand in front of my dresser, my hand frozen on a pink camo bra.
She's only been trying to do what's best for me, what'll help me move on, and my hallucinations and Royce haven't helped.
I'm not the only one hurting, I realize with shaking hands, and she's trying to raise me, who looks so much like her sister people used to mistake us for twins from afar instead of mother and daughter.
My stomach hurts now and my head is fuzzy with the whispering voices that like to drown out everything good.
You bitch. Fucking reject. Can't you even see that your aunt's hurting? You're so damn blind. Mom would be so disappointed in you, you know, if she was here.
My mouth is dry and I feel sick, my stomach push-and-pulling like the waves of the ocean, back and forth, tug of war in my gut. Bile burns the inside of my throat and my eyes sting with tears.
It's your fault she hasn't laughed in so long. God, why can't you be a decent niece instead of a fuck up? I'm sure Rae would even make a better niece than you. You're so blind to everyone else's pain that you didn't even fucking realize how hurt your aunt is, you bitch. So damn frigid, you're like a walking ice cube. Worse than Derek. Worse than Royce. I honestly don't understand how Lauren hasn't left you either. So god-damn selfish.
Aunt Lauren's still speaking to me, talking about how polite Ramon is, and I pull the bra out, examining the fraying seams.
I lick my lips, tasting the dry skin; the pieces catch on my teeth and I peel some off slowly. "Aunt Lauren," I croak and the words hurt coming out, passed this huge lump in my throat.
She stops talking, waiting for me to continue.
"I…" My voice fails me and it's like I'm choking on the air in my lungs.
Icy wind whips my skin, leaving blistering gashes; it's like glass on my arms, my legs, my face.
"Oh," croons that familiar, dark voice that I hate. When I look over my aunt's shoulder, Royce's flipping through a weather-beaten copy of Moby Dick, his hair forced into its usual slicked-back style. His t-shirt is dark and his jeans hang off his legs; at least he isn't bleeding all over the place.
"You think if Rae's voodoo-thingie works, I can stage things just like a suicide from Heathers?" His smile is soft and dark at the edges and I want to pick at the scabs on his lips just to see him bleed.
"Chloe?" Aunt Lauren asks, touching my shoulder hesitantly.
I hope my smile doesn't look like a grimace.
He's still there, thumbing through the pages like he does it every day, like he doesn't spend his time haunting me.
It's not my fault he's dead; it was his fault he decided to he stalk me down and break into Derek's house and fire that gun. Not mine. Not mine. I can't be sure if I'm convincing myself or him. Maybe Rae's the reaso—wait, 'Rae's voodoo-thingie'? What thingie is he talking about?
There's a knock on the door.
Aunt Lauren's gray-blue eyes flick from me to the door.
"Miss Fellows?" the voice I've been wanting to hear since she told me says, muffled by the wood, and unexpected tears fill my eyes. He'd been so kind to me and I couldn't have thought of him since they kicked me out; I'd been so busy between therapy and Royce keeping my every waking moment preoccupied that I haven't thought of anyone I'd met at Lyle House. Ramon and Peter and Brady…they all their own lives to live and I'd been kicked out.
The door opens and he steps in. He's grown his hair out and it curls at his shoulders and he's gained some weight, broader now.
My throat tightens at the sight of him and I rush forward, knocking him over.
Royce is quite honestly beyond pissed at me. "I bet you just love having his arms around you," he hissed flatly, right up against me, my skin burning where we touch, "you little slut. I bet you've already had your legs open for him. I bet you did the same thing with that Derek guy. You fucking bitch."
I'm shaking so hard it hurts to breathe as his ice-cold hands trail along my neck, squeezing menacingly until I almost black out, and then he slaps me hard.
I barely swallow the scream when it stings.
"Oh, Chloe…" Ramon says.