CHAPTER SEVEN

ESSENCE

When the bus got dropped me off at my house, I stared at it for a moment. The house is a pale blue ranch style with a white door and windows with grey curtains. The siding was peeling a little bit and the door was falling off the hinges but I didn't care. I ran for the back door, noticing that Delilah's Ford Focus wasn't in the driveway. Good.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I curse under my breath as I recall the events of earlier that day. North's company had been the best thing that had happened to me in a long time and Derek and Myrah just had to make it awful. What have I ever done to them? What have I done to deserve this? You know what? I'm fucking done!

I dropped my backpack onto the floor and walked over to the island where kitchen knives sat, blades down in the wooden block. I pulled the biggest one out, my fingers wrapping around the smooth, black handle and relishing the sound of the knife coming out of its sheath. I pressed the tip of the blade into my wrist and closed my eyes as tears dotted the corners. Is this really something I want? Are people going to even care? Probably. But probably not.

I think about cutting and just getting it over with so I didn't have to face all of it ever again.

But I stop.

What about North? I seriously think I have a chance with him. If I do this now, will he be sad, will he move on, or will he cut?

I drop the knife on the floor and stand still for a moment, breathing hard and letting tears stream down my face. I turn and open the fridge. There's nothing in there for me. Delilah put all her food in there and if I even eat a nibble, I will be beaten. My stomach grumbles and I scowl. I slam the refrigerator door and stomp my way upstairs to my bedroom. I open the door and it squeaks as I close it.

The shaggy carpet has a pile of velvet blankets in the middle with one little pillow. My bed. Delilah's bed has a mattress and a box spring and a million thread-count sheets and fluffy puffy pillows. My alarm clock is plugged into the wall beside me. My room is dark because my windows are decorated with black curtains and the light is broken. I hate it. I lay there for a few minutes, listening to my breathing and staring at the ceiling until I dozed off.

I had a dream about North. It was absolutely amazing. We were alone in an empty room and I said something that made him laugh. He then leaned over, blue eyes burning into my soul, and nibbled my neck gently. I let out a soft moan as he suckled the sensitive skin of my neck and jawline. I reached for the hem of his shirt as his lips crashed against mine. I pulled his shirt off over his head and I straddled him, making him moan as I met his lips again. I eyed his jaw and left warm, wet kisses along the underside. North starts pulling at my skirt to reveal my panties. I unbutton his jeans desperately and shove my hand down the front of his boxers and he groans and says my name as I grasp what he wants me to most. Maybe I should spare you the details...

I woke up with soaked panties and shortness of breath. I slapped a few fingers on my wrist, a habit I formed years back when I needed to calm down.

Essence Aria Eirwen-Aurora, you naughty little bitch. You aren't a fucking whore! At least that's what I thought in my head. Maybe I was a borderline whore. My clothes definitely don't say whore. It's really just white fitted tees with v-necks, skinny blue jeans, worn out blue Skechers, all tied together with a snowflake necklace I'm pretty sure I've never taken off. Kinda my signature look. If I'm trying not to act suspicious, I will throw on the only sweatshirt—not to mention the only thing in my closet with long sleeves—I have which is light grey, very soft, and has white fleece inside. The sleeves cover my hands slightly and the entire thing smells like cookies and cocoa. My attitude never said whore. Shy, scared, reserved. Nope, no whore there. I guess I got off scot-free this time

For a split second after I chided myself, I swore I heard moaning coming from the other room, but soon realised it was all in my head. I stretched myself out for a moment and put my hair up with a white ponytail holder that was wrapped around my ankle. I then forced myself to rise up out of the heap of smelly, crusty blankets. I stood in the middle of the room, gently breathing in and out, focusing on keeping a slow heartbeat. I drop my hands to my sides and let my eyes close. As I focus my energy into my hands, a cool, blue aura floods my closed eyelids. A tingling sensation starts in my toes, creeping its way up my spine, and into my skull where I feel buzzing. The tingling slowly slides down my arms, settling in my palms. A slight burning sensation accompanies it and I hear the roar of Arctic Wind as it blows around me. Opening my eyes, I see a small blizzard stirring around me and an unmissable blue light in each of my palms, bringing some light into the room for once. I slowly raise my arms above my head, being careful not to close my hands, and then forcefully clap them together. The blizzard gets wilder, blowing me in a few different directions for a moment before I regain my balance. As I focus my energy on an image, it forms above my head in snowflakes.

My mom. My dad. Happy, smiling, proud of me. Alive. I reach out to touch the image, tears stinging my eyes, and the snowflakes creating it completely explode. No more Mama. No more Daddy.

"Fuck." I spit. It never works. It never stays long enough for me to touch them. I sigh. It's not like today would be my lucky day or anything!

I snap my fingers and a loud ringing pierces my ears as snowflakes circle around me, slowly dissolving into thin air. The cold air stops blowing. The room reduces back to its normal temperature. There's no evidence that there was any snow anywhere. On my body or anywhere in the room. I don't need Delilah finding out I'm a Manipulator. She knew my parents were Manipulators, but she doesn't know I'm one. It's better that way. She'll find out about it when I kill her.

As if on cue, I hear a car door being slammed from the driveway and then the back door squeaking as it opens. I open my bedroom door and start to walk downstairs carefully. Too much noise and Delilah will get pissed.

"Essence!" Delilah shrieks from the kitchen. "Come here! Now!"

"Coming!" I say obediently. It's not like I have much of a choice. I walk into the kitchen and greet her with a cheesy smile. She nods approvingly and I breathe a sigh of relief. I started to size her up and down. She's a fifty eight-year old woman. Delilah normally wears all black. Today she wore a tight black dress with tee shirt-like sleeves, black pantyhose, and black heels. Her grey-streaked blond hair framed her face and the wrinkles on her face looked deeper and made her look very tired. The tattoo of the snowflakes on her wrist looked faded and worn out. Good.

Delilah grabs a hand mirror from off the counter and cringes at the sight of her reflection. Clearly she's not the only one who thinks she's ugly.

"Essence, would you be a dear and fetch my special pills from the bathroom upstairs?" She said with an oddly pleasant, yet desperate tone to her voice. She cracked a smile, I could tell it was killing her and I broke out in sweat.

"Y-yes Delilah." I say in a monotone, scrambling upstairs to the bathroom and opening a drawer where a big bottle of pills sat in the corner. The label has been peeled off. I try to open the bottle but Delilah's voice comes ripping through the silence.

"Hurry it up, you little brat!" Delilah screams. "I'm not getting any younger here!"

Yeah, I can see that.

I sprint down the stairs, into the kitchen, and placing the bottle of pills into Delilah's wrinkly, shaking hand.

"A little faster next time, okay? Now beat it, before I beat you." She snarls. I turn the corner, but peer back around it when I'm out of view. I watch Delilah unscrew the top of the bottle and pull out two black pills from it. She digs a long fingernail into the shell of one and I hear it crack. She tilts her head back and pours the grey powder from the broken pill into her mouth. She splutters and repeats the process with the other pill. I hear her wheezing and she starts clutching her chest and coughing again. I was about ready to run in and help her but I stopped myself. Let her choke. Let her suffer. I can escape this cruel world. I can try to have a shot with North. I can be free. Finally.

I watch her fall to the ground and arch her back. I close my eyes and pump an air fist. When I open them, she's lying on the ground with her eyes closed, but she looks different. The wrinkles on her skin are gone. Her breasts and behind are bigger and the grey in her hair is not there.

The pills keep her young. She would be dead if it weren't for those pills. I have an idea. A really great idea.