Between the Two [COMPLETE]

7~They Know

Before I could even open my eyes, I felt her cool, slender fingers trace along my neck and down my collarbone. Movements like a graceful dance along my skin. Pockets of fuzz filled my vision and I blinked them away to see my mother looming over me with streaks of moonlit darkness across her face.

“Why are you making things so difficult?” she asked, voice laced with a soft threat. She continued to stroke my neck. It took everything in me not to panic, eyes widening at her sudden presence. A lucid dream. It had to be. Internally, I could feel my breath struggling to reach my lungs in fear that she’d cut it off at a moments notice. Heart racing frantically, knocking against my ribs. “You’ve always been that way. So difficult, never wanted to act appropriately. But it needs to change. We need to change, Lilah.”

Goosebumps sprouted along my arms with shivers, suppressing the fear that wished to combust within me. Anticipating what she’d do, I stayed still. It’d be worse if I fought back this early. Her chilling words scorched my insides with dread.

“Louie was a very small dog who constantly got sick. He was a little thing too.”

Those tormented eyes of my mother frightened me, her grip on my neck gradually tightening. She smelt of wine. Crimson blood flashed before my eyes, a burning sensation engulfing my throat. Metallic blood and rich wine. Hysteria took control of me, a blanket of pain and stigma. Memories of my sin, my mistake, of the blood on my naked body and soul.

She knows, I panicked, flailing underneath her rigid hold. She knows!

“You loved that dog, I know you did, but...things die.” Her face inching closer to mine, lips quivering. “That’s the way of the world, sweetie.”

Pressing me deeper into the mattress, both her hands clawed around my neck. Oxygen was fleeting. Bubbles of light twinkled before my eyes. Finally, my hands squirmed out beneath the sheets and to her arms, trying to pry her off. It was no use. The strength in my muscles were diminishing from lack of oxygen, my vision hazing over.

“Louie was a dog!” she hissed, a ruthless whisper in the night. “A sick dog! Do you hear me?!” Her tears dripped along my cheeks. A scream yearned to be set free but incapable. One last time. Mustering the rest of my willpower, I thrashed against the bed loudly, pushing the bed frame against the wall. My senses were dwindling. My consciousness departing. Could anyone hear me?

“Oh, my poor Louie!” she sobbed, tears still falling to my cheek.

Giving up, my arms fell to my side and I closed my eyes, allowing death to finally drag me away. I deserve this. This is retribution for the blood and wine. For the trailer truck. For.. “Louie…”

I awoke to luminous rays of sunshine sprayed upon my face, warm and inviting. Throbbing pain prickled down my neck and shoulders, consciousness returning. My flesh raw, sore, burning against the pillows of my bed. Coughing the pain away, I rubbed my swollen neck, pushing the covers away.

The reflection in the bathroom mirror told the entire story of last night’s affliction. Her handprints coiled around my neck like jewelry, adorned with red scratch marks and dark bruises. I’d almost died from asphyxiation by my own mother’s hands.

A raspy chuckle escaped, scratching my torn throat. What a fitting welcome home present. For almost two years, I believed I would be free from the abuse of my childhood reality. But an evil entity wouldn’t let me go just yet. I’d have to pay for what I’ve done some way, somehow. And what better punishment for Rob, for the truck driver, for not protecting Louie, than to be by my mother’s side once more.

She’s what I deserve, I suppose.

Taking a shower, I try to scrub away the pain, but it only makes it worse. Placing some makeup and foundation only make my skin look discolored and a sight for sore eyes. I own a thick choker with a cat pendant on it but I laugh and cough at the irony, storing it away. Settling on a navy blue silk scarf to match my uniform, I tuck it into the shirt and adjust it to hide the bruising efficiently.

Downstairs, everyone has already sat down at the table, ready for breakfast.

“You look nice this morning,” mom complimented, taking a sip of her coffee. My neck throbs at the sight of her, calm and complacent with what she’d done to me last night. Her eyes hold no remorse. It’s as though she hadn’t done a thing, her fingers unbruised and polished.

I say nothing, mainly on the account that my throat hurts tremendously and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. Asher observes me placidly. His charming green eyes calculative and in the back of my mind, I wonder if he knows. He did say he heard me moan the night before. Did he hear my stifled screams last night? If he did, he makes no mention of it as Ezra says grace. When his grey eyes open, they roam along my body as well. Do they know?

Having such questions flipping through my mind, it’s like being trapped in a glass bottle. They can peer inside and they see me waving for help. But it’s distorted. They see a version of me, not what I need them to see. It’s a terrifying perception I carry with me throughout my day.

First day of school jitters are common for most. However, most students don’t enter with the deception of being a boarding school brat from France. I can’t correct them. Yesterday, I’d indulged my mother’s fantasy, and I’d been caught in her web. If I set myself free, I’d look like the liar, the spider who deceivingly spun the web.

“Nice scarf!” Hazel complimented me in third period. “Oh, is that a style you picked up from France?”

I want to roll my eyes at her but my skull throbs from just the slightest of blinks. “No. I just wanted to wear a scarf today. I was cold.”

She craned an eyebrow. “In eighty-six-degree weather? Now that’s odd. Is it because France is colder around this time--”

“Beat it, Hazy Hazel!” a voice behind us commands. Daphne leans assertively on our table, gesturing for Hazel to move to another desk.

Hazel pouts but doesn’t retaliate, grabbing her things with a huff. “Daphne Shaw, one day God is going to smite you for being so rude.”

Daphne scoffs, flinging her electric blue hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, and one day God is going to take that stick from up your ass. And won’t that be a glorious day.” Hazel gasped, frowning at Daphne before stomping away. Once gone, I let out a sore laughter, Daphne joining in. “What are you doing with Hazy?”

I shrugged. “We’re church friends, I guess.”

“What’s up with your voice? Got a cold?”

I nodded, finding it easier to go with that. If anyone asked, noticing the raspy tone, I’ve just been using a cold and sore throat as an excuse. It’s been working, most people telling me to preserve my voice--all except Hazel.

She rubs my back soothingly. “That’s a bummer for your first day. They serve tea during lunch.”

Throughout the day, Daphne taught me the ways of the school, the cliches, the pushovers, which classes to skip and which to take notes. Observing her strutting through the halls without qualms, always a lollipop in hand, was like watching a glamorized teen movie. She knew who she was and owned it without fear of the consequences. She had friends within each designated cliche. Laughing with cheerleaders and jocks, fist bumping band members, comforting the outcasts and studying with the AV club.

The itch of envy tickled my arms and legs, scratching its way beneath my skin while I watched Daphne in her domain. I’ve never been the outgoing type. Never could force myself to adjust long enough for companionship.

While I’d been attentive to Daphne throughout the day, I noticed a few teachers and students eyes lingering on me. Adrenaline sets in. My heart knocks with every glance and whisper. They know. School records of me never attending a boarding school in France but a trivial school two hours away. They know. Their eyes are judging me. Wondering what else I’ve lied about. I can feel the bruises beneath my scarf tightening, suffocating me. Maybe I’m not who I say I am. Flames ignite along my throat. Maybe I’m a liar, a bad girl, a killer...They know.

“Lilah.” I snapped my head at Daphne saying my name. She placed a concerned hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright? You’re hyperventilating.”

Achy words pawed up my throat to speak before a hand grasped my arm. “She’s not alright,” a familiar abrasive voice answered. “I’ll take her to the nurses. We’ll meet you at your dorm.” Asher hauled me through the corridors of the school, leading me upstairs and into one of the storage closets. Boxes of old textbooks and theatre props resided along with the stench of Pinesol.

Asher pressed against me, closing the door behind us. His spearmint breath filled my senses, his hands holding mine above my head. As though it were a second thought, I wiggled my body out of his grasp aimlessly. He clung tighter to me, his lips gently caressing mine. Every nerve in my body quivered at his touch.

“What are you…” I exhaled. The steaming sensation of spearmint entered my tongue like a crackling wave. Asher held me with both hands, his solid body pressing hard into me. His lips were tantalizing, the beating in my chest yearning for more. A blanket of sensual calmness protected us from the outside, warming my insides. Nothing in between.

His lips trailed downwards, biting my bottom lip, then kissing my chin. A moan ruptured from my mouth. Then I realized what was happening. Eyes snapping open, I sucked in an anxious breath. “No!”

His teeth caught the fabric of the scarf, snatching it off my neck. I tried to cover the bruises with my hand but it’s no use. He already knows. His jaw trembled before clenching his teeth, green eyes ablaze. “I knew it. I knew he did something to you.”