by Karina Halle
“Hey, she’s back, that’s all that matters,” Ash yelled over the grinder as he prepared a bag of fresh java for someone.
Mikeala didn’t look too pleased at that, which only solidified my theory. Mikeala wasn’t a bad-looking chick at all. She was tall and flat-chested but had a delicate porcelain face - when she wasn’t giving me the stinkeye. She was funny, too, and someone I hoped to win over one day, whenever that was. The way I was acting, I started to doubt having much of a future at Port-Town.
I gave Ash a grateful smile. I’d make it up to him one day. I didn’t want to lead him on – my acquired hatred for men didn’t extend to him – but he really had been the biggest supporter, along with Ada.
“Tall, extra hot, no whip, sugar-free caramel latte,” Mikeala barked as she scribbled down another order and plunked the cup in line. I quickly noted the person who had been at the register, a man in a pointy blazer and hipster glasses, and got started on the drink.
I moved over to the syrup dispenser but for the life of me couldn’t locate the sugar-free caramel one, which was weird since I had to use it at least three times in the last half hour.
I leaned over and concentrated, carefully examining the label of each one. We had vanilla, sugar-free vanilla, mint, sugar-free mint, caramel, almond, sugar-free almond, hazelnut and cinnamon. No sugar-free caramel.
“One second.” I raised my finger at the man and ducked down to raid the cupboards by the sink. Ash was standing beside me, wiping the excess coffee grinds off the bag.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“The sugar-free caramel. I was just using it, but now it’s gone,” I said, straining as I reached to the back of the cupboard. I pulled out a bottle but it was vanilla like all the rest of them were.
I looked up at Ash. “Did we run out?”
He looked over at the syrup dispensers by the machine. He frowned. “Isn’t that it right there?”
I turned my head. Right beside the machine, in plain view and separate from the others, was a bottle of syrup with a sienna-shaded label.
I walked back to my station and picked it up. It was sugar-free caramel. It would have been in front of me the whole time; how the hell did I not see it?
“Perry,” Mikeala growled softly as she plunked down two more cups. The line in front of her seemed to be growing and growling with impatience. “What is the holdup?”
I couldn’t answer her. I looked up at the hipster businessman who was waiting for his drink while distractedly flipping through a newspaper.
“Excuse me,” I asked him. He looked around and then came forward.
“Yes?”
I pointed at the syrup. “Was this always here? I mean, did you put this here? Or was it here all this time?”
His head lurched back on his neck and he eyed me through his glasses. “I beg your pardon?”
“I just want to know if I’m going crazy or not,” I blurted out. “Because this wasn’t here a second ago and yet now it is. Explain that.”
I heard Mikeala inhale sharply.
“Are you accusing me of hiding the syrup?” the man asked incredulously. And loudly. I think the entire shop turned its head to look our way.
“No,” I said, my face going beet red. The thing was, I did feel like he hid it on me. I could see his beady little face as he came up to the line to place his order, like he had this whole thing plotted out. When I wasn’t looking, he’d take the syrup to mess me up, and then put it back. Make me waste my time. Make me look crazy.
“I’d just like my drink then. Please,” he added, with false politeness.
“Well, you’re not getting your drink until you say you’re sorry,” I said.
The store grew quiet. So quiet I could hear the edges of his newspaper fluttering from the waves of shock that I was sure were hitting him. I couldn’t quite believe it myself but I couldn’t stop myself, either.
“Perry, I don’t think you’re feeling well,” Mikeala said, placing her hand on my arm and gripping it hard.
I glared at her and ripped my arm out of her bony grasp.
“Oh, don’t you try and coddle me,” I said. “I know when I’m being made to look like an idiot. And that’s just what this guy is doing. Doesn’t like the look of me, thinks I’m unstable.”
Someone in the back of the shop let out a small laugh and my blood boiled inside my head. I’d find who did it, find them and kill them.
“Perry,” Ash’s voice said from behind me. It was soft and shaking. “Can I talk to you for a second, Perry?”
He asked so politely, so…afraid, that it caught me off-guard.
And I realized what I was doing. I was fighting with a customer over a bottle of syrup.
As if everything slowed down, I saw Mikeala’s awestruck, angry face, her small mouth open in shock, I saw Hipster Glasses’s fingers clutch the newspaper tightly, I saw Ash’s sunny face clouded over in fear, and maybe pity, and I saw myself, bitter, red-faced and seething from a reality that wasn’t quite there.
I looked at everyone, the faceless blurs in the crowd, then I turned around and ran into the back room. Ash followed me and tried to calm me down, tried to get some sense of what was happening, but he couldn’t leave Mikeala out there all alone and I was no help whatsoever. I couldn’t begin to explain a thing except that I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t well. The only thing I was good for was keeping out of the public eye, and with a quick phone call to Shay, I was sent home for the rest of the shift.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The ride home was absolutely miserable. There’s really nothing worse than riding in the rain and even though you’d think I would be used to it from living in the Pacific Northwest and all, it still sucked. But it suited my mood, suited the level of defeat I felt from the meltdown with the customer.
How could I have been careless, to let my emotions get the best of me like that? I was acting out of character and succumbing to my own paranoia that there wasn’t something right with me. I just couldn’t seem to get my head screwed on properly, couldn’t seem to focus and bring myself into the present, into the here and now. Even the ride home, with the nasty, cold rain and the wind that picked up as I rode and battered me from the side, even that felt like it happened to someone else.
I called for my mom but she was out, so I went upstairs to my room, each step rising above me like a mountain, and crawled right into bed.
I lay on my back for a while, just staring up at the speckled ceiling. I was numb and grateful for it. I knew there was a whirlpool of feelings just churning beneath the surface, waiting to come out. All I had to do was think about how scared I was and how alone I felt. All I had to do was wish I had someone at my side who would know what was wrong with me and do whatever they could to fix me. I had that once and I didn’t have it anymore. If I thought about that, the tears would never stop coming, so I pushed the thoughts away.
Rolling over on my side, I spied a pamphlet that my mother had brought back from the hospital, sitting on my bedside table. I picked it up and flipped through it. It was all about miscarriages and the recovery process and was littered with poorly drawn cartoons. I was surprised it wasn’t called So, You’ve Had a Miscarriage!
I wondered if losing time and accosting customers were part of the side effects. There was mention of heavy bleeding and cramps, but that all stopped a few days ago. I suppose since my pregnancy (it was still weird to refer to it as that) wasn’t even one term, I got lucky. Though nothing about my life seemed the slightest bit lucky anymore.
The other thing the pamphlet mentioned was how every woman reacted differently. Some women were distraught beyond repair and needed to mourn the loss. Others didn’t feel much of anything. I still didn’t know how I felt but I knew my body was healing at a much faster rate than my mind. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
Even though it was the afternoon and a weak sun was pushing apart the rain clouds and streaming in through my windows, I fell asleep w
ith tears teasing the corner of my eyes and the pamphlet folded open in front of me. When I came to, it was almost dark. The clouds had rolled back in and a wind rattled the window pane every couple of seconds. A layer of frigid air seemed to descend from the ceiling and I shivered intensely, bringing my blanket in closer around me.
There was a knock at my door but before I had a chance to panic, it opened, revealing Ada.
“I didn’t think you were home,” she said, hovering in the doorway, backlit from the hall.
“I was napping. It’s freaking freezing in here, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. She was only wearing leggings and a lacy tunic. “So what do you want?”
“Huh?” I asked.
She crossed her arms. “I’ve got to get ready. I’m going out with Layton. What is it?”
I frowned at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you just called me,” she said impatiently.
“No I didn’t. What do you mean?”
“Yes you did,” she said as she gave me a strange look. “You were just yelling Ada, Ada, Ada.”
I sat up. “Nooooo, I wasn’t. I was sleeping.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Sleeping and texting?”
“What?”
She sighed and came over to the bed, flicking on the bedside lamp. I watched as Ada accessed her text messages. She pointed at the screen with her slender finger.
“See.”
I looked. There was a text from me saying Ada, come here, I need you and her response B rite ther. I obviously hadn’t sent it. The time said it was sent three minutes earlier. I had been asleep and I was pretty sure my phone was in my purse by my bed.
I told Ada so and she brought it out. My phone was in there, as I thought, but when we went to the texting app, I saw the same outgoing message.
“So you don’t remember sending this like two seconds ago? You don’t remember calling my name?” Ada asked. She sounded casual enough about it but I could tell from the slant of her brow that she was starting to worry.
I debated about lying to her to save some face but I couldn’t.
“No, I don’t remember. And to tell you the truth, I don’t remember painting my nails the other day either.”
“Maybe you’re sleepwalking. And sleeptexting. And sleepprimping.”
“What’s next?” I grumbled to myself. Things were getting more out of control by the minute.
“I don’t know,” she said, straightening up and tucking her phone into the waistband of her leggings. “Just don’t start sleepfucking.”
“Ada!” I admonished her.
She smiled and shrugged, delighted for having offended me. “So there was really nothing?”
“Well now there’s something. I’m doing things and not remembering them! Do you have to go to the movies tonight?”
She sucked in her lip. “I don’t have to but I want to. I haven’t been with Layton outside of school all this week.”
“I thought you were going to break up with him,” I said.
“Maybe that’s what I’m doing,” she told me.
I nodded to myself. I wasn’t going to keep her from doing something she needed to do just because I was scared. I mean, what could Ada do anyway except take my mind off of things. And maybe prevent me from sleepfucking, God forbid.
She put her warm hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. Then she paused as she stared at my face. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
I felt a strange, sickening fear tighten the muscles in my back.
“My eyes?” I shook my head slowly. My voice trembled, “You tell me.”
She leaned over and tilted my head so that it was facing the light more and looked directly into my eyes. A frightened expression spread across her face.
“What is it?” I asked frantically.
“Your pupils…are…are huge. Like, so fucking huge. You look like you have, like, shark eyes. Are you on something?
The fear spread up my spine. I leaped out of bed, nearly getting tripped up by the covers, and ran over to my mirror.
I gasped and the room started to spin. I reached out for the corner of my vanity and held myself up, stealing glances at my face. I couldn’t bear to look head on.
Shark eyes were a good way of describing it. My pupils were so unbelievably wide that only a thin ring of color encircled it. And the weirdest, scariest, creepiest thing was that the color wasn’t blue, as it should have been. But brown. A golden brown.
“They’re brown!” I cried out.
“What?” Ada came over to me and gave me another examination. “No they aren’t, they’re blue. And horrifying.”
I looked back at the mirror. My pupils were still huge but the ring of color was the cornflower blue of my own eyes. The brown was gone. Maybe it was never there.
“What did you take?” she asked me. “You promised you weren’t going to do drugs anymore, Perry.”
I was shocked and actually offended at her accusation. I wanted to protest angrily but I could see how hurt she was just by thinking it.
Looking at her honestly, with my funny eyes, I said “I didn’t take anything, Ada. I haven’t done drugs for who knows how long. Haven’t even touched the stuff. I’m not on anything. Not even those painkillers.”
She was hesitant to believe me. I couldn’t blame her. I must have done a number on her back when I was her age. I was one stupid teenager.
“But what if you’re sleepdrugging,” she said quietly.
I took one last look at my scary-assed face and brushed past her to my closet.
“Now you’re just being ridiculous. Where would I even get drugs from?”
“Where did you get the nail polish from?”
“Well, I guess I picked it up at Walgreens,” I said, glaring at her, “right next to the crack cocaine aisle.”
I put a Baroness tee on and a hoodie and hopped back in bed. Ada was still watching me.
“Aren’t you going out?” I asked her, not wanting her company anymore.
“Are you going to be OK?” she asked.
“I’m not on drugs,” I insisted, my tone laced with annoyance.
“If you say so,” she replied. “Call me, though, if you need anything. Just try and make sure you’re awake when you do it.”
She gave me a compassionate smile and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Patronizing bitch,” I mumbled in a strange voice. I quickly clapped my hand over my mouth, horrified at what came out of it. I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t even feeling it. Or was I?
I had to distract myself. The more I focused on what was happening, and the peculiar way I was feeling, the more scared I got. I almost felt there were two parts inside me arguing with each other. One was very mean and wanted to do mean things to Ada, Ash, my parents. The other side was fearful and cowering. At this rate, the mean side would win. I would be Mr. Hyde.
I picked up the remote and flicked on the TV. Though it was plugged in again, I hadn’t watched it since the incident the other night. A note of terror tugged at my heart in anticipation of something supernatural happening but everything looked normal and bright. The episode of Friends where Ross and Chandler have to pivot the couch was on and the laugh track was coming from the speakers. I giggled despite myself and settled back in my bed, deciding to spend the evening watching sitcom reruns. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done something like that and mindless entertainment was long overdue.
After two episodes of Friends and two episodes of Frasier, I heard my dad pull his car into the driveway and a wave of relief rushed through me. Subconsciously, I must have been on edge, despite the antics of Niles Crane.
I heard the front door open and my mom saying something to him. Then I heard their footsteps cross the driveway and the car doors close.
“Nooo!” I cried out and ran to the window. My dad’s SUV was backing up down the drive, my mom in the passenger seat. They pulled onto the street and disappear
ed into the darkness and waving trees.
“Fuck,” I swore. They probably just went to a friend’s house or out to get food, but that meant I was all alone in the big house for who knows how long. The wind whipping around outside, the cold blasts, and shuddering windows weren’t making the situation any calmer. Of all days, I did not want to be by myself.
I tried to watch a rerun before prime time kicked in but couldn’t get into it. I left it on so that the voices would keep me company but my mind was all over the place. I kept relaying the events from the day over and over again and wondered what was next.
Twenty minutes later, an old episode of The Outer Limits came on the tube. Now that was something I didn’t need to see. I made the move to switch the channel and as I picked up the remote I knocked the miscarriage pamphlet off the bed. It made a solid sound as it landed on the floor. Odd. It was essentially just a few pages and light as a feather.
I looked over the edge of my bed and saw the pamphlet sticking up at a funny angle, as if there was something under it. Curiously, I reached down and picked it up.
The blue baby slippers were beneath it on the floor.
I dropped the pamphlet in alarm and leaped back in my bed, my heart doing a jackhammer impression. I grasped nervously at my hoodie and wished to God that my parents were home.
Seriously, what the fuck was going on? Had Ada brought them to me? I peered my head over. The slippers looked clean and new, waiting for newborn baby feet. There was no sign of them ever being in the trash but I know they had been there. I had seen my father put them in there and I even tossed an empty carton of orange juice on top of them in the morning. I could have gone downstairs and checked but leaving the false security of my room seemed out of the question. It didn’t matter anyway. Somehow they had found me again and I didn’t think I could ever fully escape. Like clock wheels that were just beginning to fit in place, I realized someone, or something, was on a mission to frighten me. It wasn’t all in my head. It couldn’t have been.
With my parents out and Ada on her date, there wasn’t much I could do. But I could call Maximus and I did just that.