twisted beautiful things

xxx. haunting

xxx. haunting

'in this ordinary world

where nothing is enough

everything is gray, mistaking love for lust

when i hold you in my arms

there aint nothing common bout us'

(zayn)

>>>

amir

"Novella Grace," Julian says sternly, knocking not-so-gently on the door of her room.

The inside of it stays deathly silent.

Me, Kennedy, Atticus, and Gianna linger outside Novella's bedroom door, waiting anxiously for her to open up.

I haven't seen her since the party, four days ago. After the disappearance of her mother, it seemed to be the last straw that tipped her over the edge. She hadn't been attending her classes which is extremely unlike her, and she's been avoiding our phone calls. At first the messages I left behind after the beep were normal, just asking her to call me back. Then as time went on, the e-mails turned threatening to worried.

Now we stand outside her door, four days since we've seen her, pleading for her to let us in.

"No-vell-a." Julian sounds desperate now, leaning against the door. "Please open?"

There's a bit of shuffling on the other end, but still no answer.

"Let me try," I say, gently pushing past Gianna and Atticus, "let me try. Novie?"

The rustling stops.

"Baby we're worried about you," I say softly, "I brought you gummy bears and I wanted to tell you a bit about Matthew."

Soft steps linger around the door. Then there's the flick of a lock, and the door cracks open.

She peeks her head out just a tad, eyeing me. "Gummies?"

I hold up the bag I held in my hands, as if to convince her. She considers me for a moment, and then glances at the rest of us.

Then she sighs. "You guys aren't leaving until I let you in, are you?"

"Nope," Kennedy says cheerfully, pushing the door open, tackling her friend in a hug.

This opens the door just enough that we can all squeeze inside.

Everything's clean, like how she normally keeps it; almost too clean, if you ask me. It's as if she'd spent the majority of her time here cleaning, vacuuming the floor, polishing the mirrors and the window, dusting the shelves. The room itself is a little dark, the window letting the faint gray light from the fog outside in. It's gray and dark and blue and almost empty. Not literally-everything's here-but why does it feel so-empty? Numb?

When I get a good look at Novella herself, she looks squeaky clean too. Her hair is tied back in a thick low ponytail, the ribbon drooping and untied. Her face is pale and free of makeup, though her eyes are red and puffy. She's wearing a pair of Nike spandex and one of Julian's t-shirts with his name printed on the back, the navy blue striking against the paleness of her skin. Her lips are raw and red, as if she'd been picking at them, and she's cupping her elbows, dark eyes watching us take her in.