s p l i n t e r e d

chapter s i x

"I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better."

- Frida Kahlo

I wake up, and Ruth is sitting at the edge of my bed. It takes me a minute to come to. I blink away the sleep that blurs my vision, blink away the remnants of a dream I can't quite fully remember.

"Asia?"

Ruth's Cezanne-blue eyes are wide and unblinking. Her weight on my bed is imperceptible.

How long has she been here, for?

I wonder what the time is. The blinds are open. The sunlight that streams in is weak and dim. There's a bird sitting on the windowsill. It's feathers are inky black.

I breathe heavily. I don't remember falling asleep. 

I remember trying not to fall asleep.

I swallow away sleep. "Yes?" 

There's a long pause. The inky black bird on the windowsill flutters it's wings, and disappears.

"You grabbed the wheel," Ruth says.

I blink, confused. "What?"

My eyes adjust as I lift my head. I can see the paleness of Ruth's skin. The shadows below her eyes.

"You grabbed the wheel, Asia. We almost died."

The night before rushes in. The world spinning. The headlights. The woman, in the middle of the street. The woman from the painting. The woman who Ruth didn't see.

Ruth's voice is wispy and thin. She is still shaken. 

I almost killed her. I almost killed both of us.

My chest tightens. An overwhelming surge of guilt rises in my throat.

I sit up slowly, and reach across the space for her. "Ruth..."

My hand finds hers. I grip it tightly. Her fingers are freezing cold.

"That was singlehandedly the scariest thing I've ever experienced," Ruth whispers, squeezing my hand and blinking at me. 

"And I've seen an exorcism, before."

There's a brief moment of silence.

I can't help it.

"Did you have to say that?" I ask, biting down on my tongue.

I can't help it, and neither can Ruth. 

We chuckle, quietly. Ruth's slim shoulders shake. "What? It's true."

"I'm sorry," I bite my lip, frowning down at my hands. "Things have been weird, lately."

"So you're seeing creepy women standing in the middle of the road?" Ruth's eyebrows lift, slightly.

I avoid the corner where the painting sits, underneath a sheet, but still, I can feel it's eyes on me. The eyes that it doesn't even have.

"Woman," I correct, morosely. "It was just one."

"Right."

I look away. "I'm really sorry, Ruthie. I panicked. I shouldn't have grabbed the wheel."

"No, you should not have," Ruth murmurs.

I chew the inside of my cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" Ruth counters, suggestively.