The Pretty Poison

PART 16 - Chapter 10

Flames engulf the top and soon the whole thing is blazing. Other trailers are moved away, safely distancing themselves from the flaming one. I can’t help but feel my heart tearing inside my chest as I watch. But I can’t look away. It’s like my mind thinks if I stare at it long enough, it’ll be over and this will all be a dream.

Eventually, I force my eyes away and instead stare at the man who holds me back. Westley says nothing. His gaze never leaves the fire that consumes the once white trailer. The expressionless features on his face concern me but my sorrow is too great to think on that. All I feel is the numbness of yesterday slipping back into my soul.

My deaden stare follows the crowd that has gathered. To my right I see Rick. He’s ambled his way here, holding his bloody nose and standing a safe distance away. But from which dangerous thing I’m not sure. He glances at my limp form and for a second, anger flashes in his brows. But even in misery he holds no pity for me, only for the innocent girl rejected from living. He takes a quick look at Westley before leaving to mourn on his own.

The grip on my arms is let go. I crumple to the ground as Westley walks heartlessly away. I can’t even begin to care though. I am just a lump of disheartened mass. My legs curl up into the fetal position and I hold my knees tightly.

Masque is gone.

I had just witness the death of my best friend. Though I did not laugh with her much nor talk much of her life, she had always been there for me. She comforted me when I was hurt and helped me when my mind could not contain the chaos it held. She cared for me when I could not see the light through my dismal world. She was the one person I trusted with my entire being.

And now, she’s dead.

The flames flicker in the sky until the firemen come. I can hear them slowly making their way to the circus. Their truck blares with flashing red lights and the obnoxious horn. But even with those unbearable things, I have not moved from my spot. There is no one left to care for me in matters like this.

I shut my eyes and hope the truck just doesn’t see me. I hope the wheels run me over and I could join my friend in the afterlife, whether we live in heaven or hell. Whatever happens, even if I just cease to exist, I’ll be happier in some melancholic way.

Hands gently rock my shoulders, trying desperately to wake me up. I hold my hands over my ears like a child and press my face into the ground sobbing. I don’t want anyone to disturb me as I wait for the truck. I want to die here. But whoever it is doesn’t understand that. Instead, they lift my miserable form and cradle me in their arms.

From the size of their muscles, I know they are not very strong but somehow they manage to take me safely away to my trailer as I kick and scream my defiance. It’s not the fact someone is helping me that has me angered. It’s who is helping me. I know it isn’t Westley so I don’t open my eye to find out whom. I keep them closed tightly, still clinging to the smallest hope that this is all pretend.

The unknown person drops me off on my bed softly and even tucks me in. I can barely hear their voice whispering their condolences to me through my tightly pressed palms over my ears. I turn from them and look out through the bottom of my half-lidded eyes. I don’t want to thank them. I want them to leave.

*~*~*

I haven’t moved since my ‘savior’ left. I didn’t get to see who it was for the door slammed shut as I rolled over. Even so, Lightning Feather’s glass bottle gave away everything. It sits on my vanity unopened and untouched. I never even said thank you to her. I’m such a selfish bitch.

My eyes stare incomprehensively around my trailer. Only with great effort can I even closed them to blink. They’re so dry anymore, I feel them crusting where my earlier tears had been shed. My arms and legs have gone numb too. At an unintelligent attempt to feel, I wiggle my toes and fingers just to be sure I hadn’t slipped into paralysis. They move. I’m still alive.

Damn.

My arms move clumsily to grab my headboard and pull my aching body to still up. My bottom half slumps over the side of the bed and I begin my long trek to Westley’s. I need him now and I don’t care what he says. He’s all I’ve got and he needs to be there for me.

My legs carry me through the silence that is the circus campsite. It’s as quiet as a ghost town; a fitting simile for the story of today. The fire trucks are gone, the smoldering trailer was removed. Everyone has gone away to grieve in private while here I am, walking so I may grieve with my love. And my love might have been the murderer.

The sky seems to have slipped into a dark mass of grey clouds, threatening to rain down. A light trickle starts as I climb the stairs to Westley’s unlocked door and as I close it, it pours. Inside I flick on the orangey glow of the lights. The color irritates me and so darkness consumes the trailer once more as I brush the switch back down. I know my way around. Nevertheless as I walk to his empty bedroom, I stub my toes and bang my hip on the door handle. I am rather clumsy, easy excuses for anytime people find bruises or marks on my skin.

With his absence in his own trailer, I begin to weep yet again. It’s another example of my deep and bitter loneness in my world. I have many a people outside this door —Mr. Huntsdale, Paulette, Rick, even Feather— and yet I choose to be here waiting for a man that doesn’t want me. My life is sickening.

The rain patters gently on the window behind me. The darkened sky barely lights the room, yet in the dimness there is still a gleam off the pictures I had decorated Westley’s dresser with. One of the pictures stands out in particular to me. It is the picture I cracked the edge of the glass last night. I move from the bed stiffly and cradle the frame in my gentle hands.

I remember this day so long ago. It was the day I had moved to this Circus; the day Westley brought me here. It was the introduction of me to the other performers. Someone took a picture as I began talking to a girl about my age. She had such sorrowful eyes and bandages around her wrists where a knife had slid across it (an accident from practice). Her lips have half a smile spread upon them and there is me, laughing at her joke I can’t remember.

Rachael…

Three years ago I met a girl who knew nothing but fear and sorrow. That same girl tried to rid as much of those feelings from my life as she could. It was the change of my life I had never been ready for but she helped me through. Three years ago we became friends and soon she felt like a sister I never had.

Today she’s dead.

Rachael, I’m sorry… It’s not your fault…

I cling to the picture and weep until my eyes have no more tears to give. My face burns with misery making me push it further into the pillow, trying to suffocate myself. My body comes back up for air anyways and I’m left coughing and spitting out mucus in the trashcan next to the bed.

I sob until I can breathe heavily no more. Weakened to the fullest extent, I lie there wondering why I came to Westley’s in the first place. He is the one who had started this. He killed her.

My eyes widen with that realization. He did it. He is a murderer.

My mind would race if it wasn’t numbed with despair. He took my poi oil and lit a match. Did he even know she was in there? Did she know what he had been doing? Did she let him?

I can’t even think upon any of this. My dry eyes burn so much that I can no longer keep them open. And with the blackness of my vision, it’s not long until I fall into a dreadful sleep.

Rachael, be at peace…

Be at peace…