vicious [d.m]

sixteen: roses & arms

She looks just as Khione remembers her — tall and lithe, long dark hair in a thick braid thrown over one shoulder. Brown skin and full lips, both things Khione had inherited.

"What's wrong with you?" Mama asks, a crease between her brows. "Where have you been?"

Khione can't speak around the knot in her throat, the fluttering in her chest. She feels as if she may be sick. "I..."

Mama's gaze softens. Reaches out to tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The simple action makes Khione's eyes sting. "Let's get you warmed up."

In a daze, Khione allows herself to be guided to the sofa. Lets her mother push her gently down onto it before padding over to grasp the thick blanket draped over the back of the chair around the small, round sage-green kitchen table.

Khione shifts, unable to take her eyes off her mother — like if she does, it might all fade away. Her clothes rustle and she glances down out of surprise.

Her dress is gone, replaced by baby blue pajamas. Her favourite — the ones with tiny polar bears on them. Immediately, her throat runs dry.

She's on her feet in a split second, her heart racing. Mama turns with the blanket in her hand, confusion flashing on her face as Khione sprints for the staircase.

"Khi—?"

Her voice fades away as Khione takes the steps two at a time, pulse pounding in her ears. Her clammy hands slip on the railing as she turns sharply at the top, crossing the landing in only a couple steps.

CAL + KHIONE'S ROOM. DO NOT ENTER!

She blinks at the bright red ink, a slash of letters by childish hands. Khione had drawn dragons around the edges of her name. Cal had drawn vines.

The image blurs through her tears, remembrance of a lifetime ago when she was small and the world was a good place. She'd trade anything for that naiveté now.

Blinking furiously against the stinging in her eyes, she shoves open the bedroom door and it creaks, that same long creak that would always give them away when they were trying to sneak out past bedtime.

The room is just the same as she left it — low, sloping ceiling, two twin beds on either side of the room, the small circular window in between them. The wooden floorboards, the light blue wallpaper on the walls. The single sconce that shed light, closer to Khione's bed because she read more than Cal did. The cranberry juice stain on the floor by the window. They never had been able to get that out.

"Khione?" There's a creak behind her and she jolts, hair standing on end as Mama's voice wraps around her. She wants to sink into it. "What's wrong, jaan?"

Jaan. Darling in Hindi. Her mother's nickname for both her and Cal.

"Where's Cal?" It's an effort to speak around the growing knot in her throat. She turns, fixing her mother with an imploring look. "Mama, where's Cal?"

Mama's brow furrows. "Down by the beach. Collecting firewood. Didn't he tell you?"

Khione's heart drops and the tears fall then, tracing a path down her face. "Mama, we have to go."

Bewilderment is plain on Mama's face as Khione grabs her hand and begins to tug her down the stairs. "Khione, what's going on? You're acting—"

Khione ignores her, although the warmth of her mother's hand in her own sends a bolt of pain through her heart. It feels so real. So warm. Comfort is suddenly a real thing she can experience, not some faraway fairytale concept that is always just out of reach.