NECROMANTIC

twenty one.

The first thing I did the next morning at seven on the dot, after fitful intervals of unconsciousness that never lasted more than a half hour at a time, was google 'can sleep deprivation kill you?' The answer was exactly a 'yes' but it wasn't a 'no' either. Either way, the answers were grim and all said that I should seek further medical help, especially if I'd gone more than a week without at least a solid four or five hours sleep.

Right now, four or five hours would be a luxury for me.

The second thing I did was change out of the clothes I'd been wearing now for over twenty four hours, and head into the shower.

My eyes, of course, quickly looked over at my plants – and quickly looked away when I noticed with a sinking feeling my stomach that they were all really, still dead.

I hoped a shower would help mute my thoughts, so that the only one that would be in my mind would be how nice the hot stream of water felt against my skin, and my bones – which had been aching for a few days now, nothing too bad, it wasn't a persistent pain, but there were moments were I was completely aware of it and it drove me just a little bit more into despair. And for a blissful ten minutes or so, it did help. I closed my eyes and stood as the water covered me, soaking my hair, running down my body. It wasn't until I got a creeping sensation and remembered my nightmare – the rain, soaking me through – that I was unpleasantly jarred away from my temporary ignorance, and I quickly went about washing my hair, shaving everything, cleaning my body thoroughly.

All too soon, I was done, and I shut the water off, stepping out and wrapping a towel around my hair and one around my body.

After I was done drying myself, I dropped the towel around my feet, and looked at myself in the mirror – the bruise on my knee was now fading, more of a lilac than the stormy purple it'd been before, though it was still a little tender. The scratch on my cheek was pretty much gone, save for a very faint line that was a slightly more pink than the rest of my skin, which I knew would be gone in the next couple of days. I gingerly probed the back of my skull to find the spot where I'd hit it, back at the Sisters, what seemed like aeons ago now. I winced when I found it – it was smaller, but still there. All in all my injuries were better, and soon they'd be gone, and I could even pretend they'd never been there at all.

If only mental and emotional distress was as easy to deal with and get rid of as that.

With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror and went about getting clothes.

When I was finished getting dressed, in black skinny jeans, so old that the knees were worn grey, and the cuffs were all cut up because they'd been slightly too long for me when I'd bought them and a plain light grey vest underneath the same navy sweatshirt of Rob's I'd borrowed before and hadn't yet given back to him - it comforted me, a little, to be wearing it. I pressed one of the sleeves to my mouth, closed my eyes and inhaled, smelling him and it pulled my lips up in a small smile – it was only seven forty.

Still ridiculously early to be up on a Saturday.

Heck, I even did my hair, which I never normally did. It wasn't that I wasn't good at it, I was actually really good when it came to hair, and buns, braids and so on, and I used to be super into doing cute things with my hair, but for the past couple of years, it was just... I don't know, laziness? When my hair wasn't down, in its natural waves or straightened, it was in a high ponytail. I decided and vowed, when I was done doing it into a simple French braid, that I'd try and get back into it.

Maybe when all this 'necromancer' shit wasn't such a big deal.

So maybe never.

At seven fifty five, I eventually plucked up the courage to make my way downstairs again, where hopefully, my mom hadn't been down yet and seen all her beloved plants dead.

When had luck been in my favour lately?

She was sitting, on the edge of the couch, her small pothos on her lap, one hand wrapped around the pot, the limp, dry leaves in the flat palm of her other. Her expression was confused, and stricken.

I thought about just slipping past, into the kitchen, to escape her upset and the sudden guilt I felt – because I knew then, that their deaths were my fault. I mean, my mom looked after those plants with all of her heart and pride, and the fact that there was a necromancer in the house too? Their deaths weren't down to neglect nor anything natural.

But I felt even worse about just leaving her.

"Hey, mom..." I said softly, breaking the silence.

And even though my voice had been quiet, she still jumped, clearly not expecting it. "Oh, Sarah!" she said, nearly dropping the pot, before looking down at it sadly once more, and then setting it on the coffee table. She stood and turned to face me, forcing a smile on her face. "You're up early!"

I nearly murmured 'didn't sleep too good', but instead, after going to bite my lip – and realising it was still sore and cut up from yesterday when I'd bitten it – and instead just poking my tongue against the injury, I replied "So are you."

"Yeah." She nodded, and unable to help herself, she gazed around at the plants, her face falling a little. "I just got a bad feeling, about a half hour ago, and I came downstairs..." she sighed, trailing off. She ran a hand through her hair, before folding her arms across her chest and giving me wide eyed, confused look. "All my plants... they're dead. All of them. In here, the kitchen, your dad and mine's room, God, I'd hate to check in the garden... how're yours?" she told me, and as she asked the last part, there was a little bit of hope in her voice.

I wanted to lie to her and make her feel better and tell her they were okay. But I couldn't do that. I had so many lies I told her, and everyone else. Only two others knew the truth, one of which didn't really count, and the other of which had been fucked up by the lies – and the truth – in the first place. So I downcast my eyes and shook my head.

"Oh." She said, after a moment. "I... I don't even know what to do. How this could have happened... I looked after them, watered them, just the right amount, every day, had them in the best place for sunlight..."

I walked over to her and put a hand on her upper arm. Asked, in my best coaxing voice "I'll make us tea and toast."

After a moment of almost franticly looking around at the plants, her speech fast and frustrated, her shoulders slumped in defeat and she smiled sadly at me, nodding.

So I did just that, making both cups of tea sweet and milky, because we liked it the same, and spreading strawberry jam on my toast and marmalade on hers, and she tried to make chat to distract herself, telling me dad was still snoring away, that my hair looked pretty like that, and, just as I set the plate of toast in front of her, sat down with my own, and she thanked me and sipped her tea, she asked me whether I had any plans for the day.

"I-" as if on cue, my phone rang then, and I pulled it out of my pocket – to see Rob's name on the screen.

"Take it." Mom said, with a smile, waving a hand at me to do so.

So I smiled back and nodded, excusing myself and hitting the answer button once I was back in the living room, alone again.

"Hey." I said softly when I put the phone to my ear.

"Sarah, I can't come with you to meet Marcus."