Chapter 6
“Cheryl?”
She hesitates. Wobbles on tip-toe. My breath catches in the back of my throat. The concrete far below us seems to wobble, like a half-formed solid. Dangerous.
“I’m sorry-” she breathes, turning back to face me, all the lights of the city directly behind her so her face is cast into deep shadows that carve their way under her cheekbones and under her chin. Her breath grates through her lungs. Painful.
“You weren’t going to-” I can’t even say it, but I’m already reaching out instinctively to grasp her bloodied hands. She takes my hands and holds desperately onto me, and slowly sits on the ledge, swinging her legs over the edge and peering into the endless blackness below. I watch her thin knuckles turn white as she grasps the rusting ladder.
“No” she whispers, her head bowed as though in prayer. I watch the way her hair falls down over her face, so I can’t see her eyes. I wonder if they’re open or closed. And then she begins to climb down. I resist the urge to lie on my stomach and watch her disappear into the darkness, so instead I stand and listen for her bare feet to touch the concrete below.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, and from somewhere below me, a voice trails out of the darkness.
“Yeah”
I take the rusty, bloodstained ladder in my hands, attempting to ignore the peeling rust and blood sticking to my sweaty palms. I shudder, but don’t loosen my grip on the iron rungs. I climb down slowly, methodically, feeling Cheryl’s blood re-warm from my body-heat, congealing sickeningly into the creases of my palms. As I approach the bottom, I can feel Cheryl’s dark eyes burning into my skin, but I don’t glance behind me. Hot, judgemental, or maybe soft, thankful. Or maybe something else. Whatever I would read in her dark eyes, I’m not sure whether I want to know what she thinks about me. I jump off the last rung and land beside her, and she just blinks at me, as though she’s not entirely sure if I’m real or not.
“Where are we going?” she asks quietly as I stride away, and she almost has to jog to keep up with me as I race along the concrete walkway.
“My flat-” I tell her, not even looking at her as I take her by the hand and half drag her towards my door. I can’t risk her knocking on her own front door, slipping in, in the hope that he was asleep.
“Kimberley, wait-” she whispers through her teeth, her breath hissing slightly. I can watch as her breath turns to smoke and curls like the remnants of a last shared cigarette from between her bloodies lips. I can listen as her chest heaves painfully, but I can’t stand to see the way her impossibly dark eyes widen with fear as she passes her own front door. I can hear her gasp slightly as her eyes skin over the blood droplets on her doorstep.
“Promise me you won’t go back in there-” I hiss, pointing a trembling and bloodstained finger at her front door. Cheryl’s eyes widen, her pupils seeping like ink into her pupils. Huge. As black as the night sky.
“Shh, don’t let him hear you-” she raises a shaking finger and covers my lips.
“Stay here, yeah?” I hold her as she leans back against the wall, her eyes drooping, although I’m not sure whether it’s through fatigue, pain or blood-loss. I blink at the concrete. And I knock on my own front door. The peeling paint sticks to my hands, tacky with Cheryl’s blood. I silently whisper a prayer that my little sister opens the door. What would my mum say? I hesitate before knocking again, my fist half an inch away from the cheap wooden door. I glance quickly at the girl slumped back against the wall, her legs visibly shaking now. I watch as she shrinks back against the concrete, shadows covering her body. I knock.
