The Treehouse Club {On Hold}

Chapter Two // Jessie

JESSIE

I check the time again. Still five more hours, three more rehearsals, and two written essays before I'm free.

Mother is still calling me from downstairs. We have to go now or I'm going to be late for my piano practice, and we couldn't have that, now could we? I finish stuffing all my new paints into the bottom of my oversized black backpack - the bane of my Mother's existence - and finally make my way down stairs. I've stalled as long as I can.

My knee-highs are itching more than usual today, but I can't reach down to scratch my legs or Mother will lecture me about fidgeting. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way down stairs: perfect pigtails, clean cardigan, ironed skirt. The epitome of a perfect appearance, in my mother's opinion at least. I sigh. Only five more hours until this is over, I remind myself, and you can finally be free.
With that thought in mind, I put on a pretty smile, adjust my painful socks one last time, and descend the stairs to meet my Mother. As expected, she immediately begins the lecture on the importance of promptness. I let her words flow past me, keeping my head turned towards the window of our sleek black Mercedes as we drive down our prestigious driveway, away from our overly large house. These are the days I hate the most. The days where I am surrounded by the things I loathe most in this world. The days where my escape is still far off. The days where it's even hard for Day Jess to keep a smile on her face. These are the days when it is most difficult to keep Night Jess contained.

But for now, there is no escape, nothing I can do, and all I can say is: these next five hours better go by fast, because Day Jess is getting restless, and Night Jess is itching for release.

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It's already been dark for an hour by the time we finally arrive back to our house, which is fine by me; I thrive in the darkness.

My Mother is exhausted by this time too, and I silently thank God for that. It makes my life a thousand times easier. As soon as we step inside, she hangs up her expensive coat, gives me a small smile, and bids me goodnight. I wait downstairs a while longer, just to make sure she's asleep, before I climb the stairway into my bedroom. I quickly change my clothing, throwing away my tight, itchy skirt, and replacing it with a pair of ripped black jeans, loose around the waist and spiked across the pockets. My shirt is soon abandoned too, and instead I throw on my favorite band tee. The last touch is my beanie and sneakers, before I grab my backpack and head out the door. This time, when I pass my reflection in the mirror on the stairs, I do not stop and stare in disgust. If Mother saw me now I would be unrecognizable, and that's just the way I like it.

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My favorite spot to paint is an abandoned house in the woods. It's behind the park in the next neighborhood over from me, and I make my way there now. I don't fear that I'll be seen; no one around here is up past ten, and it's not like any of my neighbors would recognize Night Jess anyway. They're used to Day Jess: the preppy, multi-talented daughter of Tom Aristole. I don't think they realize that most of my "talents" include vandalizing the buildings they put their hard earned money toward creating. I mean sure, these big houses and fancy cars are great, to an extent. It's just not where I belong.
I belong on back alleys, painting beautiful things in the darkness, things Day Jess would see as vandalism, but things Night Jess knows to be the most prestigious form of art. This is where I know I belong, because while I'm anywhere else, pretending to be the good girl my parents think I am, the only thing going through my mind is how much I wish I was here.

By now I'm almost to the abandoned house. I've past the arsonist's yard, the old clearing that always smells like smoke and constantly has new scorch marks littering the trees surrounding it. The smell is worse today, so someone must have burnt something here recently, or it wouldn't smell this strong. Next stop is the treehouse, a worn down room perched in a tree near the clearing. I know what's coming. The abandoned house is up next.

As I approach, I grab my paints out of my bag, my hands twitching with excitement. I've waited all day for this. Day Jess might be getting sleepy, but Night Jess just woke up.