The Girl From The Wardrobe

Chapter Seven

VII.

Wed. 17th Dec 2014

San Diego, California

×.

She caressed her lips, the lips she gave to her brother last night. She knew what she had done, or what they had done, was something disgraceful and a shame.

She kissed her brother, Nathaniel. They kissed each other fervidly. She kissed the man with the lustre of blood circulating in his veins – the same fluid running through hers.

She kissed him. She was carried away by the plethoric notch of her emotion, the warmth of the fire he kindled in her heart.

She loved her brother so much. She loved him more than what a sister should feel for her brother. She took the best road to walk away from this rotten horseshit. She battled with this delusional feeling, but a little voice within surmounted her defiance.

Now the kiss made the fire off its gourd. And her heart, went up in the flames like a wildfire destroying the wilderness with impossibility to put down.

Oh, Nate. What will i do?

She was standing in front of a long mirror, looking at her mere reflexion for several minutes. Three years had gone yet everything about her outwardly was as the same as it ever was, like she was just that sixteen-year-old girl waking up from a long, deep slumber atop that bed.

Felisa was almost a living goddess. She had a cherubic face that was lightened up by her glowing porcelain complexion. Her nose was a perfect one, so as her crimson lips. Her burgundy smooth and straight hair flowing over her shoulders like vivid flames. Her emerald eyes were indescribably precious. And nothing faded out.

Someone knocked.

She thought it was her personal alarm. She shinned toward the door to open it. Like who she was expecting, it was Nathaniel.

He was standing at the doorway, in a way completely different from the way he used to. He had no any smile curving on his lips. He was still wearing the shirt and jeans which he'd worn last night. He looked busted, and his face pallidly in megrims. His eyes were tiny like he'd just been awoken from his sleep, jointly with his bed hair.

Nathaniel slipped inside her bedroom without a word, and sat at the rim of her cosy bed. Felisa closed the door and perched beside her brother.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled as he covered his face by his both palms.

She asked softly, "For what?"

"For what happened last night," he explained as he looked to her eyes, dismantling his hands away from his gloomy face.

His eyes. There was no lux, but remorse. They were tinted with regrets, not the bright ones which she always loved to see.

"Nate?" she barely said as she faltered from his gaze. She didn't want to see those sulky eyes.

He fluttered his face to his laps, "This was my entire fault."

"My fault, too." she murmured.

"No," he said dourly. "It was my fault. I was tiddly last night. I was lost, and it was all done before I'd remembered that you were my sister. Everything was wrong. The kiss. It was all wrong. I shouldn't have kissed you, and you shouldn't have kissed me back,"

Nathaniel grunted as if he was stretching those words. And for Felisa, those words were like knives stabbing her as she continued bleeding innards.

"Do..don't you love me?" she asked with the little courage that she all had. Dreading the answer, but aiming to know it.

He raised his head, "Of course, I love you."

"I..I love you too." she stuttered, tottering in nervosity.

"Yeah," he paused, "We loved each other but not in the way that we should kiss like that. I was just intoxicated last night. Please forgive me for what I've done," he uttered shyly.

All Felisa could do was to lend her ears to his voice. She didn't know what to say like she forgot how to speak, like she forgot what speaking was for.

She felt like being swallowed, and being spat up at the same time. Partly dead and alive.

"I think I'd just hallucinated last night. I thought you were some other girl," he continued, "I really didn't mean to kiss you. Shit, you were my sister but I kissed you."

"So you meant you didn't really mean that kiss?" she heaved.

"Yeah," he nodded, his head was crooked down to the floor.

"You were drunk, and I was likewise," she gasped. There was a heavy thing blocking the air inside her chest which made her difficult to breathe.

"Yeah. Fuck the bullshit out of me!" he said as he slugged his head by his hands, "I know you wouldn't forgive me very easily because of that."

"No need to worry, Nate. It wasn't anything to me. Let's just forget everything that has happened. You were drunk. I was drunk, and we didn't mean what we did."

Felisa couldn't look at him. She wanted to hide her eyes brimmed with tears. She was hurt.

She didn't expect this thing coming like how she didn't expect that kiss to come. They were identical. Maybe both of them were twins, and fucked-up rubbishes.

Nathaniel padded off her bedroom, with no more word, leaving her alone in woe. Her eyes bursted into a raging storm.

"Hush, Felisa. Hush. You don't need to cry," she mumbled to herself but the more she did it, the more she sobbed inconsolably.

Why did I fall for you? It was an absolute mistake.

And then, she thought it must probably because she'd been attached with him for the past three years.

But why did she fall knowing he was her brother? So many whys but that certain time she learnt there was nowhere her feelings were going. It was like driving on an endless road without a destination, and she had to stop.

Depressed, out of her cognisance, she held a blade in her hand. She was pointing it to her wrist, wanting to pierce the sharp steel onto it, wanting to put this road to an end.

She thrust it to her wrist as the sheen of blood stained her mattress. Tears cascaded from her eyes like waterfalls, together with blubbing.

All she wanted was to terminate the pain she felt inside. She was wounded, and she knew it would be healed but would leave a mindful scar. Emotional pain was truly more painful than physical pain. It was shredding her heart into pieces, into bits, into fragments, into dust, until it would be blown by the wind, and be gone.

Abruptly, her vision turned black and she fell into torpidity as she shut her eyes in serenity – with the redness of blood oozing out from her wrist. It stained the white mattress. She, then, closed her eyes in peace.

"Felisa! Run, run!" the forlorn shriek of a girl as she runs up on the staircase. She's so scared and hysterical like someone's chasing her dreadfully. She's so divergent from the girl she uses to be, an elated and joyful girl that Felisa always sees.

She's never seen her like this. She's never imagined Dorothea being bordered by fear.

Dorothea's eyes, the hue of a hazelnut, convey an empathy of monstrosity and morosity. She chases her breath as quick as her toes touch the stairs at a swift pace. She runs toward Felisa who can't make any movement in front of an open door of her bedroom, seemingly confused with what is happening.

Felisa widens her greenish eyes in the vagueness of the scene. Why does Dorothea run? Screaming, and telling her to run. To run, to run from what?

Suddenly, in the speed of light, a loud sound of a shotgun shakes the whole place. She's blown out of the water by the clamant impact of the slug. She shockingly sees how blood drips from Dorothea's florid lips, making it redder in tincture.

Dorothea, the fourteen-year-old girl with a partially curly, charcoal hair, drops on the floor dead. Blood continues to pour forth from her mouth. Her eyes soberly open.

Another blood has shed. Another life is taken away.