The Calling | The House of Voices #1

Fifteen - Covered Up

Covered Up

October:

I frowned at the exact replica of myself that stared back at me from the mirror as I tried to tame the unruly knots in my hair.

No.  Scratch that. The girl staring back at me wasn’t an exact replica of myself. The other girl didn’t seem to be wincing in pain like I was.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I pulled the sleeves of my slightly-baggy, ugly, olive-green sweater down to cover up my handiwork from last night. Since the sweater was a little large, the sleeves ended about an inch past my finger-tips, well and truly concealing the somewhat-swollen, dark pink scratch marks on my forearm.

I glanced at the window, where fat drops of water were pelting against the glass, thankful for the unexpected change in weather. The heavy rain meant that it was cold enough inside the institute that my choice of clothing would not be questioned.

If it hadn’t been raining, every single person in the house would have wondered if I was insane to be wearing a sweater like this in the middle of August.

Maybe it was a good thing I was in a mental institute, huh?

Smiling wryly at my reflection, I replaced my hairbrush on my dresser and pulled my hair up into a high ponytail.

“Okay, this sucks.”

I turned around to find Kara walking into the room, her head thrown back in frustration. Actually, it looked more like she was dragging herself into the room rather than just walking.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Have you taken a look out the window?” She moaned, collapsing face-first onto her bright yellow bedspread. “It’s like we’ve been tossed into a washing machine or something.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that bad. I actually think it looks pretty nice today.”

I wasn’t lying.

Kara’s and my room window looked directly out onto the large, yawning stretch of unoccupied land just beyond the institute’s property line. Large spruce trees, fresh green grass and beautiful wild flowers covered almost every inch of the land, making the entire scene look like a painting in an art gallery. And with the grey storm clouds overhead casting a slight tint across the scene, it was definitely something Kara could have turned into a masterpiece –  if she could just get over her hatred of rain long enough for her to paint it.

“Whatever.” Kara snapped into her bedspread, kicking her legs in the air and flopping back down again. “Just make it stop.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, Kara” I crossed to room and headed over to the door, guided by the sounds of rumbling emitting from my empty stomach, “but I don’t control the weather.”

She grumbled something unintelligible into her duvet. Shaking my head, I exited the room eager to get downstairs and eat something before my session with Darren.

I bounded down the stairs and into the large, bright dining room and my eyes flew open when the smell of maple syrup hit my nose. Confused, I cautiously stepped closer to the table, where Sid was standing behind an empty seat at the head of the table, staring at the food in bewilderment.

“Is that what I think it is…?” I whispered excitedly as Sid looked up to grin at me.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded animatedly. “Waffles and pancakes!”

“Oh. My. God.” I scuttled over to stand beside him and gape at the table which was laden with plates and plates of pancakes and waffles; bowls of fruit, nuts and chocolate sauce and jars of chocolate spread and jam. Gaping, I turned to Sid and asked, “Who’s dying?”