Asunder

Chapter 16 - Worried

I don't sleep that night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.

For the three days following mom's surprise, I don't enter my room. At all. I don't leave the living room adjacent to the kitchen, laying on the couch, taking clothes from the laundry room downstairs, and sneaking in and out of bathrooms to take care of hygiene. Or what little is left of it: I don't wash my face in those three days either, let alone put on any makeup or do my hair. It feels like a part of my organized life has gone away, and like now it's just falling into chaos. Without my routine, without the eyeliner and the mascara, without properly doing my bangs, it now feels like truly everything is in shambles.

All of that, all of it; because of that bed.

I ended up letting mom pick the thing out for me. I couldn't bear to choose, to willingly give in and participate in the erasing of Maya. So I sat there, numb and smiling, as she picked out the sheets, the pillows, everything. I don't even know what the damn thing looks like. And I don't care. I don't want to see it. So I just gave her everything she wanted to hear, everything she wanted to see. I nodded and smiled and approved. And she didn't second-guess it.

Though my nights are restless, my eyes would rather shut to see nothingness than stay open for hours. But in the nothingness, thoughts are more prominent than ever. These three days have been the longest of my life. The most unbearable. In my body and soul now, I am weary. And so one morning after another sleepless night, my eyes are opened by hands grabbing at my feet.

"Kingsley. Kingsley."

I lift up my heavy lidded eyes to see dad, smiling at me from the other end of the sofa. His wide eyes and gaping maw give me pause, make me want to look away.
But I know that smile could turn into a glowering nightmare; the face he makes in the split second where he shifts from annoyed to absolutely furious, that split second that lasts years. That lasts all my life, living on as a dark memory in my mind.
I prefer this unsettling smile to that terror. So I don't say anything to interrupt him, schooling my face into irreproachable neutrality as he sets down a basket beside me.

"Some girl just brought this over for you. She said her name was Emma. Do you know an Emma?"
I nod, sitting up, and take the opportunity to look away from him and to the package. The wicker basket is honey brown, and tinted a subtle red. Though the brightest colors come from the neon pink and blue tissue paper, on which lie a rose, a large, white shoe box and a letter.

"This is... unexpected," I say, taking the flower by its stem. But dad's already walked away, leaving me to my gift in the middle of my sentence.
The tips of the rose's petals have been dipped in purple dye, judging by the unnatural ombré of their colors. I set it down on a nearby coffee table. The shoe box is the next thing in my hands, and I notice before opening it that it smells vaguely like the inside of a bakery.
As soon as the lid comes off, the delicious smell envelops me, and I have to admire Emma's choice in pastries: cream filled eclairs stuffed with strawberries bright with ripeness, apple turnovers in blankets of cinnamon sugar, mini lemon tarts with dollops of cream on top...

I put the lid back on and set the box aside next to the rose. I plan to eat them once I find my appetite. Once food becomes a priority again.It would be a shame to let these go to waste.
This gift... it's still hard for me to believe it's from Emma. The whole situation is unbelievable. She must be incredibly desperate to talk to me if she'd do all this. But why? Why me, and why now? Emma has friends. Friends she'd deem more worthy than me. Especially since she spent some time pushing me around in the halls, making fun of my struggling grades, awkward demeanor, ethnicity, the list goes on. Maybe she wants to adopt me so I don't go around spreading her bra-stuffing secret.

I make a mental note to assure her that she can stop her efforts, because I would never divulge that sort of information. Less out of kindness, more out of complete and utter indifference.