Anathema

Secrets

Elodie had fallen asleep, trying to hollow out the brutal pang of guilt. The brunette's eyelashes fluttered against the table. It was wet with shed tears. Her brows crinkled in confusion, skin raw from the salty residue.

“Elodie.”

An opaque white startled her, unfocused like she had blinked after staring that a fluorescent light for too long. She thought it to be the remnants of sleep. It wavered against the middle aisle, reminiscent of the lightening bugs she'd held captive in her younger years. The numbness of her fingertips warmed at the sight.

“Elodie... Are you here?”  Elodie instantly recognized the heavy sorrow in her little sister's voice. Her heart jumped with excitement. The white had faded, saturated with the form of the young blonde.

“I'm-” Elodie jumped from her chair, hip bumping against the side, “I'm here!”

Nola grabbed at her own sleeves, tugging them over her fingers and wrinkling them between tightened fists. Tears began to stream down her face, features twisted and angry. Her fist lifted and she slammed it into the book shelf, knocking the hardcovers onto the floor.

“Nola?” Elodie whispered, approaching the taller girl from behind. Her sister's shoulders heaved as she sobbed violently. “Nola, what's wrong?” She reached out.

“I'm so stupid,” Nola muttered, crestfallen.

“No you're not,” Elodie cooed, sadness washing over her as well. Her hand finally fell on Nola's shoulders. She couldn't feel a thing. In shock, she brought her hand back to herself, staring at the thin, pale digits with fright. Nola startled, whipping around to face her. Her gaze was focused somewhere in the distance and flicked over the library nervously.  I can't touch her. 

Elodie's chest began to seize with the realization. “Nola, can you see me?” Nola continued to survey the surrounding bookshelves with mild intimidation. Her eyes never fell on Elodie herself.

“Elodie, is that you?” she whispered, tone low and scared. The older girl's eyes widened considerably, blinking away hot tears that gathered in her eyes.  Why can't she see me?

“Yes, yes, I'm here.” Elodie's tone sounded as more of a plea than a statement, her own dread washing over her. Nola gave her words no recognition, turning towards her. Her sobs began again and the blonde ran forward. Elodie nearly dove out of her way, but felt the force of the blonde's body moving through hers. Her breath caught in her throat like the girl had drug it forth with her steps.

She remained still, cold sweat working it's way over her shoulders as her breath emitted in shallow wheezes.

“Nola, wait!”

Her lips were stained a cherry red, like she'd been sipping wine since mid-day. The color rose into her cheeks as she spoke, beautiful features contorting with irritation. Nola could smell the cigarette smoke that lingered on her skin and night robe.
"Do you know how hard I work?" The voice was soft, with an serrated edge that dug into Nola's veins. Nola emptied her cup, watching the coke foam around the particles in the stainless steel sink. Her mother's jaw worked angrily. "I said," she rounded the counter with a slow working of long legs that peeked from the slit in the fabric. Her footsteps were quiet against the unevenly tiled floor. "Do you know how hard I work?" Her voice had become quieter with her approach, a small hiss clinging to the words like a curse.
"I know you work hard, Mom," Nola whispered, cautiousness always embedding itself in their conversations.
A flowered coffee mug slipped from her mother's hand, resonating with a sharp sound off of the marble counter. Coffee bounced from the porcelain container and onto her mother's thin wrist that was barely covered by the quarter sleeve of sky blue silk. She had always looked like an angel.
"Why is it that I'm receiving phone calls from your counselor?" The older woman's tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she waited for a response. Her eyebrow arched with impatience. Her lips worked into a snarl as she neared her daughter. "Why am I being called, while I am working my ass off to support this family, and being told that my daughter is struggling?" Her lanky fingers stretched and pressed against the island bar. It seemed like a joke to her, that Nola should feel anything.  
Anger lit the still sea blue of Nola's eyes.  "Sorry, Mom."  Her shoulders were rigid with the proximity, head tilted to the point that her bangs would shield the tears gathering.  She flinched when the woman had moved close enough that Nola could smell the stale scent of sour grapes.
"Do you think that I don't care?" Her mother's voice wavered with the tell-tale mark of intoxication. "What your sister did... It doesn't just affect you." Her voice cracked like chipping ice. "How you're acting... How do you think that makes me look?"