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❝ THE CURSE THAT BINDS.❞
WHEN KELSEY WOKE up, she was greeted with an immediate discomfort that ran from her neck down towards her lower spine. She rotated around uncomfortably under the blanket, crediting her back pain to the small, hard-sprung cushioning of Mike's old couch.
The next thing that came to Kelsey's mind was the smell. What was it? The buttery, creamy scent blazed around her and filled her nostrils as her consciousness finally came into full being. She opened her eyes.
The room was eerily quiet and dim; she felt just as much of a stranger as she did on the first night she slept there.
Time stretched interminably. She felt as though she had been awake for hours, when in reality, it had probably only been a few minutes. There were no windows for the morning sun to stream through; the two small lamps in each corner of the room was the only source of light in the basement, and Kelsey had begun to grow sick of its artificially yellow, dim glow.
She looked up at the clock on the wall. 9:00am. She sighed in relief. 9:00 was a perfectly acceptable time to get out of bed in the morning, which meant she didn't have to lie on Mike's couch for another second. Kelsey wondered how Martin was able to sleep so comfortably on his couch. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light, and—
The thought finally hit her. Martin. She glanced tentatively over towards the couch her brother was sleeping in, but jumped in surprise to see Martin already sitting up, cross-legged as he chowed down on a bowl of what looked like mac and cheese. It was his favorite meal. The buttery smell in the air finally made sense.
Kelsey sat upright, tearing the thin blanket off her. There was a fan in the room, but all it seemed to be doing was recirculating hot air around the room. "Where did you get that?" she asked him, her voice thin and curious.
Martin blankly glanced at her once, and then averted his gaze back down to his bowl.
Kelsey sighed. "Mars—"
"So now you're talking to me again?" he interrupted sharply, dropping the fork into his bowl. He still wasn't looking at her; his gaze was near her, like he was looking directly past her.
