Write Me a Cliché

Chapter Seven

~Raeni~

Seven Weeks Ago

Eira's House

My gaze drew upward, staring at the painted starry ceiling before they fell on Mea. Her chipped nails touched the porcelain desk in a constant rhythm, while her brown eyes swept over Eira's bedroom in rapid movements. We were all on edge, but there was something strange about her. Her calm exterior was frayed; a sort of glitch between her innocent smiles and fearful eyes.

"Do you ever feel like you poured your heart out to someone and they walked all over it?" Eira asked, resting her head on the round plush cushion. A bandage was wrapped around her forehead along with another around her left hand. Her legs were stretched out on the mattress, a white comforter placed over her feet. For someone who was grossly rich, her room lacked all the items I would've expected in a spoiled teenager's room.

The walls were painted a bland white, remaining bare of any photographs other than a clock by her door. White curtains framed the tall windows, blocking out the rays of the afternoon sun. Near the window, she had two purple bean bags, on which sat Sazil and Roxas.

Eira had offered me a spot on her bed, which was positioned in the centre of her room. Awkwardly, I fiddled with my fingers, my eyes continuously straying towards Mea, who sat at the desk across from the bed. Only Baylor remained by the door, his arms lazily crossed across his chest as he stared at the rest of us.

"No," Sazil answered, playing with the strings of her floral printed hijab. "Because I haven't ever been in a position where my heart isn't beating inside my chest."

Roxas tittered. "I like you. Why didn't we ever hang out before?"

"Technically, we're not hanging out but gathering to discuss important matters," Eira commented, remaining the least bothered. Looking at her was like glancing at a mirage. At first, she appeared welcoming in her home. Only when I looked long enough, I realized her stance was rigid and she was anything but comfortable. "Like the fact that the police are looking into my tampered car. We need to discuss what we're telling the police."

"Technically, that's still called hanging out," Sazil pointed out, a soft smile playing on her lips. She didn't speak with the intention of belittling anyone, but she spoke in a way that made me uncertain whether she was joking. It was too early for jokes and games when it had only been two days since Eira was discharged from the hospital. We had serious matters to worry about. Like the police, as Eira pointed out. "Either way, I think we should let the police handle this matter. This is too serious for us senior high school students to deal with."

"No," Baylor interjected. "We shouldn't go to the police. What if we get in trouble and are somehow pulled into an investigation concerning Nalci?"

I paused, my gaze lowered as I paid attention to Baylor's words. There was no point in speaking when I had nothing to offer. Instead, there was value in remaining quiet when I didn't understand the people in front of me. I wasn't Sazil. I didn't jump in when I felt threatened.

"What investigation?" Roxas asked, leaning forward in his spot. He clasped his hands on his lap, matching Baylor's steady gaze with distraught eyes.

"Think about it," he started, pushing away from the floor. His socked feet softly thumped against the hardwood floor as he walked around. "We all get letters. One of us doesn't show up and the other gets into an accident. Then we all figure out that somehow we're connected to Hillel Nalci, the boy who disappeared two years ago. If you don't remember, there was a police investigation then. But no one understood what really happened to him. Don't you think the police will now grasp at anything they can find to solve one of the coldest cases of Athabasca? How far do you think they would go to frame someone?"