Alice Stays Home

Ch. TWENTY-ONE - If You Wouldn't Care, I Would Like To Breath

The morning Serena left home, she didn't wake me up.

Not even to say bye.

I got up, and her room was strangely quiet (there was always horrible ear-splitting music coming from her room), so I went to see. And she wasn't there anymore.

The giant mirror was empty, even though I could still picture her trying on a zillion things.

And never once did she ask me which one I liked best.

Never.

Of course for her my opinion is as good as a cell phone without internet connection. And one you can't call from!

This morning I woke up with a start because I felt Serena's finger in my ear and heard her telling me sweetly: "Time to get off your ass, queen of munters."

Just a dream.

One of those that come right at the end of sleep and throw me out in broad daylight with my eyes wide open. And they're so vivid, they stay with me for hours, like the smell of cigarettes in my hair after spending time with Andrea in her room.

I turn to the light coming through the window. I'd like to stay here, in this bed, until I melt between the sheets. Liquefied by the sun rays that have never been so intense, as far as I remember.

Anyway, after a while I get up. I can hear noises from the kitchen. I'm stuck to my bedroom door, trying to tune in to the sounds to understand who the hell is there. My parents are already at work. Serena's in another space-time dimension. It's just me in the house.

My throat suddenly tightens up and my legs get all stiff from the scare.

Somewhere, remotely in my brain, the frightening image of the men with sewn eyes I saw with Skià takes form. According to Bob they're the envious of "The Divine Comedy," but they remind me more of the silent brothers in "Shadowhunters" (only their mouths are sealed).

If they had followed me, would they be able to get into the house? I mean, could they find me here?

Maybe they're having coffee.

Even my inner voice is playing with me.

From my bare feet on the floor, I feel a pang of cold running through my body. I wish we had a beautiful dark wooden floor, nice and warm even in the middle of winter, so cosy it welcomes you with its attractive smell promising not to harm you when you get out of bed. Instead, in my room, all I have are wonderful white morgue tiles that feel like you're standing in a fricking igloo every single time.

I hate the cold, especially in the morning.

I've got a surprise waiting for me in the kitchen that almost sends me into the orbit.

"What are you doing here?"

I'm not sure it's real, I mean, that she's actually here.

Mum looks at me raising her eyebrow with a gesture she has patented and no one else can replicate.

Her famous "eyebrow raise" has so many meanings that it would take a dictionary to interpret it correctly, and each time it means something different.

"I'm going in later today."

I take a few steps and walk over to the table where she's sitting. In front of her is her favorite breakfast mug, the one she bought on a trip to Seville, like, two million years ago.