"Wow, so that's how you really feel, huh? Good to know, Mom, good to know," I stuttered, snatching the box from her hands with a mixture of disbelief and anger. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense and heavy.
"Yeah, I have to pick some stuff up, so like, get out of my room," I exhaled, trying to keep my voice steady. Mom looked spiteful, her eyes glinting with a mix of regret and defiance as she mumbled something along the lines of "sorry" and "no." Her hesitation was awkward, but eventually, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the stairs.
"F-ck!" I threw the box down, watching as its contents scattered across the floor. The toy's arm snapped off, landing with a soft thud. Huh, what did Mom tell me about seeing a therapist again? I sank onto the bed, surrounded by the remnants of my childhood—figurines, posters, and trophies that once meant something. Now they all seemed like shallow lies I had been telling myself.
My gaze lingered on the dust-covered shelves, memories clinging to each item like cobwebs. How could she dismiss my grief like that? I'll never forgive her, I thought, as I began picking up the books that had fallen from the tremor that was my mother. There wasn't much, but some of them I've had since kindergarten. The worn covers and dog-eared pages, some gifted, some borrowed from the library and never returned.
"Heh, five years. the fees must've been stacking up." I inhaled. No wonder the librarian gave me a stink-eye every time I walked through the library.
"The house had some kind of power, didn't it?" I murmured to myself, running a finger along the spines of the books. The room felt strangely still, the silence punctuated only by the faint ticking of a clock.
I didn't even get to flip through the pages when I heard a faint tapping on the window. My heart skipped a beat. That's weird, we're on the second floor. I rushed to the window, the cold glass chilling my skin, and peered outside. There, in the dim light of the evening, stood Finn and Rachel, their faces pale and anxious. They were throwing stones at my window, the small pebbles clattering against the glass.
"Are you trying to break my windows?" I yelled, my voice sharp with irritation.
"Trish, we need to talk to you!" Rachel shouted, her voice carrying a note of desperation. Seeing her made me sick inside my stomach. She didn't seem to have any ounce of regret in her face.
"Get the hell off my property!" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.
"Tri-gonal, we need to talk, my man," said Finn, trying to sound casual, but the unease was evident in his eyes. A half-baked smile plastered across his face, a poor attempt to ease the tension.
"There's nothing to talk about, so scram!" I nodded, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen slightly.
"You can't move there, Trish! That house is haunted!" Rachel cried, her voice cracking. Her words hung in the air, heavy with urgency.
"Cool," I said, dismissing her concerns with a wave. I slammed the window shut, the sound echoing through the room. No point in talking to idiots.
"It killed people! Most of them are never the same!" Finn's voice rose, louder this time, cutting through the quiet of the evening.
"What?" I heard Kiara's small, concerned voice from her bedroom next to mine. The walls felt thin, her worry seeping through.
"They're lying, Kiki, pack your stuff!" I called out, trying to reassure her. I shot one last glare at Finn and Rachel before turning away.
"We'll talk downstairs," I declared, my voice steady but filled with underlying frustration. The tension in the air was palpable, like the calm before a storm.
I can't risk my plan going south because of these two trying to 'help' me in my life.