I trudged home at the usual school dismissal time, having spent hours wandering the streets to avoid facing the accusing glares. The question echoed in my mind: Was I truly running from something I didn't do?
My mind raced with possibilities. Who could have died? Why did everyone suspect me? The memory of Teacher Morris's face haunted me – her expression seemed to hold a secret I desperately needed to uncover.
I forced a weak smile onto my face to greet Mom, but it felt like a fragile mask. The moment I slipped into my room, the facade crumbled. A strange, unsettling sensation crept over me, like a dark whisper in my ear.
"What's happening to me?" I whispered, panic rising.
Memories I thought were long buried began to resurface, taunting me. "Do it! You'll like it!" Dorris White's voice echoed in my mind, conjuring that fateful night.
My imagination took hold, guiding my hands down my body, toward the forbidden. I felt myself surrendering to the temptation, my hands tracing the curves of my lap, inching closer to the edge.
But reality snapped back into focus, and I leapt off the bed, rushing to the bathroom. I turned the shower on, letting the water wash away the dark thoughts.
As the cool droplets soaked my clothes and tangled my hair, I let out a sob. Tears mixed with the falling water, a desperate attempt to cleanse myself.
Just then, a knock at the door broke the silence. Mom's gentle rapping echoed through the wood.
I froze, unsure if I'd locked the door. Was it shame that drove me to hide? Why had I almost succumbed to those twisted urges?
The water continued to fall, a steady beat that mirrored my racing heart. I stood frozen, unable to face my mother or myself.
After few minutes, I opened the bathroom door, the unsettling sensations finally subsiding. Dripping wet, I changed into fresh clothes, the knocks growing louder. Mom's gentle voice called out, "Gladys, can you help me in the kitchen?"
I opened the door and nodded, following her, my feet heavy with emotions. In the kitchen, I mechanically completed tasks, unable to speak. The feeling of defeat suffocated me.
Mom's lovely face smiled at me, "Gladys, honey, how was school today?"
"Fine..." I muttered, gaze shifting back to the utensils.
"Haven't you been checking? There's a new English quiz competition," Mom said, eyes sparkling.
"Where did you hear that?" I asked, curiosity flickering briefly.
"The neighbors mentioned it," Mom replied. "Gladys, what do you think?"
Her warmth now felt uncomfortable. My eyes dropped, and I shook my head. "I'm not interested."
Finishing the drying, I turned to leave. "How about some warm milk, sweetie?" Mom offered.
"I'm not hungry," I replied coldly, dragging my feet toward my room.
Mom wiped her hands, removed her apron, and grabbed snacks from the fridge. "Honey, spare me a minute?" She ushered me to the table.
As she smiled and touched my hair, I felt uneasy. Just eleven years old, but I felt mature beyond my years.
"Why didn't you want to join the competition?" Mom asked.
I remained silent.
Thoughts of answering so many questions from my mother make me uncomfortable.
Suddenly, I stood up mid-conversation and walked away.
Everything had changed. How could I behave normally again?
Dinner time arrived, and we gathered around the table. Dad came home, and the aroma of my favorite dish filled the air, but it was tasteless to me. Dad offered me his drumstick, knowing it was my favorite part. I used to savor it, but now it felt like ash in my mouth.
Dad and Mom tried to engage me in conversation, but every word felt like a razor's edge. I made excuses, escaping to the bathroom to avoid their concerned gazes.
Back in my room, I sat on my bed, lost in thoughts. "Why am I making this a big deal?" I wondered. Suddenly, Dorris's voice echoed in my mind, "You do it for fun."
"Shut up and leave me alone!" I shouted at myself, standing up to rejoin dinner.
But as I stepped out, a knock on the door halted me. Who could be visiting at 9 pm? I dragged my feet, curiosity getting the better of me.
Dad's voice echoed from the entrance, "Who's there?"
"We're the police. Can you open the door for a moment?" a deep voice replied.
My heart sank. I rushed to Dad, whispering urgently, "Don't open the door!"
Dad's puzzled expression met mine, his hand already on the doorknob.
Mom approached the door, curiosity etched on her face. "What's going on?"
But I'd already fled, fear gripping my heart.
Should I be captured? Arrested? No, I refused. Was Andrea telling the truth? But who did I kill without knowing?
Panic overwhelmed me, and I felt a warm trickle down my leg as I urinated on myself at the staircase.