Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 5

Present Day

I wake up to utter silence. An unnatural sort of silence.

The sun beams through the undressed window, lighting up the room in a way that seems to contrast the stark mood of the house. I keep my eyes locked on the brightness, relishing in the warmth I can feel from it, like it will keep me safe from whatever—whomever—is here.

I take in a shaky breath and then focus on the room around me.

The heat from the sun aside, the room is a little stuffy.

I’m not cold.

I blow out a harsh breath. Whoever it was last night is not in this room now, at least.

I don’t know how I’m going to live in a house with a ghost. I see them other places after Mom; not in the place I’m living. I know Rhea will never believe me—she’s definitely not the spiritual type. Actually, I’m not sure I am either, but it’s a bit hard to ignore the dead do walk among us. Not when you’re me.

Maybe the ghost is gone for good. As I swing my legs out of the bed, I hope that he is.

My trek to the bathroom doesn’t result in any phantom whispers or cold snaps, thankfully. But as I move past Rhea’s door on the way back out, a shiver crawls over my skin. I can’t explain and I don’t want to. Blissfully unaware is the mood I’m going for.

Stepping foot into the kitchen, I gaze around at the mess and clutter. Last night, after Rhea left for work, I had wandered into here but was unable to summon the energy to clean and figure out what to make for dinner. Instead, I had gone to a local cafe a few blocks away for an early dinner, with a plan to tackle the project in the morning.

With a sigh, I clear empty freezer meal boxes and wrappers from the counters, then start looking through drawers and cupboards to familiarize myself with the setup.

Turns out, there isn’t one. Every cupboard has a mishmash of cups, plates, bowls, and miscellaneous items clogging the shelves. With all the laminate doors open, I stare, turning in a circle to look at the chaos hiding behind them.

I don’t understand how my sister has slipped into this sort of disorganization. Our childhood home was always set up to have everything in its place; a constant reminder of Mom since Dad refused to change anything after her death. God forbid, you put the two different spoon sizes together in the silverware drawer because Mom would have never.

I check the clock on the stove. I have three hours before I need to leave to make the fifteen-minute walk to the university for the first day of orientation. Determined to bring some order to the chaos, I start clearing out every cupboard.

Two hours later, I am feeling pretty pleased with myself. I close the cupboard doors on perfectly stacked shelves, each one holding it owns implements. Lemon-scented air envelops me, wafting off the clean surfaces and counters, from the cleaning supplies I found under the kitchen sink. I reach the last cupboard and pause, sifting through the contents with my eyes. My sister’s stashed pantry items, found in various cupboards and drawers, are all organized neatly inside. There isn’t much, and I make a mental note to find a grocery store to stock up on canned goods and snacks.

I hit the refrigerator next. I wrinkle my nose at the various takeout containers that have been on the shelves for who knows how long, leaking brown liquid out from the bottoms. When I’m done clearing the spoiled food and wiping down the shelves and walls, I find myself looking into an empty refrigerator. Well, that’s not totally true.

There’s a bottle of ketchup, a stick of butter, and a handful of fast food sauce tubs and packets.

Shaking my head, my heart twisting with sadness for the way my sister has been living. I’m sure it is because she works so much to survive that she can’t keep things tidy, or keep basic staples in the pantry and fridge so she has easy meals and snacks at home.

I feel guilty that she has been doing this alone for so long.

I let the fridge door shut and open the freezer, pausing. There’s a handful of frozen dinners, a couple of frozen pizzas, and then several packages of…something. I pick up one of the hand-sized packages, wrapped in white butcher paper. There are no labels to identify what it is, but it looks just like the meat packages Dad gets from the local butcher.

My fingers pick at the tape holding the paper shut so I can take a peek, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“What are you doing?”

I yelp, dropping the package. It lands on my foot, making me hiss at the way it crushes my toes. My hand on my chest like I’m attempting to keep the racing heart in place, I swing around to face Rhea.

“You scared me,” I say, laughing a bit breathlessly.

Rhea doesn’t laugh. Her tired eyes are locked on the package next to my feet. I swipe it up, setting it back on the neat stack in the freezer—the only neat thing I found in this entire kitchen.

“I was trying to figure out what it was,” I explain, closing the freezer door. When I turn back around, I meet her eyes. “I’m going to go to the grocery store and I didn’t want to buy a bunch of meat you already had. So I was trying to see if it was pork or beef or—”

“Those are mine,” she interrupts. “You won’t like it. Just leave those alone.”

My brows knit together. “What is it?”

Rhea hesitates, studying me. “Veal,” she answers finally.

Stomach lurching at the idea, I give her a wide-eyed look. “Veal? You’re eating baby cows?”

She shrugs. “I got it cheap. Basically free, actually.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I don’t think I can eat that,” I add sheepishly. “But I will definitely get some groceries for us both today.”

Nodding, Rhea’s eyes dart around the kitchen. “You cleaned.”

I bit my lip, worried by the flat tone of her voice. “I just wanted to do something to help you,” I rush out. “You’re so busy and I wanted you to come home to a clean space.”

She walks to the closest cupboard and opens it, finding plates and bowls neatly stacked in their own places. Her fingertips drag over some of the plates. Looking down, she pulls open the door below it, finding perfectly aligned silverware—the different sized spoons separated out of habit.

My muscles are so tense that I’m finding it hard to breathe. Unable to even open my mouth with more justifications for touching her things and cleaning, I stand with my shoulders curled in like I’m preparing to take a beating.

At home, I would be.

Rhea clears her throat and shuts the cupboard and drawer. “It’s fine. It looks good.”

I release my breath so fast it whistles through my teeth. “Okay,” I squeak.

She turns on her heel and strides from the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going to shower, eat, and then go to bed.”

Knowing Rhea takes super fast showers, I hustle to finish my cleaning, sweeping the floor and opting to wait on mopping until I won’t be in her way. But I stand back and allow myself to admire the space after it’s all done. I feel good about what I accomplished.

My eyes land on the clock and widen. I only have a few minutes before I need to head to the university. I dart to my room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt that will cover my bruises, and throwing on my trusty purple Vans. As I’m tying my final shoe, I hear Rhea open the bathroom door and jump up, wanting to add just of touch of mascara and wrestle my hair into a quick braid.

“Eeep!” I slap my hands over my eyes to block the sight of my sister’s unclothed body. “I’m sorry!”

Rhea lets out a flat chuckle. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked.”

I return the laugh, but mine sounds nervous. “When we were kids,” I argue. “Why are you walking around naked?”

“Habit,” she answers. I hear a doorknob turn. “It’s all yours.”

I wait until I hear her bedroom door close before I peek through my fingers to make sure I will not get an eyeful of her boobs again. Hurrying into the bathroom, I have to wipe steam from the mirror before I snatch up my mascara and apply a little. Another couple of minutes quickly weaving my hair into a loose braid and I’m grabbing my backpack from my room.

“See you, Rhea!” I call.

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t wait around either, flying out the front door. I set the GPS on my phone to guide me to the school, noting that I’ll have very little time to get lost. I set off at a power walk, gripping the straps of my backpack while it bounces against the top of my butt.

I’m covered in a sheen of sweat and thankful that I used an extra layer of deodorant by the time I make it to the campus. Thankfully, there are signs all over the place, pointing the way to orientation. I get the jitters as I walk into the auditorium, hundreds of students milling around, some defined cliques already formed and eyeing those of us who are solo.

“Hi! Are you here for freshman orientation?” a bright, bubbly voice says.

I face the blonde girl with a nervous smile. “I am.”

She nods with a smile that looks painful it’s so wide, shoving a folder at me. “Here’s all the information you’ll need for orientation. There are maps and stuff on one side. Club and organization flyers, including sorority info, are on the other side. Do you think you’ll join a sorority? Which one?”

I blink at her, my fingers grasping the folder tightly. “I…uh…wasn’t…”

The blonde leans forward with a conspiratorial smile. “I can get you in as a pledge. You might be cute enough to make Delta. Maybe.”

My eye twitches at the backhanded compliment, but I smooth it over with a polite smile. “That’s really nice of you, but I’m—”

She sighs, annoyed. “Everyone wants to be in Delta. I’m offering you something most girls would kill for.”

“Jesus, Amberly. She doesn’t want in your shit sorority. Shut the fuck up.”

I can’t help the gasp that escapes me, my neck popping as I swivel my head around so fast. The girl who spoke up winks at me, her thick black eyeliner making her brown seem darker.

Amberly sniffs, drawing my attention back to her. “Matilda,” she says disdainfully. Then, without another word, she stomps away. I watch as she pastes on that same pretty smile and accosts another female straggler.

“Sorry if you wanted to join,” my rescuer says conversationally. “You looked like you were two seconds from a breakdown if she kept pushing.”

I feel my lips curve into a smile as I look back at her. “I did not want to join,” I confirm.

She smiles at me, holding out a hand. “Tilly.”

“Nova,” I respond, giving her a quick once over. “I like…your…shoes?”

I blush as the last word comes out a question because it’s clear that Tilly and I are like night and day—literally. Tilly is decked in all black, her motorcycle boots ending just below her knee, covering black skinny jeans. Her jewelry—various necklaces and bracelets—is all black. Even her makeup is black, including her lipstick. The only color, in fact, on Tilly at all, is the lime green at the tips of her shoulder length black hair.

Tilly snorts. “You do not like my shoes.”

I cringe. “I mean, I wouldn’t wear them, but they look cool,” I offer.

She laughs. “Nova. It’s okay to not like my boots.”

“I…it is?”

Lifting a brow, she adjusts a black tote bag up on her shoulder. “Yeah. I’m not Amberly. I don’t need someone to validate my existence with shallow compliments they don’t mean.”

I am sure I’m red as a tomato. “Oh.” I cock my head to the side at the familiar way she talks about the blonde girl. “How do you know Amberly?”

Tilly grins. “She’s my sister.”

My mouth drops open. “Your sister?”

She laughs again and I notice this time how sincere it seems. “Yeah. She’s thrilled that I decided to come to the same school she did. Can you tell?”

I giggle a little, but Tilly throws an arm around my shoulders before I can. In her boots, she’s a couple of inches taller than me.

“Come on. Let’s go do this stupid orientation bullshit.”

Feeling emboldened by my new friendship, I walk with her, staying under her arm. “Yeah. This silly orientation stuff,” I agree.

She shoots me a look. “You don’t cuss?”

I find the tail of my braid and yank on it nervously. “No. Does that bother you?” I ask anxiously.

Tilly smiles, and it’s the kindest smile I’ve ever seen. “Nope. Do you, girlfriend. I’m the last person to tell you how to live. As long as it doesn’t bother you that I will use every iteration of damn, fuck, shit, and bitch.”

“Nope,” I mimic. “Do you, girlfriend.”

We exchange grins and then she pulls me deeper into the auditorium.