13. Lilian
Chapter 13
Lilian
The classes pass in a haze, and before I know it, I’m sitting in front of a sewing machine. But instead of using it, I’m hand-sewing a little pattern on the blouse. It’s enough to hear the whirring of the others.
And even so, I prick my finger more than once, drops of blood staining the fabric.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus on the fabric in front of me, on the shape I’m trying to create. It’s supposed to be a little butterfly. But it’s actually not definable. One stitch at a time, I will my hands to steady. The monster can’t get you here.
Bit by bit, I lose myself in the rhythm of the other sewing machines. Maybe one day I can use them myself. But not today. I’m not in the right mindset.
When the professor dismisses us, I hurry to clean up my station, eager to escape .
“Ms. Edmunds, a word, please.” The professor gestures to me.
“You are aware this course is about working with sewing machines.” Her tone is gentle, not angry.
I nod, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’m sorry. I’ve been having some trouble with the machines. I didn’t want to slow down the class.”
The professor’s eyes soften. “I understand. But you know, I can arrange for another student to help you, show you how it works. And, of course, I’m here to assist as well.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“Don’t mention it. Just remember to clean up your desk before you leave, alright?”
“Of course.”
She walks out, leaving me alone in the room, and I let out a shaky breath, gathering up the fabric and supplies. I’m delaying the inevitable, but I need a little bit more time until just hearing that incessant whirring won’t make my stomach churn.
I’m about to grab my bag and leave when I spot fabric samples scattered on another desk. They belong in the supply closet. With a sigh, I place my bag onto my desk and grab them.
The closet is small, cramped, and dark. I’m placing the fabrics on the shelf when a click appears behind me.
No. Please, no.
I whirl around. The door. I rush over, jiggling the handle.
“No, no, no.” I’m trapped. In the dark. Alone .
The walls close in on me, the darkness bearing down on me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
I hammer on the door, my fists aching. “Help! Someone, please! I’m stuck!”
But there’s no answer. Of course not. Everyone’s gone. I’m alone.
My breaths come faster and faster. I can’t get out.
The room around me dims and shifts, replaced by shadows and dust. An antique sewing machine looms before me, blood clinging to its wheels. The floor creaks under my feet as I take a step back, my heart pounding.
Hide.
Not again. Please, not again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, drawing in deep breaths. I’m not there. That place is gone. I’m in my classroom, and everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
The whirring sound fills my head, and nothing is fine.
Someone hums in the distance.
A pound on the door, and the humming stops.
Be quiet. Don’t come out.
I sink to the floor, hands over my head. Hide . I have to hide. Or the monster will find me like it always does.
The pounding grows louder.
The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth as I bite down harder on my lip. If I make a sound, it will find me. Screams appear on the other side, and a pool of blood fills the room .
Red. Everything is red.
I open my eyes.
Silence.
It’s… gone.
My phone. I grab it from my pocket, fingers shaking so badly it slips from my hands. Shit. Unable to see where it is, I search the ground with my hands and—
Ouch. I snap back, holding in a whimper. Something warm drips down my hand, and the whirring begins in the back of my mind again.
Hide and don’t make a sound. It’s a game, remember?
No. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to.
My phone buzzes, lighting up, and I snatch it. The bright light stabs at my eyes, but I blink past it as I struggle to unlock the screen, smudging it with blood.
Barely seeing through the tears that gathered in my eyes, I tap on the notification and start typing.
A knock sounds at the door, and I freeze. Is it real, or is it my imagination?
Another knock. “Hello? Somebody in there?” A female voice calls from outside.
Relief floods me, and I scramble to the door. “Yes. Please. I’m in here.”
The door swings open, and I stumble out, gulping and blinking as my eyes adjust to the brightness.
A blonde girl stands beside me. “Are you okay? ”
“Yes.” I clutch my trembling hands together, the cut on my hand stinging. I’m out.
“That stupid door, seriously. I told the professor so many times already.” She lets out a laugh. “You don’t wanna know how many times I’ve been already stuck in there.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Gemma, by the way.” She smiles, eyes kind. “You’re lucky I only went to get a soda.”
She looks familiar somehow.
“I’m Lil. Thanks again. For getting me out of there.”
“No problem.” She helps me to my feet. Her eyes flick to my trembling hands. “Shit. What happened? Sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She’s already done more than enough.
“Come on. I won’t take no for an answer.” Gemma sits me down and rummages through a shelf, emerging with a first aid kit. She’s wearing this cute floral dress paired with a denim jacket.
There’s an openness to her, a genuine friendliness that puts me at ease despite the lingering tremors from my panic attack. I’m not used to people helping me like this, especially not strangers. Usually, I deal with everything on my own.
She takes the seat beside me and takes my hand in hers, examining the cut. “How did you even manage to cut yourself so badly?” Her blonde hair falls in soft waves around her face, and her green eyes are filled with concern. She’s pretty. “You’re as clumsy as me, huh?”
“I should probably stick to the library. At least there, I don’t cut myself.” I stare at the blood welling on my finger, transfixed.
“I don’t know about that. You could cut yourself on the paper. Mary did, just lately, when she had one of her late-night study sessions. Anyway, so what happened?”
“I was fumbling around in the dark. My phone fell, and I scrambled to grab it.” I wince as she dabs antiseptic on my cuts. “I didn’t see anything, and then I cut myself.”
“Unlucky.” She wraps a bandage around my hand. “Darkness can be scary. As a kid, I always needed a little light to sleep, and my brother always made sure it was on. Sometimes, he even slept beside me on the floor when I had nightmares.” Her giggling fills the room.
“That sounds nice.”
“Do you have a brother?”
“Yeah, well… Two. Though, they’re not my real brothers. It’s kind of complicated.”
“How so?”
“After my parents died, my uncle took me in. Levi and Lan, my two brothers, are his adoptive sons.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It has been a long time.”
“When was it?”
“I was ten, but I don’t remember much from back then. So, it’s okay. ”
Her eyes dart around. “Mhm.. So, Lan and Levi. They’re your cousins?”
“Yes, but we grew up together. So they’re more like brothers.”
“I see.” Gemma nods, securing the bandage over the last cut.
“Do you have other siblings?”
“No, just my brother.”
She surveys her handiwork. “There. Good as new. Well, almost.”
“Thank you.” I flex my fingers. The sting has faded to a dull throb.
“Try not to get into any more trouble, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Gemma returns to her station, eyeing me curiously. “I noticed you weren’t using one of the machines earlier.”
I shift in my seat, forcing my happy face. “Yeah, I just… I don’t really know how.” It’s not a complete lie. I mean, I know the basics, but the thought of actually using one makes my palms sweat and my heart race.
Her eyes light up. “Oh, I can show you now if you want!”
I don’t want to, but her enthusiasm is contagious. “Sure, that would be great.” I follow her, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.
She delves into the intricacies of threading and bobbin winding, hands gesturing animatedly. It’s fascinating. The fear that usually grips me when I’m near these machines is replaced by a growing curiosity .
“And then you just press down on the pedal, and voila!” Gemma beams as the machine whirs to life, the needle bobbing up and down in a hypnotic dance.
I lean in closer, watching as she guides the fabric through with practiced ease. It’s mesmerizing, the way the thread weaves in and out, creating a perfect seam. For a moment, I almost forget where I am, lost in the rhythmic hum of the machine.
“See? It’s not so bad once you get the hang of it,” Gemma says.
I nod. “You’re really good at this.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve just had a lot of practice.”
It’s easy to talk to her, and as she goes on, we start talking about movies. It turns out we like the same genres: rom-coms and thrillers.
I glance at my phone and jolt. “I’m late for my next class.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you.”
“No, please, it’s fine. It was fun, actually.” I never thought I would say this when these horror machines were part of it.
“Let’s hang out sometime. Give me your phone.” She holds out her hand.
I pass it to her, and she quickly types in her number before handing it back to me.
“Text me, okay? We’ll make plans.”
“I will. Thanks again for… everything.”
“What are friends for?” She gives me a quick hug, catching me off guard. “See you around.”
“See you.” I give a little wave and head to my next class .
Today was unexpected, and one thing is clear. I’m not going back there. The sewing workshop is canceled. For now.
My steps are lighter as I make my way to the library. Sebastian already replaced me, so why should I keep avoiding my happy place? Not happening.