Chapter 8 Heather
The moment I step over the threshold, a cold feeling comes over me.
I’m not sure if it’s the cold breeze blowing into the bedroom from the open window on the far side of the room, or it’s the chill of something I should be concerned about.
Ignoring it as best as I can, I shake off the worrying sensation churning through me and walk further into the bedroom.
Initially, the first thing I notice is how dark it is inside this room.
Not from the lack of lighting, but more so the obscure aesthetic.
There’s not a stitch of colour anywhere to be seen.
Black bedding, and midnight-grey floor length curtains hang from the two large windows.
Even the ornaments decorating the shelves are as dark and gloomy as the fabric.
Why does this feel so familiar?
I’ve been to the Gamma Nu house once before but never ventured upstairs and away from the party-goers.
At least… I don’t think I have.
So, why, in this moment, does it feel like I’m having a weird case of déjà vu?
Why is my heart beating so fast? Why is my skin igniting with tiny little goosebumps that don’t feel like excitement, but something akin to sadness.
I have no reason to feel as forlorn as I do, nor do I understand why all of a sudden my emotions have changed so quickly.
The callous night air blows against the dark drapes so softly they ripple as the breeze flows against the fabric, and for a few seconds, I’m hypnotised by how the dark-coloured silk dances beautifully in time with the wind.
Why?
Ricky must close the door behind me as he follows me into the room, because the music from downstairs muffles slightly, and even though I feel weird, I also begin to feel a calming sense of relaxation swirling through me at the same time.
Which is weird, because how can I experience both fear and relaxation at the same time?
“It’s really… morose in here,” I mutter under my breath. “Clearly the person who owns it has no taste,” I snort.
“Thanks.” Ricky chuckles softly from behind me, his warm breath dancing over the bare skin on my cheek.
I turn to face him, the space between my eyebrows creasing slightly in surprise.
“Wait, this is your room?” Ricky doesn’t answer, he just simply nods.
“Don’t you think having a little colour scattered throughout your bedroom would help it feel a lot less” —I think for a second— “like Death lives here?”
“I like the obscurity of it all. But you can leave if—”
“No, no.” I smile sweetly at him, patting his upper chest playfully as I turn back around to take in the darkness of the room once more.
I mean, it’s not so bad. Each to their own, I guess.
“I wouldn’t have put you for such a—oh my god.
” I beam with delight, bounding over to the computer desk with excitement and picking up a black photo frame of a little boy and an older woman.
“Is this you?” I grin, pointing to the little boy as I glance over my shoulder.
Ricky’s slow footsteps close the space between us and when his chest presses lightly against my back, my body warms with the closeness of him.
All the nerves I once felt instantly falling away.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever made me feel this way before, and it confuses me as to why he’s the one to do it.
The problem is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing him, and I’m not like this.
I’ve never felt so connected, or sexually attracted to a man before, especially someone who is the complete opposite to me.
I don’t know if it’s because it was something he said, or the fact he can make me laugh so much.
Maybe it’s because he’s so handsome. Even more so when he smiles.
But tonight is about him getting revenge, not about this newfound crush I have on a guy I’ve only just met.
I place my plastic cup down on the computer desk next to the keyboard—careful to keep it as far away from all the electrical leads as possible—and when Ricky’s hand comes into view, taking the picture frame from me, I do all I can to keep myself from jumping his bones.
I didn’t realise it before, but Ricky smells like every dark thought I’ve ever had. Like murderous intent coated in spicy nodes of cinnamon and vanilla. It’s invigorating, new, tempting, but again… even his scent is familiar to me somehow.
It’s flowed through my nostrils before, I know it.
But why?
Why would I—
“I was five when me and my mother took this photo, and—”
Ricky’s words fade into the background. My body instantly becoming rigid as I spot the picture three frames back from the one I just had in my hands.
I’d know that face anywhere.
But what I don’t recognise—in fact, what I don’t remember at all…
is when, or how. My blood runs cold as I lean forward and wrap my fingers around the pink wooden frame dotted with red love hearts, and lift it from the windowsill.
My mouth becomes so dry I can barely swallow.
Terrified prickles of confusion dance over my skin, sweat builds at the back of my neck, and all those tiny blonde hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“Heather,” he whispers to me.
“What—”
“I need you to breathe.”
But I can’t… I can’t do anything except stare.
“I… What… What is this?” I ask with dread and misunderstanding at what I’m looking at. “Why am I… H-here? I don’t… I don’t remember this. What is—”
“Heather, baby, please just… give me a second to—”
Panic.
Fear.
Terror.
Every emotion swirls through me, but the most prominent… is anger.
“Why the fuck do you have a picture of me!? Of… of us!... In your… What the f-fuck is going on here!?” I stutter, backing away from him, unable to find the right words, so they’re coming out rushed and garbled. “Why can’t I—”
Ricky places the picture of him and his mother back on the desk; his eyes filled with sorrow and unshed tears. “Please, I’m just… Baby, don’t—”
“Baby? don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that!!” I bark, pointing at him, thrusting the picture of us against his chest and stepping away from him. My throat starts to tighten, air becoming trapped in my lungs, affecting my breathing. “What the fuck is…. What’s g-going—”
My heart races, my hands tremble as I wring them together. Christ, I’m sweating. I claw at my knitted sweater to rid my skin of the itch it’s causing as I look directly at the images of us he’s still holding against his chest.
I’m smiling, my head is thrown back in hilarity as though I find something genuinely funny, and I’m being carried by none other than the man in front of me.
Ricky holds me in his arms bride-style, both of us standing outside my house in the height of summer.
Sunlight beaming down on our sun-kissed skin, amusement on both our faces.
We’re both in swimwear, too. Me, in a tiny pink bikini with pink flip flops, and Ricky wearing nothing but black board shorts.
His stunning, broad smile hits me deep within the quickened beats of my heart, and I choke on a strangled sob, stumbling as fresh air evades me and my lungs tighten further.
All I can do is release choked, staccato breaths the longer I stare at the image.
Panting frantically as I try my damndest to remember this moment between us. To remember him.
“Wh-what’s going on I-I can’t… b-breathe.”
Ricky takes the weight of me in his arms as I collapse into him. The beer from his red cup sloshes over the rim and onto the dark wooden flooring of his bedroom. Both of us falling to the ground with a heavy thud. I don’t know where it comes from, or why it happens, but I sob… uncontrollably.
“I can’t… I… R-Ricky,” I stutter through the tears, fighting for air as he wraps his arm around my waist and presses his other hand to my chest, rocking me slowly in his hold.
“Focus on my breathing, baby, I’ve got you.”
“I… I…” Tears spill over my lower lash line.
“Shhh,” he hums softly, brushing the hair back from my sweat-ridden forehead. “I’ll explain everything. I just need you to breathe with me, okay. Slow now,” he instructs. “Nice… and slow.”
The inhale I take is jerky. “P-please,” I whimper.
“I know. I know, baby. Come on, you can do this. In and out, with me.”
I follow his instructions, breathing with him, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. The more I remember the image of us, the more the broken pieces of my memory begin to return.
The first time we met and how I was ditching math class to be in the sun. The way he caught me red-handed because he was sitting in the tree directly outside of the college exit. Even down to the memory of him showing me his art for the first time.
Pages and pages… of my face, water colour, abstract, even manga.
Everything… comes rushing back.