25. Chapter 25 #2
I…I can’t leave this mess here. What if they think I did it on purpose for not getting to come over sooner? What if they kick me out and disown me? What If I have to leave before I find something to cherish?
Shit. Okay. I can pick it up and put it back.
There’s a dustpan and handheld broom under the sink. I can get it and start with the major stuff. Tugging at the cabinet doors, they swing open to reveal nothing. It’s pristine inside and empty.
Weird, then what—
The doors close softly when I find the broom and pan that’s sitting on the countertop. I…I didn’t put it there and it wasn’t there when I came in. If it was, it’d be covered in glass too but it’s just…sitting there.
Wary, I pluck it from the glass and begin to sweep—avoiding the larger pieces that managed to survive the fall.
Swipe after swipe, glass is tossed into the trash before I start on the large chunks, carefully using a fingernail to pry up the ones lying perfectly flat on the floor and counter.
I wonder if I could put them back together.
I could come back tomorrow and spend more time with Mrs. Adams, use it as an excuse, then sneak up here to glue it into place.
They might not fit together easily, but I'm determined.
Holding a large shard, I turn it from front to back, then face it toward me again and nearly drop it. A hideous face stares back at me with rotten teeth, mottled-grey skin, blackened eyes, and a snarl that makes my flesh crawl.
Instincts nearly throw the shard, anything to get the death glare away from me, though sharp heat creases the inside bends of my fingers instead.
The monster stuck in the mirror reaches through and compresses my hand, shredding everything between the brutal edge and my joints.
Pain and fire hold me hostage in spite of my attempt to shake free from its anger and my terror.
Trapped tears sting my eyes when shock prevents them from rolling over my bottom lashes and streaking down my face.
Monsters aren’t real, they don’t look at you through mirrors turned windows, with cracked teeth to lacerate whatever they can reach.
When the brute’s nose wrinkles and upper lip lifts, tremors vibrate up my arm.
Black goo seeps between jagged, gapped, and cracked teeth—foaming at the corners of its mouth. Try as I might, I can’t look away.
Please just let me go.
I promise I won’t come back. I’ll high-tail it out of here, as if flames are seconds away from engulfing me—but my fucking feet won't move and the glass won’t stop cutting!
"Sadie?" Mrs. Adams honks outside of the door. Distracting me from the burn of sliced flesh, sticky blood, and the nightmarish ghoul who has rooted me in place. The split moment she pulls my attention away only pisses it off.
I gasp when my arm twists, bending unnaturally. The monster forces it to contort as the glass turns and the broken edge plunges into my arm. My cry burst into a curdling scream as my legs give out and I drop to the shard littered floor.
"Sadie?!" Mrs. Adam's voice comes yowling through the door.
In a state of shock, air fights to fill my lungs but all I can manage is to sob silently.
I can’t call for help; I can’t even move without sheer agony overrunning every sense.
Maybe I’m going to be thrown in the box next to Chelsea anyway.
Maybe this was how it was supposed to be, my life tethered to hers.
Appearing next to me a second or two later, Mrs. Adams frantically jerks my arm away and squeezes the angry split tissue. I can't let go of the fucking glass! My hand keeps squeezing harder and harder, afraid that if I let go, I’ll bleed out.
"M...mom, please." Choking on the plea.
Her eyes are too calm for this. Detached. Going through motions as if she's done this a hundred times—saved me.
"Oh no. Here, sweetheart, take this. It’ll slow the bleeding." Victoria hands me a handful of pills with 'TXA' stamped into the compressed tabs that I toss back without question.
As calm as can be, she stands over me with blood-soaked hands while I lose my mind, and my soul clamors out of my body.
"W...what?" I mutter.
"It should have been you."
Chills scrape up my spine—demonic claws ascending one vertebra at a time.
"Me?"
What the hell does that mean?
"You heard me. You worthless spit of human flesh. Chelsea deserved to live, she was normal. That man should have gutted you from your pelvis to your ribs instead of my daughter!" Victoria screams, then lunges at me.
BANG!
The Earth shudders under me.
Six hundred muscles react at once. Each forces my limbs to constrict, curl, and shift before dropping me back onto a knife's edge where I've balanced for days. Hoping and praying the serrated blade doesn't split me in two and I slide off both sides into a heap on the floor.
Thump, thump, thump.
My heart's going to explode.
It's an inferno here. My skin’s ashen, dry, and brittle where sweat has evaporated into the stifling air. Try as I might to lift away from the unforgiving surface, my joints cry in revolt from days of not moving.
My brain rattles inside of its bony home when the repetitive thumping mutates into a thunder, all while acceptance finally settles in my gut.
I know I'm in hell now. Right where I should be.
When I open my eyes, I'll stare at the devil himself and he'll grin because he's won.