Chapter 4
FOUR
Rule Number One of Adeline’s Guide to Overcoming Loneliness: Adeline, remember to find comfort in your own company.
Learn to sit with yourself and find peace in being on your own.
You’re not missing anything here; there is strength in simply being.
Sometimes, people fail to understand that it is important to embrace the quiet of your own presence.
So, learn to be your own best friend, as stupid as that sounds, and the world will become a little less hollow. A little less boring.
Today something’s been off. There’s this odd, prickling sensation that trails down my neck, like a pair of eyes burrowing into the back of my head. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the empty street.
Nothing. Just dark windows and lamplight spilling across the concrete.
It’s been happening for a while now—random moments when I can’t shake the impression of being watched, followed by an eerie emptiness, and I turn around to find no one there.
At first, I ignored it. This was the result of too many suspenseful movies I used to watch with my father, or my own clearly overactive imagination.
It’s ridiculous, really. But every little sound—the scrape of a tree branch, the echo of a far-off footstep—never fails to set off tiny alarms in my brain.
And sometimes, I swear, I catch a glimpse of something in my peripheral vision—a dark figure, a shadow that slips out of sight the moment I look straight at it.
I don’t even believe in stuff like this, but tonight, the quiet feels heavier.
There’s something about the stillness that I just can’t shake.
I should probably be questioning my sanity right now.
I quicken my pace, desperate to get home. I clear my mind of any unsettling scenarios. This is just a feeling; I have to just get over it.
I have way more important matters to attend to anyway. Like paying bills, for example.
But even though I know how absurd this is, the feeling follows me all the way to my door.
***
I stand in Sam’s room, since her room is the only room besides the bathroom that has a mirror. A massive one at that. Right about now she’s doing God knows what in the bathroom, and frankly I’m scared to knock.
Naomi is perched in front of the mirror, casually dabbing concealer under her eyes.
I’m behind her, just… staring. The uniform hangs loosely on me—a little too long in the skirt, a bit tight in the shoulders—but there’s no denying it: this is Brentwood.
The polished navy blazer, complete with a golden crest and trimmings, the blouse so pristine it seems almost unfitting that someone like me is wearing it.
And then there’s the skirt, of course. The pleated skirt that I can’t help but tug at, trying to roll it up so it sits at an almost-normal length.
“That skirt is way too long for you,” Naomi points out. “Maybe they got the sizing wrong.”
“It’s fine, it looks nice anyway.” I shrug.
As I examine my reflection, something like uncertainty comes over me. But this school, it’s a new beginning. Maybe a real one. Away from the bullies that tormented me at my last school, away from the horrible remarks and hateful glares.
For years I went to that school, and for years I endured the same painful routine.
Those were the years I felt most alone. I didn’t understand exactly what I was doing wrong.
I was everything I was told to be I was patient, I was kind, I smiled despite the ache in my chest telling me to scream at them instead.
But I didn’t. I never did, and I doubt I ever will. Some might see that as cowardice, but deep down I tell myself it’s the right thing to do.
The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
My father taught me that line, and to this day it remains one of my favourites from Shakespeare.
I tell myself the bullies don’t matter. Not now. Not anymore. I bet the people at Brentwood have far more important things to do than to torment someone as unimportant as me. That thought alone calms me.
“Do you want me to do your mascara?” Naomi asks.
I shake my head. “I can do it myself.”
I like putting on makeup, and I always think it looks decent. Apparently, Naomi and Sam disagree. In fact, I recall Naomi once telling me, “Just don’t hang around me looking like that, or you’ll scare off my friends.” Maybe they’re right, and maybe ignorance is bliss.
“I’ve seen you doing it yourself, too clumpy and messy,” she says, then adds a little extra gloss.
Naomi is naturally beautiful, and she knows it.
Almond-brown eyes, inherited from our mum, smooth, perfect skin, and hair that she somehow keeps perfectly strawberry-blonde.
She and Sam are almost identical, the only difference being hair colour and length.
Me on the other hand, I have my father’s eyes.
And Mason’s. A soft shade of green that makes me look almost exactly like him.
And blonde hair that isn’t so blonde anymore.
The colour is slowly fading, and I’m glad of it.
Because it’s another resemblance that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at differently.
The eyes, the freckles. They’re a cage of flesh and blood, and one that screams his name.
Looking so much like him always felt like a theft of my own identity.
Naomi and Sam never had that problem. Aside from looking nothing like our older brother, they also adored him. Everyone did, I suppose.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Do my mascara. It’s… probably better if you do.”
She grins, holding up the wand like she’s won a prize, and starts swiping it onto my lashes. “And some concealer,” she mutters, tapping the skin under my eyes. “These bags are something else
today.”
I don’t tell her it’s because I barely slept last night. Not just because I couldn’t stop thinking about that weird feeling, like someone was watching me. But because bills keep piling up, and it feels like I’m constantly counting money, trying to figure out how I’ll pay everything on time.
We only just got the boiler fixed.
“Sure,” I say, managing a small smile.
She glows a little at that, concentrating on my face, perfecting every line and swipe.
It’s easy for her, everything seems to come naturally—people, places, all of it.
She doesn’t have to try to fit in. Sam and Naomi always just…
belong. Compliments quite literally follow them, and people respect them, or maybe they just don’t have a reason not to.
As for me? I’ve always been just a little too quiet, a little too awkward.
Usually when people would talk to me, I would always say something completely stupid which would earn me some not-so-friendly glances.
Somehow, I always manage to say the wrong thing.
Not that I mind. I’ve always preferred to stay in the background. I’m quite used to being left out: that comes with being the youngest sibling, I guess. And so, I have always just been the outsider. Watching, waiting, but never truly belonging.
“Oh, and Adeline, please try not to embarrass me with your clumsiness or… how can I put this? Your lack of social grace? You’re entering a different world, you can’t afford to make a fool of
yourself,” she says out of nowhere, while swiping on the mascara.
I don’t flinch at her words. I don’t even react, simply nod. I knew as much.
“Only if you promise to help me this time. If things get bad again at this new school,” I say, looking at her concentrating face with hopeful eyes.
Naomi pauses, just for a second, her brown eyes darting to meet mine. She lets out a small sigh. “Adeline, you know I have my own things going on. But… fine, I promise. I’ll have your back.”
It’s not exactly a promise, I know that, but it’s enough. I force a smile. “Thanks, Naomi.”
She finally steps back, inspecting her work with pride.
“All done,” she announces.
I look at myself in the mirror. She is indeed a master at this. I don’t look so bland anymore. Although, I make sure to sneak more concealer onto my cheeks to cover up my freckles.