Chapter 11 #3
Fuck. My shitty little half-truth is apparently going to come back to bite me in the ass faster than expected. I stand there, my mouth feeling like it’s being pulled up at the corners by piano wire, before glancing down at the coffee I’m holding.
“Yeah. I had a sister,” I say at last. The taste of strawberry cake is sitting sourly at the back of my throat. No matter how much coffee I drink, I can’t seem to chase away the flavor of it. “She’s not…she died a long time ago.”
The room goes quiet, and I don’t need to look up to know I ruined the mood.
Then Betty’s phone rings and I jump, glancing up to see everyone finally look away from me and in her direction instead. Betty answers, gives a few noncommittal answers, then hangs up again before pushing a smile onto her lips.
“I did not come out here to have this turn into a downer of a time,” she informs us, brushing past Cecil to head back to the cake, where she cuts herself a generous slice. “Eat more cake,” Betty tells us firmly. “Don’t make me snack alone.”
Hestia is quick to follow, immediately starting up conversation once more. But as Cecil hesitates, dread builds in my stomach with every moment.
He’s going to try to comfort me.
Sure enough, the older man places a hand gently on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nell,” he says under his breath. “I had no idea.”
The wires on my mouth pull tighter as I look up at him, willing him not to see the hurt and exhaustion underneath my smile. “It’s all good,” I assure him. “You didn’t know. And it was a long time ago.”
As if the amount of time lessens it somehow, I think ruefully to myself. Things will never go back to the way they were. And I will never, ever want to celebrate another birthday without Elaina.
The sound of my lock clicking into place fills me with a sudden, sharp relief. My knees almost buckle as I lean against the heavy wood; my eyes closed as coolness flows down my face from the door.
“Finally,” I sigh, keeping my eyes closed as I just stand there. “I am finally free from today.” There’s only an hour left of my birthday, and I intend to be asleep before too much longer. Whether that requires me to take a Trazadone to make that happen remains to be seen.
But first, there’s something I’ve been both looking forward to and trying not to think about all day.
It only takes a few minutes to change out of my work clothes and into a pair of comfy sweatpants and T-shirt.
With my hair still up in its messy excuse for a bun, I reach into the cheap plastic bag that’s been sitting for days on my small kitchen table, and I pull out the deep purple candle from within.
Purple was Elaina’s favorite color, and the scent of lavender curls in my nose as I set the glass-encased wax on the middle of my table.
With shaky hands, I light it, needing a few tries before the wick catches, thanks to my unsteadiness. But it picks up at last, so when the lighter flicks off, the little flame is still there, going strong as it feeds on the wick.
I stare down at it, not bothering to swipe away the tears rolling down my cheeks. “Happy twenty-sixth birthday, Elaina,” I whisper to the candle. “I miss you, you know? And I wish you were here. Not just for me, or Mom, or Dad. But because you deserved way better than you got.”
For a few moments, I just stare at the candle.
I don’t believe in real ghosts, nor am I waiting for some kind of sign.
I know Elaina isn’t here, beaming down at me, thankful for the tribute.
And I know she isn’t about to lean over my shoulder to blow it out—though that might be to my benefit since I’d probably pass out from shock.
It’s always hard to blow it out. Always so fucking difficult to sever my temporary connection to her, the one time of the year I let myself really miss her, until the ache in my chest intensifies to the point it feels like I’ve been stabbed.
My hand comes up to splay against my chest, fingers trembling. “I miss you,” I say again, voice breaking. “Fuck, I miss you so much.” She was my other half. My twin. My literal reflection.
Finally, I lean over just enough to do it, though I watch the flickering flame for another minute. Just a few more seconds, I tell myself. She deserves that. At last, however, my lips part, and I blow a small puff of air against the flame.
It wavers, then gutters out. Easily and quickly, just as tapping on my door makes me nearly levitate from shock, and dread curls in my stomach.
I don’t move at first. Instead, I rack my brain, trying to decide if the knock was real or if it was in my head. There’s a solid chance Elaina’s standing on the other side of that door, and honestly, I’m not sure if I can handle that right now.
Not with the faded taste of strawberry still burning the back of my throat like acid. I know I’m not really still tasting it. There’s no way. But that doesn’t make it any less real every time I swallow and taste the artificially fruity sweetness of the birthday cake.
The knocking comes again. Light, curious tapping rather than something belligerent or demanding. That solidifies the fear in my mind, though I’m not sure why she doesn’t just show up behind me.
A jump scare is exactly what my brain would do to me tonight.
There’s no use putting it off. With the way I'm so focused on this, if it is Elaina, she won’t go away just from me ignoring her.
Not wanting to have to wait for sleeping meds to kick in, I cross the small space to the door, gripping the knob and pulling on it.
“Elaina, I can’t, please—” The words are out of my mouth before I see who’s standing on the other side of the door.
But when I do, the rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.
Amir tilts his head curiously, barely visible in the dim light of the landing above the coffee shop and dressed all in black. “Who’s Elaina?” he asks in a soft voice.