Chapter One
My features wouldn’t relax until I knew the door was locked behind me— not totally, at least. The click of the lock was my Pavlovian whistle. Once that sound hit my ears, my face finally fell into the frown I worked so hard to hide, my shoulders falling into a pathetic slouch. Every muscle in my back, my face, was stiff after working a double. My feet ached for release, but they carried me to the finish line anyway.
Finally, I was safe.
Finally, I was home.
My sigh relaxed my muscles a little further, finally pushing off the door as I stepped into the quiet home. Sweat-coated hair was drawn up into a messy bun, and within the dark, I got to pretend I didn’t hate the chocolate locks I pulled off my freckled shoulders. The house had been in my family for generations, and after refusing to redecorate the home that was handed to me, the layout from my childhood had become tattooed in my mind. After a long night at work, I didn’t need the lights on to navigate the two-bedroom bungalow. I didn’t have to do a double check to make sure the filthy shirt I stripped off landed on my grandmother’s couch or that the trainers I kicked off my feet landed on the shoe rack my grandfather built. I didn’t need to see the ottoman to avoid the damn thing as I rushed for the kitchen.
As I stripped out of the rest of my work clothes, leaving the sweaty pieces on the ground as I walked, a calm flooded my system. This was the only part of my day that felt easy anymore. Keys in the bowl, mail on the table, and metallic water from my kitchen sink were quickly becoming a favourite routine. It was the only sequence of events that seemed to keep those nagging thoughts at bay anymore, that made it comfortable for me to stay in a house that reeked of dog and death.
As a kid, Granny’s house had always seemed so full of life. She was learning something, doing something, being something that I could never truly understand. One afternoon, the place would smell like pumpkin pie and the next, she decided she wanted to focus on acrylic paints instead. Even as she grew older, sicker, more distant from me, Gran never really seemed to change. It had been six months since she’d left me, abandoning me in a house that now felt lifeless, and I could still smell the peppermint she soaked into the rug the last time she decided to try making her own herbal remedies.
It wasn’t really a time for tears, though.
Even if no one was around to see them.
Cujo’s whimper of hunger jerked my head back up, and just as I finished one routine, another took its place. Gran’s neighbour to the north, Frank, had bought Cujo from some freak online just two months before, and I was beginning to think he’d never even bought a bag of food. The pit-mix waited twelve hours for me to get home, only to give those little whimpers until I caved to him. I wanted to groan out, to be annoyed, to give a shout that if the neighbors wanted to own a dog, then they had to take care of a dog, but that never seemed to do much. Screaming had never gotten me anywhere. If something was going to get done, I really had to just do it myself. No more excuses, no more waiting around. Chasing the rest of the water down my throat, I slammed my glass back onto the counter and turned to get to work.
First, I would have to put on pants.
Then, I could take on the rest of the world.
Once I set my sights on the room down the hall, not even the ring of my phone could distract me. The urgency wasn’t quite the same when I already knew exactly who it was. Sam, an older woman I’d grown close to at work, had demanded I meet her for a late-night coffee, and as desperately as I wanted to bark out the truth, I caved when she shot me those puppy dog eyes. I wanted to curl up in bed and forget about the world for a few days. Instead, I’d have to sit and listen to mindless gossip for another three hours, living off coffee and Sammy’s second-hand smoke.
Though, Gran always had said that life was anything but fair.
I wouldn’t bother flicking on the lights as I made my way through the house. I didn’t need another constant reminder of the people who were gone. Instead, I kept my footwork light as I slid down the tiny hallway, avoiding the closed room on the right and shifting my attention to the open doorway on the left. Six months and I still couldn’t walk in the empty bedroom, couldn’t stand the thought of admitting I’d have to live in a world without my best friend. It wasn’t right that the room that held so many memories would forever hold my worst. On the bed where we used to watch Christmas movies, she had passed away, and I wasn’t even around to say goodbye. While I was out of town, I had asked Gran’s favourite son to stop by, I had asked my father to stop in to check on her.
I should have known better.
Dad was never good for much besides drinking.
The coroner said Gran was there four days, that she had passed just hours after I left.
While she’d been careful to make me promise to get rid of her things, to donate every miniscule piece of her, the act had proven more of a challenge than either of us thought. I’d given up boxing her belongings after the second bout of tears, after my tenth attempt to enter the room. The very thought of the broken promise left her wedding ring burning against my finger— the one reminder of her I didn’t think I’d ever be willing to part with.
My voice didn’t light up the dark until a grumble of annoyance left my lips. A few flips of my bedroom’s light switch was enough to remind me of yet another job I’d have to get around to. Though, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise that this place was breaking down. With lighting that hadn’t been updated since 1998, the only thing that did surprise me was the fact the entire place didn’t catch fire while I slept. Shifting through the dark, I made my way carefully to my wardrobe, pulling out the change of clothing I’d need for another uncomfortably long night. When Sammy poked fun at the bland choice of outfit, I’d tell her that it was just because I prioritized comfort over anything else. Truthfully, my daily life had become just as boring as my dark work uniform— a grey sweater branded with the logo of a school I hardly remember going to, a black tank top to cover up my faded red bra, and torn jeans that probably should have been washed when I got dirt on them last week.
When a poppy ringtone played through the lifeless house, my attention jerked from my mirror and back to the hallway. “Be kinder with me, Sammy,” I groaned, checking my watch with the light from a streetlamp. I’d barely been done work for 20 minutes and she was already demanding my attention, probably leaving a chaotic voicemail on my monotone machine. Still, pulling my hair up into a ponytail brought me a sense of forced peace. Annoyance settled into my stomach as I focused on the tasks at hand.
I had to call her back first. Gran would whip me if she knew I didn’t return a friend’s phone call.
Second, I’d race to the diner down the street and pretend her newest drama wasn’t petty.
Then, the night would be mine to mope as I pleased.
The dark didn’t hold me back as I rushed through my bedroom— but the pain ricocheting through my leg had other plans. I couldn’t even feel the damn thing until it was too late, couldn’t breathe by the time my body crumbled to the floor in a messy heap. The pain of my scraped elbow was nothing compared to the sharpness in my foot. My cry bounced off the walls around me, a wail of pain filling my head as I stupidly grabbed for my leg, pulling the injured foot into my lap in a desperate attempt to immobilize it.