Page 26 of Disharmony

A sea of red covers my sheets. The blanket fibers are soaked through like a massacre has taken place, but I can’t move from the spot. My legs refuse to budge like I’m paralyzed from the waist down.

Cookie sits up in her bed and looks over in horror. “Ash?”

Cookie jumps up out of her bed and races over to the door. Her bare feet almost slip in a puddle of red, and she leaves a trail of prints across the wooden floor. My body reacts involuntarily as I continue to scream and squeeze my eyes shut.

The cabin door opens again and Cookie yells, “Screw you, motherfuckers.”

Outside, the faint sound of laughter and running footsteps carry over the breeze. I’m stuck in a cabin in the woods, but my mind is back home, spiraling in time, almost a year ago.

I’m walking through the kitchen door after school, but Mom isn’t waiting for me like usual. She’s been so sick that she rarely leaves the house, but hearing about my day always brings the brightest smile to her face.

“Mom?” I call out, kicking off my shoes and making my way upstairs. She doesn’t answer. The carpet is soft against my feet, and I wonder if Mom laid down to rest.

I cross the landing to my parents’ room, noticing a note clinging to the door in her handwriting.

Don’t come in. I’m sorry.

I ignore it, even though a sickening feeling deep in my core tells me not to turn the handle. But I can’t believe it. Not until I see for myself. When my eyes adjust to the dark, I finally see her. There’s nothing I can do.

The blood… So much blood.

“Ash!” Cookie’s arms squeeze around my trembling body to bring me back to the present. “It’s okay, it was just someone’s idea of a joke. Look.”

When I open my eyes again, my shaking hands are in front of my face. Cookie points at an empty bucket of red paint on the floor that someone has thrown onto the center of my sheets.

“Shit,” I mumble, wiping the sweat from my brow. I’d given the pranksters the reaction they wanted, but not for the reason they expected. “I-I-I thought it was…”

“Sometimes people pull shit like this,” Cookie says in a soothing voice. “But you’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you. They’re just fucking assholes, okay?”

I nod, not able to talk properly over the beat of my pounding heart.

Had I really been ready to leave Meadow Springs? I never wanted something like this to happen for people to see the screwed-up chick underneath all the eyeliner.

“I need to shower,” I murmur.

Cookie puts her arm around my shoulder to help me stand, but I bat her away and manage to hobble to the adjoining bathroom. She’s only trying to be nice, but I can’t bear to face her pity. What I need is to be left alone.

As soon as the door slams, I step into the shower and sink to my knees. The water is icy cold and makes my teeth chatter, but I don’t care. I scrub at my skin until it’s pink and raw. I have to erase the paint. I need to get rid of it all. The red water swirls around the plug hole and vanishes from sight.

My dad tried to get me to see a therapist after Mom died, but I refused. I didn’t agree to go until much later… until after the incident.

Talking about what happened didn’t change anything though. It couldn’t bring Mom back. Music is the only thing that truly helped me get through the worst days. It’s the only way I could truly express my emotions. The crushing anger, the all-consuming sadness, and the cruel betrayal. How could she have done it? Why would she choose to leave us behind?

“Ash?” Cookie knocks gently on the door. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there for ages.”

I grab my bathrobe and shuffle back into the room.

“Fuck!” She gasps as soon as she sees me and grabs a blanket. “Your lips are almost blue.”

“I’m fine,” I say, but welcome the warmth of the blankets as she wraps them around me. She moves to line up her many cushions along the cabin wall to turn her bed into a sofa and beckons me to join her. The cold has numbed my pain and stopped it from bubbling over… for now, at least.

In my absence, Cookie has bundled up my sheets and cleaned to get rid of the most offending stains. There are still paint smears over the floor, but it looks a lot better than it did.

She looks at the mess apologetically. “We won’t be able to do laundry until morning.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply. “I won’t be getting much sleep anyway.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “Not the paint, but… you know. I have a cousin who was in the army. He has episodes when he hears loud noises. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but if you do want to talk, I’m here.”

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