Page 12 of Fixation
HARPER
The world is spinning around me. Or not.
Not. Definitely not.
It’s my brain that’s spinning.
The painting of sunflowers on the wall of my bedroom stays in place. The wooden frame doesn’t shift from side to side.
The sunflowers themselves…
They aren’t actually sunflowers. They’re monsters with black eyes.
They’re looking at me.
Laughing at me.
A chill runs up my spine at the vicious sound.
At how cold my bedroom is.
You’re going to die, the sunflowers mock.
I pull my blanket up to my chin, turning my head to the glass door leading to the terrace.
Green plants sit outside just beyond the glass door. I left the string lights on, so even though it’s nighttime, I can still see the plants.
They, too, are laughing at me.
My eyes pinch, blocking out the world.
These fever-induced hallucinations are too vivid.
Am I even hallucinating?
Probably.
But just in case I’m not. If my plants are going to kill me, I wish they’d get it over with.
I’ve been warned that this could happen. A year ago, when I moved out here from LA, they—they?Mom? Dad? Yes, thesethey—told me I could get hurt out here.
They said that Manhattan isn’t the gated neighborhood I grew up in. Begged me to always go out with my friend, Darla, on my jogs, errands, and bars. Never alone.
Bars. Ha. When exactly? Both of us are workaholics. We don’t even live in the same neighborhood. While I’m here, she lives downtown, near Wall Street.
Anyway.
I’ve been told to be careful.
I’ve been careful.
No one’s mugged or attacked me since I bought and moved into this brownstone.
Until my plants. My painting.
An unhinged laugh escapes me.
I pay for it with a cough.
