Page 26 of Play Dirty
Chapter Ten
Shiloh
My phone vibrates beside me as I curl further into myself. Trying to hide from the light touching me. Inhaling the pink cotton sheets, trying to engrave the scent of her skin into my memory. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as a sob racks my body. I’m expected to speak today, to hold my composure and be the ice queen everyone is expecting of me. However, I don’t think I can do this.
This time, the mask won’t stay on.
My pain bleeds through every pore of my body. My hands fist the sheet, bringing the soft fabric closer to my nose. It’s been three brutally long days and even longer nights. I don’t know the last time I showered or even left this bed.
I’ve been existing… not living.
Nothing can bring her back. All this money. All this power. What good is any of it if I can’t bring her back? It seems like all the stars vanished from my sky, leaving me floating in vast, consuming darkness.
My phone rings this time.
Lifting my head slightly, I see it’s another call from people who call themselves my friends. I don’t answer, I just watch it ring. It’s all superficial, all for show. People will do anything for the inside scoop. Nothing hotter than the ice queen finally melting in the most devastating way possible.
A soft knock at the door catches my attention, and as always, I ignore it. I shift my body so I can stare at the lines in the ceiling and the tapestry of colors June placed above her bed. She was such a colorful woman, with so much potential and so much love to give.
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, reminding me that despite being broken, it still beats inside me. How dare she leave me? How dare she think I can shine without her light?
Her guidance.
Friends since we were young.
Friends during our worst moments.
Friends who turned into sisters.
That’s what I lost, my sister. My heart.
My person.
How am I supposed to cross the finish line without her, live the life that was perfectly planned for me… without her? Bringing my knees to my chest, I try to control my breathing the way she taught me. Blood rushes in my ears; everyone is back to their regularly scheduled programming, if nothing has happened, while I reside in the past. Still lying on her cold and lifeless chest.
Time stopped there.
The bitter scent of death still lingers on my skin– a phantom smell I cannot escape. Another soft knock pulls me from my spiral of thoughts. I groan as I stretch my body. I haven’t been out of bed since it happened. Cops came to ask about anything that could help solve the case, to look for clues, but like everything that happens on campus, this will soon go away.
Slowly, I rise from the bed, not bothering to put on a brave face or get ready for the day. I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes swollen from crying. All I can hear is my mother's voice as she rips me apart. I feel her phantom touch as she cakes my face with the velvety mixture of Chanel foundation, using my index fingers and hooking them tothe corner of my mouth. I try to smile, but even my fake smile is no good.
Not today.
I stand there for a moment longer, dissociating. Until my face contours to something demonic. Something is wrong. I let my fingers fall from my mouth and continue my path towards the door. Surely whoever was here is long gone by now. At least, I hope. Taking a sharp breath, my hand wraps around the brass doorknob before turning it.
I brace myself for the invasion of privacy, for a phone in my face, for fake friends like Tracy and Glenda to run in and hug me. However, what's waiting for me is a giant box of strawberry Pocky sticks and a six-pack of microwaveable shrimp noodles. My knees buckle, and I collapse. Only June knew these were my favorite snacks.
I don’t know if I should feel some kind of solace. Reprieve. But all I feel is pain. My head turns quickly, looking for whoever left this here. There’s no note. No message. No expectation.
Just a small reminder.
“June.” I choke out as my shaky hand reaches towards the items, retrieving them once I get close before bringing my hand towards my mouth to hold back the scream threatening to rip from my throat. The pain is feral, heavy, all-consuming.
“June.”
With tears streaming down my face and my hands full of the snacks I love most, I shuffle towards the couch and plop down. Small sobs escape my lips as I grab the packet of Pocky sticks and remove them from the plastic.
I look at the vacant spot beside me, feeling the emptiness even more tonight. Pulling out a Pocky stick, I lift it into the air and cheer with my friend. However, there isn’t another stick to cross against the biscuit—just hollowness and darkness.
