Frost

This time, I wasn’t going to wait until it was too late. I found the plastic baggie of pills, reached inside, fondled the hard bits of betterness. I placed a small oval one in my mouth. Then a round one. The sadness was coming. But I could head it off. Because I knew, I knew what I’d done was right. That was what mattered. The sadness was unnecessary. A stupid, physical reaction. If David had to leave me, well, what was there to do about it?

But why did I say those things to him? Maybe it would have been okay, later.

No, it wouldn’t. The words were all around me. You’d already lost him.

He might have forgiven me. Understood why I did it.

He never loved you. None of them did.

My family, Viv, Abby. Never loved me? Hearing those words shriveled me inside, as if all my organs were dried and cracked. “No,” I protested. “They did. They do.”

Another pill or two or three found their way into my mouth, down my throat, leaving a bitter trail. Didn’t care what they were. Anything would help.

God, I was tired. The headache I’d had earlier grew and grew so I took something for that, as well. Enough to get rid of this one and the next one. Maybe I could wait it out. The feelings. Just stay in here until it was too late to care anymore.

Shelter. Wait out the storm.

You can. Stay with me. I held Cubby close, almost too exhausted to lift her hollow wood body. These words had nothing to do with her anymore. They were from the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Should this have surprised me? I wondered. Maybe I was just too tired to be surprised.

“I don’t understand why this had to happen.”

You’re safe now, Leena. Admit what you’ve always known.

“What?” I said. “Admit what?”

Why it’s all happened. Why all your pain has happened.

A wave of marrow-deep fatigue swept through me. I needed to sleep—for a week, a month, more—I couldn’t imagine I could ever sleep enough.

I drifted off, who knows for how long, but woke when a steady beep, beep, beep filled my ears. I forgot where I was, thought it was my alarm clock. I tried to move, to turn it off, but couldn’t. Then I remembered.

Nausea swelled in my stomach. The beeping grew louder. Louder.

The fire alarm?

Had David . . . ?

I reached for the doorknob. My hand could barely stretch that high, my arm was so heavy. I was fighting against more than gravity. I finally felt the knob, turned, and pushed. Nothing. The door wouldn’t move. The bolt. Had I locked it? No, I hadn’t. The sickness in my gut radiated out.

I lowered my arm.

Your body won’t let you leave. It knows what you need. Another pill.

Maybe that would help. Something for energy. This house always knew what I needed, from the beginning. Hadn’t it? I slipped another in my mouth. My eyes shut. I lifted my arm again and tried to reach up. Too tired. The alarm blared. He wouldn’t really have done that, would he? Why would he do it now? I was so confused.

Footsteps thudded nearby, shook the house.

“Leena?” A voice called from far, far away.

I tried to reach for the door. Gravity’s cold nails trapped my arms on the floor. Tried again. Nothing. Now it wasn’t just trying to move that was hard, it was trying to breathe. Bricks, walls tumbled on top of me. Pressed me down. Down toward the earth. Squeezing my chest.

A surge ripped through me, vomited through my listless body. The burn. The stink. I had to get out.

Out there are people who don’t want you, the walls whispered. In here is where you belong.

Was that true? It felt true, inside my bones. My poor, tired bones. Inside my poor, sick gut. But somehow . . .

“Leena?” The door trembled, the knob wiggled back and forth. “Leena, are you in there?” The door wasn’t locked; still, they couldn’t open it. I knew they wouldn’t be able to. Just like David hadn’t been able to, that day so many weeks ago.

They don’t want you. None of them. Her voice filled the space. Could they hear her, outside the door? Look what you’ve  let them do to you. There’s nowhere for you to go.

“That’s not how it is,” I said back. “Things happen. You can’t stop things from happening.”

Yes, you can. In here.

My arm. Would. Not. Move.

I’ll protect you, she cooed. You can’t do it yourself. You’re too weak. That’s why you came in here. You knew it the first time you saw the house. You knew you needed it.

“Someone’s out there. Looking for me.”