Page 15 of Madness Blooms

I miss the sunshine.

And Dad. I would give anything to have him alive again.

After what feels like hours, I finally tear myself away from the toilet, flushing away the evidence of my weakness. As I stand up, the pain in my head makes me wince. Does alcohol get easier to handle with time? I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, noticing the smeared eyeliner that has settled into the dark circles under my eyes, and remind myself to buy a stronger concealer. To mask my sour breath, I brush my teeth and wash my face before leaving the bathroom.

I never considered that someone might have heard me vomiting until now. Quietly making my way down the hall and up the stairs, I feel self-conscious, not wanting to face any teasing from Austin. I sneak into my room and listen for any sounds. Hearing nothing but some kids playing outside, I heave a sigh of relief and flop on my bed. I barely manage to kick off my shoes and wiggle out of my jeans before my eyes slip closed.

Startling awake, I glance at the clock: 9:10 PM. I know that my quality of rest has been poor, and I need to be careful not to disrupt my sleep schedule further with a nap. I can’t afford to do that with work tomorrow, so I cast off the covers and blink the crust from my eyes.

I roll my neck to loosen the kinks and stretch before making my way downstairs. The house is quiet, except for the gentle hum of appliances. Turning on the light in the kitchen, I notice a note stuck to the fridge with Mom’s messy scrawl:Working the graveyard shift. Austin’s staying with friends for the night. Take care.

Of course—not even an ‘I love you.’ At least no one will see me in my underwear this evening.

My throat is scratchy, so I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the faucet. I consider what to eat, but my mind wanders to thoughts of Luke. The memory of his tongue sliding into my pussy causes arousal to flutter in my belly and my heart to race. I squeeze my thighs together and flush with embarrassment. To distract myself, I focus on finding something to eat.

I choose cheesy macaroni, as well as a cheap frozen dinner with mixed veggies and something vaguely passable as chicken over the tempting bag of chips on the counter. However, I can’t help but notice how eerily quiet it is.

As I stir the macaroni, my mind wanders to the news report—and the mask. That fucking mask … Its soulless eyes creep me out. I imagine it looking down at me, staring at me while I sleep. I swallow, feeling my knees wobble.

The microwave beeps—and I yelp, nearly knocking over the pot. I consider calling Luke, but I don’t want to seem needy or clingy. Kyla is an option, but she’s likely busy with Briar. I glance at the trees casting shadows outside and take a deep breath.

I’m safe, I’m safe …

I carry my food to the living room and plop down on the couch, grabbing the remote to surf through the channels. It’s Saturday night, so there are plenty of reruns and movie marathons to choose from. As I flip past a channel showingThe Evil Dead, a film Austin likes to put on repeat to torment me, the graphic practical effects make my imagination go wild. I decide to watch a romantic paranormal flick—Ghost—and begin picking at my bowl of mac.

By the time I finish my dinner, I’m fully engrossed in the movie. Although I’ve seen it before, it really resonates with me tonight. After the demons drag Willie’s soul to hell, we cut to commercials. I get up with the remnants of my food when the jarring sound of the phone ringing nearby sends my heart hammering. Who would call so late?

I ignore it and throw away the tray in the kitchen. The phone continues to ring a few more times before the answering machine kicks in. Mom’s recorded message plays, but the line goes silent. Probably just a wrong number. I start scrubbing my bowl and fork when the phone rings again. I sigh and dry my hands on a rag before answering.

“Hello?” I say into the handset.

Silence.

I hang up, but before I can take two steps back toward the kitchen, the phone rings again. Rolling my eyes, I double back and practically rip the cord out of the wall. “Hello?” I bite out, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “Listen, if this is some sort of prank call?—”

“Is this Grace Lawrence?”

It’s a male voice, deep and raspy. I don’t recognize it, and my patience thins as the movie comes back on. “Yes. Can I help you with something?”

“I don’t know,” the man replies. “Can you?”

I frown. “Did you just answer a question with a question?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Touché.” Momentarily, I’m distracted by the TV. “Listen, if you’re not gonna tell me who you are, then I’m going to hang up.”

“But I just wanna ask you a question.”

His words are flirtatious, with a dangerous charm that causes butterflies to swirl in my stomach. I scold myself silently for finding a random caller attractive, especially considering the possibility that he could be a serial killer. Against my better judgment, I decide to speak. “And what is that?” My fingers come up to brush against the mark hidden by my choker.

“What are you wearing right now?” I can almost hear him grin. “An old band shirt, cute panties … Not much of anything else, right?”

I shiver, suddenly wishing I had kept my hoodie on. “You’re one of Austin’s friends, aren’t you?” I spit, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. “Stop being a little pervert and pranking people. Goodnight!”

I slam the handset down onto the cradle and lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. The final act ofGhostplays in the background, but I’m too freaked out to pay attention. What if that was the psycho-killer? Paranoia hits me full force, and I dash to the foyer to check the door. Locked. I go around the house and make sure every entrance is secure, including the windows.

I soon spiral into exhaustion, my limbs growing heavy. I shut off the TV and drag myself up the stairs. Being alone in this house is making me restless and more hyperaware, like I’m a child who jumps at every shadow. I need to relax or I’m going to go crazy. Entering my room, I hop into bed, hoping to get some much-needed rest.

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