Page 2 of Rot

“A change of scenery will do us both good,” my mother was busy saying, nodding her head along with her words. Her green eyes were on the road. She wasn’t a fantastic driver, having not been behind the wheel in a long time, but she refused to let me drive. I didn’t even have a license; something both she and my grandmother agreed on.

Maybe they thought I’d run away, or maybe they thought I’d become the Bedlam Butcher 2.0. Who knew?

My mother whipped her head in my direction. Her blond hair was the same color as mine, practically white. She had it pulled back in a low bun, wearing a plain shirt and jeans—the opposite of the kind of clothes my grandmother always made me wear. We had to look inconspicuous, not like we were going to the country club.

Our destination was not a rich town. It wasn’t really a city. It was a township, a place with only one streetlight and no sidewalks anywhere.

“You’ll be good, won’t you?” my mother asked, swerving on the road a little. “Promise me you’ll be good.” Since she’d missed my life while dealing with her own trauma, she didn’t know how to parent me. Half the time it sounded as if she was begging.

“Yes, mother,” I told her what she wanted to hear. I specifically promised nothing, because I could promise nothing. This place would be a new environment for us both; neither of us knew how we would react to it.

She strained a smile. “Good.” Her hands were tight on the wheel, and yet I was pretty sure I could see her arms trembling. She was nervous. Nervous for herself, for me, for us, for the life we left behind.

I hadn’t heard much about my aunt, Maggie, or the life we were stepping into. All I knew was Aunt Maggie was letting us live with her and her family for a while. Her husband had died a few years back, and she had a kid my age. That was all I knew.

Oh, and she was a nurse somewhere, wherever the nearest hospital was, so she worked crazy hours and probably had a decently long commute.

It was four in the afternoon when we reached Aunt Maggie’s house, and my mother parked the car in the small asphalt turnaround near the garage. She was the first to get out of the car, practically rushing to the front door. I, on the other hand, took my time in undoing my seatbelt and getting out.

The house was small. A lot smaller than what I was used to, but it seemed to be average for this area. A two-story house, with probably three to four bedrooms, maybe two bathrooms if we were lucky, and a basement. A shack compared to the mansion we’d left behind.

While I was busy staring at the small house, someone opened the front door—Maggie, who smiled and said, “Penelope! It’s so good to see you.” She even hugged my mother as if she meant it, which I found insane.

Nobody thought it was good to see my mother. Staying with her would probably only last a little while, then we’d be kicked out with nowhere to go. We couldn’t go back to my grandparents’ house, so I didn’t know where we’d end up after this.

I walked up to the front door, watching as my mother pulled away from her sister. She smiled at Aunt Maggie, gesturing to me. “This is Sloane.”

My Aunt Maggie was five years older than my mother, which put her at forty, since my mother had had me at seventeen, and her blond hair was a lot darker in shade. She had the same facial structure, but her eyes seemed kinder. A little more wrinkly, though.

“Sloane, honey,” Aunt Maggie spoke with a smile, going to hug me, too.

I tensed up, freezing as she wrapped her arms around me in what must’ve been a warm, welcoming gesture. My mother didn’t hug, and my grandmother certainly didn’t, either. Physical affection wasn’t something I was used to.

I didn’t like it.

“Come in, come in,” Aunt Maggie spoke once the hug was over. “We can grab your bags later. I’m in the middle of cooking dinner. We’ll get you two situated after.” She turned, heading inside, but she held the door open for my mother and me. She then went on about how she usually worked long hours at the hospital, so it wasn’t often that she got to cook an actual meal for dinner.

Of course, I took that to mean I’d be on my own often, having to eat whatever I could make in the oven and the microwave by myself—because my own mother definitely wasn’t going to cook.

The house looked bigger on the inside than it did on the outside, but that wasn’t saying much. My mother followed Aunt Maggie into the kitchen, and I tagged along, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do.

“I’m making meatloaf for dinner tonight,” Aunt Maggie rattled off. “I hope neither of you are vegetarian. If you are, I’m sure there’s something else I can whip up—”

“Meatloaf is fine,” my mother said, her voice strained.

“Oh, and I don’t know how long you two plan on staying, but I did swing by and pick up papers from the school, in case you want Sloane to enroll.” Aunt Maggie threw a glance at me, and then at my mother. She had grandmother’s eyes, which was a little annoying, but they were set in a much kinder face. “She really shouldn’t miss much school, Pen.”

“I know, I know,” my mother was quick to say. She went to stand near a small square table in the kitchen, holding onto the back of a chair, if only to stop her hands from visibly shaking. My mother didn’t know how to play it cool. She was acting like we were running away from the worst crime scene ever. “I don’t know how long you’ll want us here—”

“Oh, don’t be silly. You two can stay as long as you need. I know what it’s like, trying to move on, make a life away from Mom and Dad,” Aunt Maggie spoke with a shrug. “Plus, ever since Dave died a few years back, the house has felt pretty empty. We have the space, Pen. I want you to stay as long as you need.”

Standing there, listening to her, she sounded so kind. It definitely wasn’t anything me or my mother were used to; my grandparents had been nothing short of cruel. They never let me forget their disdain for me or my father and what he was. They never let me forget I was the reason my mother had been locked away.

It was my fault. The rot in me.

But, maybe my aunt was only so nice because she realized that, perhaps, if she’d been there for my mother all those years ago, my mother might not have lost her mind. Things might’ve been easier for my mother with my aunt there. This was, after all, the first time they’d seen each other since… well, since before me.

Why someone would bend over backward to help a family member, someone who they abandoned more than twenty years ago, was beyond me.

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