Page 57 of Lost Petal

Chapter 32

Petal

Time is no longer a mystery to me. While I thought the white rose alone would turn out to be a somewhat reliable help as time will mark its wilting petals, I managed to find something better than that.

I’ve spent a lot of time at the boarded-up windows, searching for cracks or tiny vents that could tell me anything about the time of day—or even my location.

And I found something.

I didn’t see at first, and it also went past me the second and third time I checked the right window, the one that’s closer to the bed. But things changed when I pulled over the little upholstered bench that’s placed at the foot of the bed, moving it right below the window frame so I could step on it and have a better look at the boarded frame on top. I’m still not tall enough to reach up all the way to the top of the window, as the ceilings are ridiculously high in the mansion. Yes, mansion. By now, I’m sure I must be inside an old New England mansion, one that was built a long, long time ago, equipped with creaking wooden floors and ceilings that are almost twice as high as those in a regular building nowadays.

I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or if it was really there, but it looked like there was a tiny ray of light breaking through the boards up above my head. Close to the upper right corner, not quite at the top of the window yet. I couldn’t be sure because it was too high for me to have a closer look.

But what my eyes can’t reach, my hand can. I stretch up a little more, raising my arm to place my hand where the light appears to break through. And indeed, there’s a tiny spot of light on my palm as I hold it up above my head. Light! From the outside! At least now I can tell whether it’s night or day.

And there’s more than that. It’s not just light but... a gentle breeze. Fresh air. I made sure I wasn’t imagining things, moving my hand back and forth from the particular spot that felt slightly cooler than the surrounding area, before I let myself believe it.

My heart jumps, and I hurry to move the bench closer to the spot, pushing it to the right and closer to the window, before I pile up some cushions on top of it. It’s a struggle to balance them and I have to be very careful once I step on top of the wobbly tower, but I’m happy to realize it actually does lift me a few inches, just enough to feel the breeze on my forehead. I stretch, holding on to the frame while tiptoeing on the pillows. The gentle breeze conjures a smile on my face as I feel it caressing my nose. I inhale deeply, relishing the fresh air that fills my lungs, even though it’s so faint that it’s nothing more than a pinch of spice overall.

A pinch of salt, actually.

I lift myself even higher, my fingers crawling into the wooden frame as I try my best not to fall while I take in the familiar scent. Yes, I’m not imagining it. That little breeze of fresh air visiting me through the crack of the boarded-up window smells like water kissing the shore.

I take another deep breath, closing my eyes as my lungs fill with a taste of fresh air for the first time since I can remember. It’s just a hint, not much more than a suggestion of something I lack. Daylight. A sense of time. Freedom.

Knowledge.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw him, since I curled up in his arms with tears running down my face, my cheeks still emitting heat from the excitement he ignited. I was confused and sad, feeling so utterly helpless against his stubborn silence and the torment that comes with it. It doesn’t really help that his presence provides me with comfort and that his touch is starting to feel more pleasant than intrusive. It’s confusing at best, and it makes me question my own sanity.

Yet I fell asleep in his arms. I want to blame my unbearable exhaustion for it, but only a stupid person would ignore the soothing effect his embrace had on me. I fell asleep because I felt safe in his arms.

And when I woke up, he was gone. He left something behind—a neatly folded white night gown, very similar to the one I was wearing before. This one is unworn and fresh, but it’s even more revealing than the one I was wearing before. I’d left that one on the bathroom floor before my bath, but it’s gone now, forcing me to wear this next-to-nothing piece of fabric as I searched the windows.

I wish I had found this tiny crack before. I wish I had seen it before I decided to take a bath, before he came back into the room to toy with me. Was it light out then? Or dark? Is the sun about to set or about to rise?

I open my eyes, holding up my hand against the faint ray of light, trying to determine the shade of it. Is it cool or warm, closer to white or to orange? My eyes turn into narrow slits as I try to focus on the light, investigating, hoping.

The sound of the door behind my back startles me so much I almost fall off the wobbly pillow tower I’ve built on the bench. I catch my fall in the last second, my fingers crawling into the frame while I use my other arm to whirl around in the air when I try to balance myself.

I freeze for a few seconds, listening after the door snaps shut while I raise my hackles. I can sense the presence of another person in the room, but whoever it is, he or she doesn’t make a sound, apparently standing just as still as I am.

Shit. Am I in trouble?

I hold my breath as my eyes slowly trail back over my shoulder, fear and curiosity merging in a passionate dance when I’m about to find out which one of the two visitors is watching me from the door.

It’s her. The girl with black locks is standing about ten feet away from me, wearing her usual plain black dress and holding a tray with food in both her hands as she always does. The expression on her face is hard to read, as she looks at me through wide eyes and her lips partly opened. She locks me down in a tense stare, not moving an inch as she seems to wait for me to react.

I stumble as I hurry to climb down from the bench, balancing awkwardly as my feet touch the soft ground.

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, reaping a confused look from her.

She arches an eyebrow, an expression that I’ve never seen on her face. Hope blossoms within my chest, the hope for words, for a conversation, for something to shed more light on the connection she and I might share.

But the expression on her goes right back to that apathetic look I’ve grown familiar with, and once again I’m left with nothing but strained silence as she moves over to the table, diverting her eyes from me and placing the tray on it, right next to the vase with the white rose.

“You have no idea how terrible it is,” I say in a low voice, keeping my distance as I sit down on the bench. “To wake up in a gray basement cell and know nothing about yourself. Your name, your past, your body, your story—to have nothing left and be trapped inside a windowless room with no distractions other than the occasional visitor.”

She pauses, her hands still resting at the sides of the tray as she lowers her head. I know that approaching her will only chase the girl away like a frightened deer, but she has reacted to my words before, albeit in a mysterious and restrained way that only dispersed the puzzle of my existence. If I can get her to listen for a while, it might provoke a little more from her, something a little more profound and telling.

---