Page 17 of Haunt Me

I feel the exact same way as Jane right now. Well, the exact opposite. She is told she will go to hell unless she is a good, obedient child, and she retorts that she has to keep in good health and not die in order to avoid such a fate.

While I just know it. I am definitely going to hell after what I did.

Dad warned me, and I resisted temptation for so long. But now I’ve gone and done it. I am going to hell, no doubt about it. Why did I have to do this? Why did I have to go there?

I am going back again tomorrow. I shouldn’t. But I am.

What’s to lose, if my soul is already condemned?

In the words of Edward Cullen, “if I’m going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly”. (Sorry, Charlotte, for quoting Twilight on your pages. Then again, Twilight’s Edward was inspired by yours, so you started everything withyourmoody Rochester. This is all your fault.)

seven

The next morning is exactly the same.

It’s still October in New England and I’m still bored out of my mind.

I am, as always, thinking about my dad. Missing him. Trying to take a breath, and another one, and another one.

But.

Something has changed.

For one thing, I slept during the night. I did not wake up sweating from nightmares like I usually do, and I did not lie there staring at the dark ceiling as tears ran down my temples into my ears.

I wake up with morning light streaming through the curtains, disoriented and panicked from the long night’s sleep. I jolt up and get dressed without looking at what I’m choosing. Then I grab my violin and run out into the hall. I slept all through breakfast, too.

It’s Saturday, so there are few teachers around. I head straight for the gates, realizing I forgot my violin’s case in my haste. I don’t even know why I took it with me—I promised myself that I wouldn’t play anymore after dad died. It felt wrong to enjoy it when he was dead.

It also felt somehow wrong to enjoy it before, simply because I wasn’t as good at it as my brother is.

But still that stubborn violin won’t leave my side. It’s as if it’s got a mind of its own. And then suddenly I remember that Icomposed a song for the girl from the woods on it last night, and I realize that’s why I’m carrying the violin.

The song is trapped inside the violin. The one I had promised myself I couldn’t—wouldn’t play anymore.

There are birds chirping when I go outside, the morning sun blinding my sleep-heavy eyelids. I haven’t been outside this early in the day in months. Blinking, I find my way to the back fence, climb it, and walk out into the woods, stupidly looking for her. Looking for Eden.

My eyes find her silhouette in the orange autumn light. She’s sitting under her tree, reading a book. She is wearing the same oversized sweater as yesterday; it’s so big on her that her pleated skirt is barely visible under it. I try to approach her slowly, but the minute I reach her, a huge smile breaks out on my lips. I can’t help it. A branch breaks under my feet and she looks up, sharply.

I remember every little detail of her face. Those eyes of hers look so big they take up almost half her face.

There is a plaster on her knee.I wish I had put it there.

I stop a few inches away from her, scared.

Scared I will be electrified again if I get too close to her.

“Why were you crying the other day?” I ask her and her cheeks catch on fire.

She looks down, embarrassed.

I could have just said ‘hi’ like a normal person, but I had to blurt that out. Nailed it.

“Was I?” she replies in that deep voice that catches me by surprise.

She says it much the same way she has said everything so far: with a hint of sarcasm and a whole lot of boredom. As if it’s half a question and half a joke.

“It was barely noticeable,” I tell her, trying to mimic her tone. On me, instead of impossibly cool, it sounds childish. How does she do it? “I shouldn’t have asked,” I add quickly, in my own voice, noticing the blush spread down to her neck. “It’s none of my business and I…”

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