Page 151 of Exposé

"Mom?" I let the door slam behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty apartment. My backpack hits the floor with a dull thud.

The low hum of the fridge and the faint tick-tick of the kitchen clock echo back in reply.

"Martha says the bill is due." I run my fingers through my tangled hair, the wind blowing extra hard on my walk home. My bubble gum clings to my teeth, the flavor long petered out.

The silence presses on me, heavy and wrong.

I make my way down the hall and into her bedroom. "Mom?"

My sneaker squelches, and I stop dead, looking down with a frown, my stomach tightening.

Water—spreading out in uneven tendrils across the threadbare carpet. The kind of water that doesn’t come from a spilled glass.

I follow the ominous path.

"Mom? There's water everywhere." My voice wavers, my breaths shallow.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

"Mom?"

I push the bathroom door open.

Red.

Red, smeared, and streaked, pooling on the white tiles like someone spilled a bucket of paint.

Her arm dangles over the edge, pale as bone, the hand slack. Fingers pale, nails chipped, the veins beneath the skin like faint blue rivers. Blood drips from her fingers in thick, syrupy beads, splashing into the growing puddle on the floor.

The tub is overflowing, water and blood mixing into a swirling, pink froth.

Metallic and sharp, like pennies soaked in something rancid hits my sinuses. I gag, my throat closing up.

Her hair fans out in the water, dark and tangled, her face beneath the surface, eyes closed as though she's Sleeping Beauty.

A scream claws its way out of me, raw and jagged, tearing through the stillness. My knees buckle, my knees soaking into the aftermath.

My pulse drummed in my ears as I used the bathroom counter to haul me up from the floor, then washed my mouth with the Listerine.

Spitting, I let loose a groan and wiped the tears from my eyes.

“Ava? Are you in here?”

29

Ava

Nate?

I dragged the back of my hand across my lips, stepping out of the bathroom. Sudden movement on the monitor snagged my attention from the corner of my eye.

No.

I lunged toward the screen, palms flat against the desk as I leaned in closer. "Oh, shit."

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