Page 15 of Poe: Nevermore

The three kids screamed wildly, tackling Frost literally to the ground and sitting on him. Frost tried to protest, but the oldest girl sat right on his chest and knocked the breath out of him. I knew how strong Frost was from how easily he kept carrying me around, so I looked on with a smirk and merely stepped to the side to better let his siblings hold him down.

“Poe,” he gasped theatrically. “Help me…”

I shook my head, half-smiling in amusement. “You’re on your own, Frost. They seem pretty vicious.”

The little girl beamed at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “We are.”

The older girl looked up at me, wide-eyed and grinning. “You’re Poe?” She seemed to be studying me closely, the way I imagined sisters inspected their brothers’ girlfriends.

I nodded good-humoredly, gritting my teeth in embarrassment once more at what Frost and I looked like together. “Yeah, I know, it’s odd. I hate my first name.”

She grinned even wider. “I’m Maddi. This is Ryan and Trina. We’re Frost’s sisters.”

“Hey!” Ryan yelled, seeming only half offended. Maddi rolled her eyes at him. “Sorry. Trina and I are Frost’s sisters. Ryan is our pet pig.”

Ryan launched himself off of Frost’s legs and took off after Maddi, who was already running for the stairs. Both were screaming and laughing hysterically. Trina stood up slowly and smiled in a sweet and almost surreally knowing way at me. “See you later, Poe.” Then, she turned and followed her siblings back upstairs, running on toe with the grace of a well-trained ballerina.

I extended a hand to Frost and helped him, groaning, to his feet. Once again vertical, he rolled his eyes and gestured to the stairs, smirking. “The monsters.”

“How old are they?”

“Eighteen, fifteen and eleven.” He smiled. “I know, Trina doesn’t look it.”

“Not really,” I agreed, thinking that I wanted to talk to Trina. Eleven wasn’t right. She looked years younger and acted many years older. “They’re cool, though. I wish I had siblings.”

Frost shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance, though I was sure he’d heard the unsaid ‘anymore’ echoing in the now silent hallway. “Yeah, they’re cool, but you can’t let them get at the chocolate. Want to pick out a room?”

“Sure.” I followed Frost down the hall and around a corner to a long corridor with doors lining one wall. The opposing wall was adorned with more paintings and windows, which overlooked monstrous trees and the garage. As we walked along, Frost opened the first six doors wide, showing off bedroom after bedroom. They were all fairly close to identical, each with the same double bed, dresser, nightstand and open empty closet. Each room was a different color scheme, though, reminding me eerily of “The Masque of the Red Death”. The first was earth tones, mainly chocolate brown. The second was blues. Third was pale golds. Fourth was white with bright accents. Fifth was greens. Finally, the sixth was decorated in dark royal purples. “Which one do you like?” Frost asked as he opened the final door.

“This one,” I answered, staring into the deep purple room.

Frost half-smiled. “I figured that.” He eyed my blood-soaked jacket and sweater critically. “Let’s get you a change of clothes. You’re probably about my mom’s size, even if she is taller.”

I shrugged, the discomfort and awkwardness of being in a foreign house with new people returning. “Sure, I guess. I’mmuchshorter, though, and really skinny. I probably won’t fit in anything.”

“We’ll see,” he said assuredly. Frost continued down the hall and I trailed him to another staircase. We ascended to the third floor, then down another hall. It would be a miracle if I could navigate this house at all and I was grateful to be staying for only one night. At last, Frost passed through a cherry-wood door and I followed him into a small burgundy parlor. “This is my parents’ suite,” he explained.

I had never seen a suite before and hadn’t imagined one outside of a ritzy hotel, but it was great. There was the little parlor with its fancy loveseat and a plethora of paintings; I had determined that Mrs. Frost must be an art fanatic and supposed it made sense to become one if you had money to spend. There were three doors branching off the parlor. I couldn’t see inside the first two, but assumed them to be a bedroom and bathroom. The third opened into a closet half the size of my apartment. I gaped as Frost gestured to racks upon racks of clothes. “Pick anything. She asked me to let you take whatever you wanted.”

I stepped into the closet and stared at the twenty-foot rack for a long time. I owned a grand total of about twelve shirts and five pair of jeans. Clothes, to me, were something extremely valuable and rare, like gold.

“Seriously, Poe. Go crazy,” Frost encouraged, studying me again. I hesitated and glanced back at him for visual assurance and when he nodded, gesturing to the rack, I turned away again. Noting the way the closet was organized, I traveled down the rack to the darker colors, far from the whites and pastels. I slid aside the blues and reds so that I could better flip through the purple shirts, quickly finding a midnight purple long-sleeved V-neck. It was just thick t-shirt material, but I hadn’t owned a better quality shirt in my life.

“That looks like you. Here, I found a pair of jeans that I bet will fit you.” I turned just as Frost tossed a pair of faded jeans at me and narrowly managed to catch them. They were simple flares, but they had been faded an eerie greenish color and I could see the designer name stitched into the waistband.

“The bathroom’s the door on the far left,” Frost added, returning to the parlor and making for the exit. “I’m going to clean up and be back in a minute. Take your time.”

I bit my lip and turned, exiting the closet and crossing to open the bathroom door. The master bathroom was easily as large as the closet. It had a shower with eight power-jets, a Jacuzzi tub, a counter fifteen feet long with three sinks, and a toilet that looked like it was worth more than my apartment. I gritted my teeth and shut the door behind me, feeling awkward and ill. These people were very wealthy, did not know me, and were giving me free reign of their incredible home, as well as free food and clothes. It seemed wrong, as if I should be told to leave.

I flicked on the shower and tried to scrub the blood off my aching body, struggling with the bandages on my wrist and hand impeding me. The blood was for the most part washed away by the nurses at the hospital, but there was a good deal still matted into my hair and my skin was faintly stained scarlet. I hadn’t thought about how difficult it would be to wash off, but now that I tried to, I recalled how badly blood can stain skin. The clotted red in my hair was even worse. The hot water stung the young wound on the back of my head and I grimaced as I washed around the stitches, happy at least that the doctors had not cut my hair to treat the injury. Vaguely, I wondered why they hadn’t and briefly entertained the notion that Frost had asked them not to. But men did not think of things like that. Finally, I managed to wash the worst of the gore down the drain, gritting my teeth and trying to suffocate a feeling of déjà vu.

Changed into the purple V-neck and jeans, I examined my reflection in the floor-to ceiling mirror. Surprisingly, the shirt fit me well, better than anything else I owned. I could almost say I looked good in it. The jeans were too long, but that was okay with me. My face was like something out of a nightmare. My recently-broken nose was straight, but the bridge had completely changed shape, now with a small but obvious sharply-raised part in the middle. My lip was badly split. The bruise from Mr. Aaron’s ring at the corner of my mouth was raised, throbbing, and slowly turning into a bright reddish purple.

I left the bathroom feeling self-conscious and nervous, holding my hand up to my mouth in a depressing attempt to hide my split lip and the bruise. As I closed the bathroom door, Frost looked up from where he was sprawled on the loveseat, eyes half closed. He looked as exhausted as I felt. His eyes were sunken and from the way he appeared to be sinking into the loveseat, it was easy to see just how drained he was. When he saw me, he sat bolt upright, his eyes widening. For awhile, he didn’t say anything as if in shock. Color rose in my cheeks and I looked down at the red plush carpeting in embarrassment, trying harder to cover my mouth with my hand. Was it that bad? Maybe it was the broken nose or my sickly pallor. Slowly, he stood, something strange and indecipherable in his countenance. Taking cautious steps, he approached me, finally standing only about a foot away. He raised a hand and took my fingers away from my mouth gently. I realized from the steadiness of his hand around mine that I was shaking. Then, with his other hand, he lifted my chin with his fingertips so that he could face me head-on, his eyes piercing through mine. I did not understand the emotions flicking across his face as he studied me. I had never seen anything like them before. Hesitantly, he brushed my hair back from my face, then stroked the ring-imprinted bruise at the corner of my mouth with his thumb. At long last, he whispered intimately, “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Tears rose in my eyes and I let my eyelids fall as salt-water streaked over my cheeks silently. In equal silence, Frost released my hand and chin, gently wrapping his arms around me. I felt like something inside me was breaking, the memories of the word “orphan” and the scars on my wrists eating me alive inside. But when I felt his arms around me, and when I let my head fall into his shoulder, a sense of strength began to course through my veins and gradually fight off the memories. After a short minute, I stood there, my tears drying on his shirt, in control once more. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he returned. After a long minute more of indulging in the embrace, he whispered softly, “Dinner’s probably ready.” I nodded regretfully and he released me, leading me back downstairs.

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