As we pull into the darkened driveway, I waste no time; I swing the car door open with a sense of urgency and dash towards the front door. My Dad, on the other hand, takes his time, deliberately locking the car before shuffling over to the house. He inserts the key into the front door, turning it slowly as if savoring the moment. Once the door clicks open, he steps aside, allowing me to quickly pass him and make my way up the staircase to my bedroom. The exhaustion of the night weighs heavy on me, and all I can think about is getting some much-needed sleep for the challenges that await tomorrow.
"Take it easy, son," my Dad calls out, his voice echoing behind me as he quietly closes the front door.
I'm already in my room, the door barely closed behind me before I flop onto my bed. I gaze up at the ceiling, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts trying to make sense of everything that has happened. The knowledge that I should have perished in that harrowing incident—knowing that I felt no pulse, no sign of life—clings to my mind like a heavy fog. With a sigh, I close my eyes, desperate for sleep to come, for some semblance of escape from my racing thoughts.
Minutes tick by slowly; I toss and turn, the tension in my body refusing to ease. As the first rays of sunlight filter through my curtains, illuminating the room with a soft glow, I realize it's morning. I groan inwardly—sleep remains elusive, as if it is mocking me. There's an unsettling feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I kick off the covers and sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The air feels heavy as I stand and grab my school uniform from the hangers on the wardrobe door, laying it meticulously on my bed. My towel lies at the end of the bed, and I snatch it up before exiting my room.
As I step into the hallway, Millie emerges from her room directly across from mine. She pauses, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"How are you?" she asks, her voice soft and almost teasing.
I quickly shift my gaze, momentarily overcoming my shyness before looking back at her. "I'm good, thanks Mil," I reply, mustering a quick, closed smile before retreating into the bathroom.
Once inside, I shut the door and turn the shower on, letting the water heat up before undressing. Standing beneath the warm stream, I take a moment to examine my abdomen in the mirror, gently brushing my fingers over the faint stitches that mar my skin. There's no pain, just a cold, detached feeling. Sighing, I turn to grab the body wash and begin lathering my hair, then washing down my body with meticulous care. Finally, I turn off the water and reach for my towel, wrapping it around my waist as I step out.
I approach the fogged mirror, wiping it with my hand to get a clearer view. But what greets me sends my heart racing: my eyes are completely black, devoid of color. Panic floods my senses, and I scream, stumbling backward until I crash against the edge of the bathtub, gasping for air. Terror wraps around me, causing my legs to weaken as I struggle to stay upright.
"Eden! Are you okay?" my Dad's voice booms from outside the bathroom.
"Yeah... I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute…" I manage to call back, dragging myself upright along the side of the bathtub.
Cautiously, I peer into the mirror once more, and to my immense relief, my eyes have returned to their familiar blue. A shaky breath escapes my lips as I rub my face, trying to dispel the lingering fear. Once I adjust the towel around my waist, I open the door to find my Dad and Millie waiting there, concern etched on their faces.
"Told you I'm fine…" I say, forcing a smile as I edge past them toward my bedroom door.
Dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief while Millie chuckles softly behind him.
Once safely back in my bedroom, I dry off and slip into my uniform, the fabric settling against my skin. Standing in front of the mirror, I place my cap on my head, my lips curling into a hesitant smile despite everything. I feel the familiar urge to head downstairs, so I open my door and bound down the staircase.
"Dad! I'm ready!" I call out, the excitement carrying me as I leap off the last three steps.
In the kitchen, I snag a piece of toast from Millie's plate, fueled by a mixture of hunger and mischief.
"Hey!" she protests, though I can see the amusement in her eyes.
"Sorry, I've not got time. I owe you a toast!" I laugh, making a hasty retreat towards the front door.
I stand there impatiently, waiting for Dad, who seems to be taking his sweet time.
"Dad!" I call out again.
"Coming now!" he replies from the bathroom, his voice slightly muffled.
With a sigh, I pull open the front door and step out to the cool morning air. Approaching the car, an odd feeling of nervousness creeps in. When Dad finally emerges and closes the front door behind him, he turns to me, a concerned expression on his face.
"Are you feeling okay, son?" he inquires, moving toward me with a gentle demeanor.
I rest my hand on the cool metal of the car as I contemplate my response. "I feel a bit off," I admit, the weight of unspoken fears settling in.
"Take some deep breaths. Fresh air might help," he says.
I nod and draw in a few slow breaths, trying to settle the twisting in my stomach. But it only gets worse — a sudden wave of nausea hits me hard. I stumble toward the outdoor bin and throw up, my body heaving violently.
When I glance down, my breath catches. The inside of the bin is splattered with red.
Blood.
Fear grips me, cold and fast. I wipe my mouth with shaking hands, feeling the warm stickiness on my skin.
"Dad?" I croak, turning to him, blood staining my lips and dripping between my fingers.
He jumps back in shock, his eyes widening, and then rushes toward me with urgency. In a swift motion, he yanks off his coat, a thick, well-worn fabric, and presses it into my hands, urging me to hold it up in front of my trembling frame as we make our way into the house.
"What have you eaten this morning?" he questions, concern etched on his face as he pulls me into the kitchen, the warm aroma of cooking lingering in the air.
"I only had a bit of Millie's toast, that's it!" I reply, my voice shaky as I sink into a chair. Millie's eyes, usually so bright and cheerful, are now clouded with worry as she watches me intently. I still clutch Dad's jacket over my mouth, as if it might shield me from the reality of the moment. Her gaze swiftly shifts to Dad, who is darting around the room, his frantic movements betraying the chaos raging inside him.
"What's happened?" she asks, her brow furrowed and voice laced with anxiety.
"Nothing!" he yells, the pitch of his voice rising in an attempt to sound reassuring, but it only serves to heighten the tension in the air.
I steal a quick glance at Millie. Our eyes lock, and in that brief exchange, her expression morphs... panic transforms into a deeper, more profound fear.
"I'll take the day off. Call work for me; I'll go in tomorrow," I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper as I get to my feet and shuffle out of the kitchen. I wipe my mouth against the coarse fabric of the jacket and ascend the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. At the top, I toss the jacket into the dirty laundry basket, its familiar weight leaving my hands.
I step into my bedroom, pushing the door open with a soft creak. There, I start to change, hanging my uniform neatly for tomorrow before slipping into my comfortable loungewear. The softness felt soothing against my skin. I climb into bed, enveloping myself in the warmth of my duvet, seeking solace in its embrace. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I ponder the unsettling morning.
"What was that?" I whisper to myself, grappling with disbelief. "How can I vomit blood and still be fine?" The questions ricochet in my mind as I lie back, staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to wash over me.