01.04.202X - Pillow Talk

 

Chapter 5 – Pillow Talk

Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.

Moonlight casting shadows through dusty windows. Shadows that seemed to move but didn't. A mounting feeling of paranoia, of pressure. Every tick of the old grandfather clock the next room over felt like a stab.

She couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, mind abuzz. Cannibals. Evacuations. Deserted streets. What the fuck was going on? Sometimes the chilly wind would blow a little too violently, and a branch would scrape the window of her second-floor guest bedroom, and she'd fight the urge to open the window, to take a peek outside, to make sure that there wasn't anyone around, but...

The forest was dark.
Whatever it held, it kept.
Hidden, concealed.

She almost wanted to groan. Kate had gone to bed ages ago. Or, well, 2 hours ago. Long enough to think up shitty haikus and toss and turn and fight the overwhelming urge to just take Xanax and finally, maybe, sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream, she couldn't remember the origin of the quote but she hoped the latter wouldn't occur.

Too many thoughts, already. Too many grisly events.

The entire day had felt like a dream, anyway – first due to the Oxycodone, then due to the sudden escalation, then...

Brain matter on an aluminum bat. Sayori helping Kate staple her lacerated shoulder back together after rinsing it with NaCl. Putrid smells, bloody handprints, deserted streets. Jolly Ranchers, apple-flavored. Vomit on a welcome mat. Then – fear, sadness, warmth, a hug that meant more than she could ever describe, cursory discussion, a long-awaited chance to sleep.

So why wasn't she the least bit tired? Her body was exhausted, but her mind refused to obey.

It always did.

No control, no steady state of “normal” to fall back on, just constant gray and rain and cold. She'd considered suicide before – attempted it even, in junior high – but there was always that same fucking instinct pulling her back. Biological imperatives. The body must survive.

But why suicide? Simple – she didn't even have to think for a minute – it was an easy escape.
Or was wearing the disguise of one, anyway.
A wolf in sheep's clothing.
Take this pill.
Open your wrists.
Thread the rope around your neck.

And then I'll take you.

I'll drag you down to Hell.

But Hell was already here.

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.

She'd made it for herself, all on her own. There might have been some reasons for it in the past, why she felt this way, but it was... internalized, for lack of a better word.
Her negativity was as much a part of herself as her left arm, and while she could cover up the scars, act cheerful and friendly, it was all false. A mask. A disguise. She'd joke about it, online, about blowing her brains out or hanging herself, but...

“The true mask is my authentic, real self. And the truth comes out precisely in the guise of fiction.”

Who was that? The sniffling Slovenian, if she remembered correctly. She didn't remember much these days. Or she hadn't remembered much for a while, more like. How long was a while, anyway? Too long to count, too long to process. A while is an eternity, a while is a moment, a while is the two days it takes for you to forget everything and go back to square zero. While that was going on...

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

She got up and shuddered. Cold, not revulsion. Panties and a t-shirt, a crutch in her right hand. Should have packed gym shor-
I packed gym shorts. He ripped them apart when
Glass of water in a darkened bathroom. The bulb would need changing.

How many depressed attention whores does it take to change a light bulb?

Two. One to hang herself from the bulb, another to spin their corpse around until the light flickered back on.

Tasteless, but so was the water.

As she exited the bathroom, she saw a faint halo of light at the door to the master bedroom. The cracks between the wall and the door, anyway. Kate was still up. Probably reading, or trying to call her family, or something. Sayori had tried, as well. To call. No signal.

She stood there for a moment, listening to the grandfather clock. Or, to be more precise, she thought she stood there. In reality, she was slowly inching closer, bare feet against hardwood floor, left arm reaching for the door handle...

Kate practically sprang out of her bed when Sayori opened the door.

“Jesus fucking Christ, knock next time, okay?” Exertion? Was she working out? “Whaddya... what's up?”

“Couldn't sleep. Was wondering what you were up to.” A quiet voice, barely above a whisper. It didn't feel right to speak any louder. “Saw the light, and... yeah. Wanted to know what you were doing.”

“You could have waited five minutes...” Kate muttered, surreptitiously smushing her blanket. Still, no apparent rancor, just exhaustion. Then, silence. Sayori stood in the doorway.

“Still haven't heard from your family?”

“No dice. Signal's fucked.”

“Yeah.” Sayori stood there, another moment passed, she mulled over her words. “I tr-”

“Couldn't sleep, huh? Trust me, I know that feeling.” A sigh. “I've got the slugger right here, but...”

“Something doesn't feel right.” Sayori continued.

“Yup. I'm fucking noided to hell and back.” Kate gave a short, hopeless laugh. “Keep getting the urge to check the door bolts downstairs just in case, but I know I bolted them, I know I locked the door, I know I...”

Long exhale.

“Anyway, I guess I kinda get my mom now. Whenever we'd go on a trip somewhere, just to the store or something normal, she'd...” Kate cleared her throat. “She'd always stop the car before we were even halfway out the yard, run back inside, and check that the stove was off and such.”

“...yeah.” Lame answer from a lame weirdo.

“I mean, it got to the point where I'd deliberately show her that the stove was off, unplugged, everything, but... she just insisted.” Kate chuckled and shook her head, but her tone was much more positive now. “Can't teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose. Heh.”

Old dogs and new tricks?
He went to live on a farm,
Somewhere up Shit Creek.

Sayori laid in bed again. The only difference was the room, and the light, and the...
Well, everything was different.
Kate, especially. She didn't have a Kate in the guest room bed.
She didn't have a Kate a month ago. She idly wondered if there were enough Kates to go around for all the stupid little attention whores around the world.
Probably not.

Still, she had her Kate. Not a romantic Kate, just a nice Kate. A Kate that would hug you and hold your hair out of the way when you're puking and talk to you and smash a cannibal's head to pieces with an aluminum bat.

A Kate that would teach you first aid – she'd promised – and how to drive and how to fish and how to...

Just a Kate. A nice, warm Kate, for comfort. That helped keep your mind off things. That made everything just a bit better.

Fury in her eyes-
Abomination unto me!
Her blade like thunder.

“Hey, Kate?”

A murmur.

“How do haikus work in English?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, those words that kinda have two syllables but are pronounced as one?”

Kate groaned. “What, you writing poetry now?”

I used to.

“Just wondering.”

Silence.

“I don't know, honestly – never thought that much about it.” Kate sounded far more alert now. “I used to write some fucking abysmal haikus back in high school, real not-like-the-other-girls-type chuuni shit.”

But Kate wasn't like the other girls. The others left.

“Anyway,” she continued, ”my pee-oh-vee on stuff like this is that... well, if you like it, and it sounds good, or it reads well, then there's not too much to worry about, you know? You just do you and let the haters say what they want.”

“I... yeah... I just wanted to, you know, maybe do it... correctly?”

“The point of language is to make yourself understood, okay?” Kate had gotten onto her elbows now, and if Sayori hadn't been too tired to turn around, she would have seen Kate move her hands in excitement.

“All these things, these conventions, they're just...” Kate smacked her lips. “fuck I hate using this phrase – social constructions.”

Now it was Sayori's turn to turn.

“These conventions exist for a reason!” She hadn't quite expected that kind of an outburst. “How can I say “I'm writing haikus” if I don't adhere to... the conventions of the, the... art form?”

Silence.

“I... I don't know. I'm just kinda tired of the whole... you know.” Kate sighed. “I guess I'm too post-modern for this shit. I dunno. Not like the other girls, so on.”

“But-”

“And if we're going to turn this discussion towards “what is art?” then I'd prefer we do it tomorrow, okay? Already got enough to think about.”

“I wasn't-”

“We would have.” Kate laughed. “Just... try to sleep. We'll go check out Rosewood tomorrow. I'll try to do all that stuff I promised, you know.”

Silence.

“Hey, Kate?”

She groaned.

“How many depressed attention whores does it take to... change a light bulb?”

Kate scrunched her nose for a moment.

“Four.”

“How so?”

“One to stand on the chair, two more to spin it around.”

“What about the fourth one?”

“Simple.” Kate grinned, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “She kicks the chair out from underneath.”

“Hm.”