And Then Death Greeted Me

SOME TRUTHS

'Anne?' I call. My hands rest on my hips as I frown at the blank wall of my bedroom. A sudden idea has struck me. 'Hey, anne!'

Silence. She doesn't reply, and my frown deepens. 'Anne?'

'Can't hear you!' she says finally. 'Maybe come downstairs?'

I groan. I've barely moved from my room the entire morning. There were more important things to do – my room was an absolute junkyard, and how could I expect to clear my mind up when my physical state was such a mess? As of a few minutes ago, however, the thick film of dust on my desk has been cleared; my books are all alphabetically ordered on my shelf; my wastepaper basket is empty of drink cans; and I've finally gotten round to hanging up my clothes in the wardrobe like an actual human being. I wasn't planning on leaving my newly-decluttered haven for a while yet. But I break my heated staring contest with the wall in favour of moving closer to my mother.

I stand at the top of the staircase. 'Anne?'

'Goddammit, Vernice!' she yells. 'Kapa ceneni!'

I raise my eyebrows involuntarily. My mother just told me to shut up, which is so shocking I forget to be hurt. There's another agonizing silence, and I chew the inside of my cheek into pulp as I wait.

I hear her inhale a deep, audible breath, before apologizing. 'Afedersiniz. Come down, sevgilim. I can't hear you from so far away.'

The staircase creaks under my feet as I thump down. The rest of the house is so much warmer than my room, which shivers at winter's chill. My hands slides down the banister and I almost feel a child again.

'Could you please stop stomping like that?' my brother groans as I enter the living room. I don't bother to reply. 'I'm revising for my exams, for God's –'

'Hasan!' my mother snaps, her sharp voice audible even from the study. 'Language!'

'I'm revising for my exams, for heaven's –'

'No.'

He rolls his eyes at me. I don't return the gesture.

'I'm revising for my exams, for goodness' sake,' he finishes, his voice sarcastically sweet. 'Better?'

'Not by much,' she says, and a small sigh escapes her. 'Come here, Vernice.'

I slink into the study with my brow pinched, wondering what's irked my mother so much.

She sits behind the desk, frantically typing away at the old computer. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head – not an effortlessly cool bun, a teenager thing, but more of an I've-lost-any-fucks-I-ever-gave type of bun. She's put on her reading glasses too, which means something really must be up. She hates wearing glasses.

'You alright, anne?' I ask, my fingers tapping away at the sides of my legs.

'What?' She looks up at me, her gaze unfocused. Then she blinks, and her voice softens. 'Yes, birtanem, I'm fine. Come here.'

I lean against the wall opposite her, examining her face.

She notices, and so purposefully directs the conversation away from herself. 'What did you want?'

I hesitate. 'If you're busy –'

'No, no,' she says. 'I was just – um – researching. But do go on.'

'Well,' I say, my right hand clenching into a sweaty fist behind my back. 'I wanted to get a whiteboard for my room.'

She doesn't skip a beat. Eyes glazed, she swivels in her chair to face her computer again. 'Alright, sure.'