I've always pondered on deaths door, but he's never opened. I could care less about the hell and heaven shenanigans, but death. I want it. The end of my life.
I want to be in my suit, in my coffin, in the ground and my soul to be gone. I've been wa...
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I can count the number of minutes we've been home on one hand. The moon is bright and hangs low, illuminating the front yard. I have my headphones on, playing 90s rock as I unload the dishwasher. I sort the silverware and stack the plates in the cupboard.
Even though we are wealthy enough to have maids, my dad doesn't believe we should have maids. So he still gives us chores to keep the "discipline" and "structure" in our lives. I have to mow the lawn, take out the trash, do the laundry, mop the floors, feed the cat and empty the dishwasher. All Norah has to do is water the plants. That's it. She sometimes pays me to do her chores which is utter bullshit.
I finally put the glass away when I realize how disgusting the countertops are. I open the bottom drawer, grabbing a cloth. I wet the cloth under the cold water before wiping the tables. The black granite sparkles after each wipe which weirdly brings a smile to my face. I know that this isn't my chore but if the kitchen is clean it puts my mind at ease.
I feel someone tap my shoulder. My head turns around to see my mother standing there barefoot with her clipped-back hair and dressed in a deep blue silk robe, an angry look on her face when she sees me. She says something, but with my headphones on I just see her mouthing something. I take off one side of the headphones, raising my eyebrows at her. "Come to the living room once you're done."
I can't stop my stomach from sinking like it does every time I hear her talk. And the thing is...I never hear her talk. I nod at her and she walks away leaving me here, alone with my thoughts. I let out a controlled breath, scrubbing the tables to avoid walking into that god-forsaken living room.
But if I continue to scrub, the granite could erode. I sigh, throwing the cloth and scrubber into the sink before washing my hands and grabbing a few gummy worms. I shove them in my mouth, walking towards the stairs which unfortunately are right by the living room. I am just hoping that I can avoid the living room conversation. "Noah," a voice says. I falter, hearing Newt behind me.
I slowly turn around to face him. I hum, my mouth full of gummy worms. "Come here." He points at the couch where Norah sits. I stride across the room, sitting down beside her.
Her hair is still straightened and her silver earrings glint under the light of the overhead bulbs. Norah and I were always close. A year younger than me and she is always the best to talk to even after the incident that changed this family forever.
"Did you take your mother's earrings?" Newt asks me quickly, placing his cigarette between his lips. "Yeah, that makes sense." I smile small, but my hand shakes as I put another gummy worm in my mouth.
When I notice his unamused face I fall silent, shaking my head. The silence fills the room louder than the sound of my father playing with his lighter."Was it Dylan?"
I swallow a lump in my throat...and a bit of the gummy worm. "I mean he's always here." I close my eyes. The calmness in his voice makes my knee begin to bop up and down. The air feels like it's gotten thicker and I already know what's going to happen tonight.
