no turning back

• thirty •

gladys

I put off leaving the bedroom for as long as possible. The mere idea of interacting with Brant after his interruption this morning made me want to roll up in the sheets and hide under the bed for a month. Although he might have left with Eli, I didn't want to take the risk.

The awkward tension from that aside, I still hadn't come to grips with the murder situation either. My heart hurt at knowing the gruesome truth of Bernice's fate. Even after the multitude of tragedies I'd faced in my life, reality nevertheless sickened me, reminding me how weak and helpless I was.

My anger and pain were solely directed at Brant's father, though. I found myself wanting to empathize with Brant instead. After all, he only went along with everything to protect his family. He was still in the wrong, no doubt, but I sensed genuine remorse and guilt in his behavior.

I didn't have the authority to forgive, however, so neither did I have the authority to judge. I only wanted justice for my slaughtered loved ones.

After sulking in bed for a while, I hopped in the shower and scavenged the room for clean clothes. I was still having to use Eli's clothes, which, while comfy, were impractical and made me look like a droopy pillow. Finding a clean shirt and sweatpants, I pulled them on.

I had half a mind to crawl back into bed and rot for a while longer, but the rumbling in my stomach propelled me down to the kitchen. Opening the bedroom door, I peeked around and listened for footsteps.

A calm and empty quiet filled the old house. Walking to the staircase, I descended two steps a door creaked open behind me.

I spun around to see Brant's bedroom door ajar. He poked his head out and our gazes fleetingly collided before I turned away. My fists clenched as I took the steps down two at a time. Unfortunately, in my rush to evade him, I slipped on the second to last step and fell backward.

Pain erupted down my spine and the back of my skull. For a second, I just lay there to process the pain and shock of my reckless, hasty actions.

"Gladys!" he called after me, his heavy footfalls rushing down the steps.

I groaned and mustered the strength to sit up. He was there, hands slipping under my pits and gently lifting me. My first instinct was to thank him but I stopped myself, bitterness filling my mouth. His guilty gaze slid away from mine as I pulled away, rubbing the back of my aching head.

"It's fine," I grumbled. "I'm fine."

Why am I so clumsy?

"Are you hungry?"

My lips pursed with the impulse to protest but one glance at his look of shame dispersed my lingering anger. I nodded but then shook my head.

"I'll make something," I said. "You?"

He shrugged. "I could eat."

Opening the fridge, I surveyed our options. They were still bleak, aside from a carton of eggs, some packs of deli meat, and a bag of shredded cheese.

"How's an omelet sound?" I said.

"Perfect."

Neither of us spoke while I made the omelets. He filled two mugs of coffee and placed one beside me before retreating to the dining table. By the time I carried our plates to the table, he'd already set out some paper towels and utensils.

"How domestic of you," I murmured.

He arched a brow at me as if surprised by my teasing. Only then did I realize that was exactly what I did—tease him. My face blanked and I settled into the chair across from his.