Ruby Red Marionette

fortyeight | ruby

I could barely look Isaiah in the eyes the next morning.

I could barely look at my own reflection. Every time I looked at something, there was an underlying watermark of Yvette's name. I saw her name, her face, her eyes, everywhere I looked. Even when my eyes were closed, I could see her in my thoughts. She was haunting me, and she wasn't even dead yet.

Then again, maybe it was my own conscience. Maybe I felt bad for quietly accusing her of doing something like this. Of course, the only reason I submitted her name was because she had the most suspicious attributes out of all of us. But that didn't mean that I wanted it to be true. I didn't like her, but I liked having her around. And if we did find out that she was the one responsible—just the thought itself felt foreign and inappropriate—I'd never see her face again. I'd either kill her or run far away from her.

I didn't want that for Isaiah.

If the name was correct, then I'd have two answers: I would now confirm that Yvette was a villain, and the PM would tell me who the boss was. That was all I wanted to know and everything I was afraid of. It seemed glamorous yesterday to finally have answers, because I was standing outside of my burning childhood. I wanted revenge. Today, I wasn't sure if I could handle that information. I was barely responsible enough to keep myself alive; how could I deal with knowing the author of all my pain?

If the name was incorrect, then I would know that Yvette was truly just annoying, not evil. Then I'd like her even less, since I could confirm she didn't have a reason for being the pest that she was. I'd also not be able to look at her still, because I'd feel terrible for suspecting her. She would be innocent, I wouldn't know who the boss was, and everything would be back to normal if not worse than before.

There was no winning.

I wanted to call off the deal. I wanted to text that unknown number and tell them never mind, I didn't care anymore. Cancel the deal, cancel my life, pull me out of everything. Forget it. I'd come this far and it didn't matter if I continued. I was done.

"I think they're giving out free boxes of ribs down the street," Isaiah said. We were in the bedroom now, and he was sitting on the windowsill scrolling through his phone. I sat on the floor trying to figure out a way to silence my thoughts and stop my heart.

"It's the owner's birthday, so we have the next, like, eleven hours to get the food free."

I ignored him. He went silent, probably looking for more details on his phone. I stayed on the floor. The only thing I could do was remember something we learned in school once about chronic anxiety. The doctor who came into the school to talk to us said that if we ever have an anxiety attack, try to eliminate all other thoughts and sounds. He told us to focus on our breath and nothing else. I tried that now; I tried to drown out everything and focus on my breathing. When I was younger, the doctor's words made a lot of sense. But now, I realized that it wasn't so easy. I couldn't tell the difference between my breath and everything around me. I couldn't even tell that I was breathing. All I knew was that I might have just betrayed Yvette for good reason or I might have fallen right into a PM trap. Not knowing which was the truth was going to kill me.

At least now I could tell for sure—I wasn't breathing.

"Geneva, I'd think you would be a little more interested in free ribs," Isaiah said. His voice came in altered, layered echoes. It was putting me into an uncomfortable daze, a dangerous slumber. I was drowning.

There were more sounds after his voice, frequencies and vowels, but I couldn't quite hear them. I was drifting, deeper and deeper until soon the blackness consuming my vision would be all there was. Soon I would be gone. Soon I would—