INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XXIV

INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XXIV

IT HAD BEEN TWENTY-FOUR hours since Mom died. I laid in her bed. Sadness rested on the edge of the cold mattress, hands on his bony knees, looking at me and waiting. Grief made a home in my right breast. My left breast held emptiness that ached. The pain worsened with time.  I woke up alone, the curtains had been tugged apart, a dusty sky hung outside the window. I put sleeping pills on a tongue that only seemed to wail, and held a glass of lukewarm water to parched lips. Then I rested my head on the pillow, eyes droopy and heavy, and felt my vision blacken.

Unconsciousness was much more tempting than staying awake. Consciousness promised anguish and tears that burned. Prying my eyes open and letting my head space run wild with thoughts opened doors that would be impossible to close. Suicide. It beckoned me with a gnarled finger, fingernails chewed and bitten. It wore a smile that was comforting and whispered sweet nothings, telling me of tales of eternity and paradise and happiness and most importantly, peace. I wanted it all.

In fabricated realities, suicide wore my mother's warm eyes and familiar perfume, and held its arm wide, welcoming. A touch that felt feathery-soft wiped at wet cheeks and brushed my hair back. I craved it. Indulging in selfish moments where I was God felt good – in the moment, that is. I could steer the ship. Go wherever I liked. Follow in my mother's footsteps. I wanted to – so, so bad. My delusions shattered. I couldn't. I had to think of my brother.

Suicide turned malicious, malevolent and rancid. It was noxious, and the fumes choked my lungs, poisoning the air. Now vicious, trying to fight my desires was arduous. It was a genie that promised a single wish; an end to suffering. Could I do it? I should. I shouldn't. I couldn't. What was wrong with me?

There was a soft knock on the door. "Calla?" Eton questioned, hand on the doorknob, his uneasiness spilled into the room, staining the carpet. "Are you awake?"

I made an unintelligible noise in the back of my throat, pulled the covers over my head, not ready for a conversation that would be too painful to create. A weight rested by my legs. "Get up," Eton tugged on the sheet, "the cops came around again, they felt bad for leaving so abruptly yesterday, they want to put us in contact with a support group: Family Life, helping you find closure after love ones leave. What do you think?"

He continued when I didn't speak: "They were asking about for other family members, and for dad so I took him out of your closet and shoved him in front of their faces – don't worry, the urn didn't break. I was very careful because I knew you'd get upset if I damaged it. The officers were shocked, and they didn't know what to say. They excused themselves ten minutes later and left again. They're shitty consolers... Do you want to see Mom's body? It's been in the news. She was propelled forward from the impact and they had to scrape her from the tracks, her face is unrecognisable." He was deathly quiet for the longest time, then he said almost inaudibly. "She's a fucking bitch. Why the fuck did she have to leave us?" His voice broke. "I hate her. I hate her!"

"I don't want to see her," my voice was faint. "I'll find a funeral parlour. Get her cremated." I intended to say more, I couldn't, I choked up. Silently. The emotions were raw and bleeding. I didn't want to talk about her as a sentence on a to-do list, or as an object that needed to be cleared away, to be brushed to the corner. The final chapter came around too soon.

"She's a selfish fucking bitch and if there's a hell, I hope the bitch is roasting. She doesn't deserve jack shit from us. We should let her body rot in the hospital. Why should we collect it? Her parents can do it."

"There is no god, no heaven, no hell, Eton. She's fucking dead. She doesn't exist anymore. It's over. It's fucking done with," I shoved the covers away, planted my feet on the carpet, jaw set, and animosity spewing from my mouth. I was seconds from detonating. Anger spurred me forward. I wasn't going to follow in her shitty clumsy footsteps. "She didn't deserve us. She–" I put a hand to my face, my anger dying. "I can't do this, I need her. I can't, I can't, I can't do – I want mom back." The noise that escaped my mouth was a distressed wail that sounded inhumane.

"Come with me to Fairby," he grabbed my hands, metallic grey gaze wide and gleaming manically. He urged. "Let's go home."

"No–"

"We're going home, Calla," he barked in a sudden rage, brow furrowed, hands tightening. He controlled his temper, speaking calmly. "We're going to see old friends and we're going to play our favourite games again. I have a list of people that I'm going to cross out and you're going to help me."

"Like hell, you're out of your goddamn mind."

"Mom and dad are dead. Who's here to stop us? Like it or not, Calla, we're alone, and we're free to do as we please. We only have each other now and we need to stick together. Write down a list. We leave tomorrow afternoon. Forget the funeral. I'm ready to go hunting."

"Whatever you do, you're doing it alone," I pulled myself away from him. "I'm going to set mommy dearest on fire and then I'm going to drink until I black out."

Eton darted up, expression twisted, hot-blooded. "There was someone else on the platform. They told the police how calm she was, how composed she seemed, she paced up and down the platform, checked the boards to see what time the next train would be arriving, and she smiled as the train came into view. This wasn't a desperate, reckless act. This bitch planned it out to the last detail. She doesn't care about you, Calla. She doesn't care about me. If she did, she'd still be alive in this fucking bed. Stop running after her. The bitch is dead. We're free of her. We should be celebrating. That fucking–"

Tempestuous, I struck him across the face violently. His cheek inflamed, and he touched his jaw in disbelief, hurt and betrayed. He was stunned. I felt no remorse. "Talk about her like that again and I'll be cremating you, too." I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently and smiled kindly. "Cheer up, Eton. We have a funeral to prepare. You ready to do this?"

He gazed at me like he was seeing me for the first time in a new light. He was visibly upset. In a split second, he concealed his emotions, set his face straight, glanced away and then nodded.

"I'm sorry about ..." I gestured to his cheek, unapologetic.

"It's fine," he said abruptly and turned away. "I need to go out. I'll be back later."

"Eton?"

"What?" he kept his back to me.

"You're not mad at me, are you?"

He looked over his shoulder, spoke sincerely. "You're my sister. I can't be mad at you." He walked out.

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In chapter one frank said he hated twins, cleo and Eton are twins and no one has commented anything about it lol