Letters to Elle

07 | Down the Rabbit Hole

This is a slower chapter. I'm sorry! I couldn't handle too much creepiness at 11pm. The next chapter is going to have some spooky parts, so just letting you know (: 

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote, comment, and follow! I love you all <3 (NaNo is still kicking my butt, but I'm ahead by a day, which I think is a good sign. At least tomorrow I can tackle that school essay instead of worrying about NaNo defeating me.)

                                    ♡♡♡

            07 | Down the Rabbit Hole

Elle’s room, just like Jer’s, brings back way too memories to be healthy. We spent most of our time in her room. Sure, we hung out at Jer’s and mine a lot, but the majority of our time was spent in her room.

            She was the definition of a girly girl. So basically her room looks like a canister of Pepto Bismol exploded inside. She has a hot pink canopy overlooking her bed, and a white vanity is situated beneath a large mirror. A long, professional-looking desk is underneath her window that overlooked their backyard.

            Everything about Elle’s room is perfect. And not just is it perfect, but it looks the same as it did the last time I was in here.

            Maybe there’s just something about change that has always scared Elle and Jer, but they never changed. Their lives were so uniform and consistent. It was as if change would kill them.

            It was kind of Mrs. Summers to let me come into her daughter’s bedroom, although I found it a tad bit creepy that she kept it the same even after a year of Elle’s disappearance. I’m sure that deep in her soul, she prays every night that her daughter will come back home, and that’s why she doesn’t do anything with Elle’s room. She wants Elle to have something familiar to come home to.

            I respect that about her. It’s a very motherly thing to wish for. Maybe one day Elle will come back for her.

            The first thing I notice when I walk in the room is all the pink, but the second thing that I notice is that things are off. Really off.

            The furniature hasn’t been moved, but other small things that only people who are in her room more than six times a week for hours on end would notice. People like me. Mrs. Summers rarely went into her room, and I doubt she goes in there now.

            For one, the books on her bookshelf are rearranged. They used to be alphabetical. She was strange like that. She didn’t organize them in series or genres or even color. No, she arranged them in alphabetical order by the titles, not even the authors. So it took a while to find a book in a series if you forgot the title but remembered the author.

            But now her books aren’t in order. They’re randomly placed on the shelf, as if thrown on there in haste. But they’re not messy; they’re neat and stacked in rows just like always, but it seems like there’s no particular order for the books.

            Not by title.

            Not by author.

            Not by genre.

            Not by color.

            Not by series.

            Not even by her favorites.

            They’re just placed wherever. It’s such a messy and disorganized system to organize books that it almost seems like it’s where they belong. Elle had a slight case of OCD. She simply wasn’t able to leave her books in a random sequence. She needed order in her life otherwise she’d go a little crazy.