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As I make coffee and Declan munches on his snack, he says something completely incoherent about 'just trying stuff', and to not think about it too much. He tells me that Nick has given him that advice before, too, since Declan has the tendency to over think things. Declan tells me he thinks it could be liberating for me if I just tried stuff without being so scared.
Because, he reminded me with a smile formed around the massive bite of pineapple he was taking, there really is no need to be scared here, after all.
I get the feeling he is implying that I stay this tense and afraid of my own volition.
It irks me that it's very well possible that he is right.
After the snack, I want to lock myself into my room and listen to the playlist Declan gave me and just think about my weird, unexplainable reactions to him. I just can’t wrap my head around all this emotion. Nor Declan’s soft, casual way he acts around me. He had snagged my phone from the charging dock, holding it out of my reach playfully as he downloaded his playlist onto it. He sent me off with the new music and a bowl of fresh fruit, chiming in how he would like to chat more about music sometime.
I think I would like that too. The urge to show him my violin is becoming hard to ignore.
But I am intercepted by Iona once I reach the top of the stairs, and with Declan's advice—just try stuff!–in mind, I now find myself sitting on Iona's bed as she is trying to fix her hair for the Halloween party.
She chatters away happily, clearly excited. When Emmy trails into the room, I make to leave, but one look at her face tells me she doesn't expect me to go.
"Ugh. What am I going to do with my hair?" Iona asks her reflection. I can see that she has peeked at me through the glass and in the most accidentally unhelpful way ever, I shrug. Iona turns to me as she lets out a laugh. "It's always more fun to prepare for a party together, you know?" She hums. She’s clearly in her element as she bounces to her stereo to put on some music that I think should get her in the mood.
Dancing to the music a little, she scurries around her room to pick up and put down various things. I have no idea what she is trying to achieve, but I am long past assuming and just sit here, munching quietly on pineapple when Iona isn’t looking.
I can totally ‘try stuff’.
Duh.
This isn’t remotely confusing—or slightly terrifying—at all.
Iona comes back to her bed, shifting through the pile of undecipherable things. She sighs, scratching at her curls. The action puffs them up and for a second Iona looks startlingly like her twin brother.
"You know you can come with us, don't you?" Iona repeats her question from the night before. She’s not looking at me as she speaks, instead looking intently at a tube of mascara. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I get the impression that she actually wants me to go.
Oh man. How to I gently convey that I would probably lose what’s left of my mind in that situation?
After a moment of me gazing awkwardly at the bedspread trying to figure out how to say ‘no’ again, Iona gives me a wink and walks over to her vanity and plops down in front of her mirror, fussing with her hair. "This is impossible," She complains. Her gaze shifts to me. "If I had hair like yours, I would be able to make something fabulous of it. As is, there's little I can do, now is there? What would you do?"
She beckons me to come to the vanity and reluctantly I get up so I can look over her shoulder in the mirror, where she meets my eyes again. "What would you do with short hair like this and my costume? I think a mohawk won’t work; do you think?"
I shake my head. I agree with her. Also, spikes would not really work. I do have an idea for her, but I'm pretty sure she'll find it ridiculous. I wring my hands in my sweater pocket, biting my lip. She has enough product to achieve the vision in my head…
"Ohhhhh—you have an Idea don’t you, Cassia? I can tell you're thinking of something." She leans back, putting our faces closer together in the mirror.
I freeze. My god.
The stark reality of my appearance hits me hard.
Iona is stunning. Everything about her radiates a happy life. From her clear skin, to the flush to her high cheeks.
I—
I am not.
The ghost staring at me in the glass is frightful. A mess. ‘Ghost’ is hardly the proper turn anyway, ‘skeleton’ would be more fitting. Or ‘corpse’, since the paleness of the specter’s skin is deathly, the circles under her eyes as dark as horrid bruises. Those chapped lips look so painful. She’s so small and thin. Her clothes hang off her pitifully, as if not sure what their job really is. A gentle breeze would knock her over…
Wrong.
The girl in the mirror looks wrong. Oh my god, someone should help her—
“Cassia?” Iona is looking at me still, and I move out of the view of the mirror. I’d hate to see that girl staring back at me again. Who was that?
Was that…me?
My mind flinches so violently from that thought, that my body responds in kind and I cringe away. Iona immediately stands, concern coloring her features.
God, she can’t know.
I complete my turn back towards her bed, making it look as if I nonchalantly decided to come back for some fruit. Forcing a bite between my clenched teeth, I think furiously back to the conversation we had been having.
Hair. That’s right. Iona had asked for my opinion.
“Cassia? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to get so close…” She sounds terribly sad.
I shrug. It's not important.
"Are you sure?"
I smile, although it feels like my face is cracking.
Pale, pale skin…
I almost choke on the fruit in my mouth. I swallow it forcefully, and with it goes those terrible thoughts. The vision lingers, imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.
Someone should help her…
“Okay…” Iona sounds unsure as she sits on her bed. Bringing forth a glossy magazine, she pushes it towards me. Her eyes are wide as she meets my gaze. "Need some inspiration?"
I deliberate for a moment forcing back the memory of what just happened deep and far away. Iona wants me to help her, I’m trying to ‘just try stuff’, I can’t afford to lose it now. I want to be strong. I want to be free.
Can I start right now?
Declan thinks I can.
Emmy thinks I can.
Iona, Jackie, and Nick think so too.
Do I think I can?
Can I get rid of that ghost staring at me in the mirror?
I honestly don’t know, but it hurts to linger on these thoughts while Iona is looking at me and while I want to be here for her as well.
I decide I have very little to lose.
Now to find a way of showing Iona what I envisioned.
I bring my hands up to my own hair, but Iona stops me with her words. "You can show it on me. I really don't mind."
Blinking, I down look at my hands, unsure how to give her what she wants. How had I never noticed how they looked? Carefully, I tuck them back into my sleeves.
"Really," She says softly. "Or does the no touching mean that you don't touch others, either?"
I nod slowly, still stunned by the notion of her asking me to touch her. Why would she do that?
"Then show it on your own hair?" Iona finally asks, spinning a bottle of gel between her hands. "Maybe I can see what you mean then."
I swallow thickly and once more bring my hands up to my own hair, parting it off center and pulling it tightly back over my head in a high ponytail.
Has my hair always been this tangled?
"Like this?" Iona asks, snapping my attention to her as she copies my gesture.
It's not exactly what I meant, but how to tell her?
"Show me, Cassia," Iona says. "You can do it." Her voice is gentle, coaxing. Do I dare?
Still, I step forward gingerly, all the while gauging her face as I bring my hands up to her hair. I part it and gently sweep it back over her head. Her hair is much shorter than mine, but I am still able to gather it up into a spikey pony. It actually looks much cuter than I thought it would.
She doesn't flinch or gives any sign of discomfort. She's sitting very still, but she's relaxed. Curious, maybe. A little hopeful?
She's not afraid.
Her hair is soft, but it feels uncomfortable against my rough hands, like thousands of needles are pricking my skin. It’s hard to keep focused on the here any now instead of that frightful girl in the mirror, but I’m trying. Iona looks at my face before she shifts her gaze to see herself in the mirror, see the way I hold her hair back from her face.
Then I let go of her hair and pick up the hair gel I've seen lying on her vanity. Showing it to her, I hope she knows what I mean.
"Pull my hair back?" She asks, uncertainly. The wheels in her mind are turning, and I can see the millions of ideas flooding her eyes. “Hmmm. You may have something here, Cassia.”
I nod at her, but I can tell she's not sure what I mean. She picks up a brush and holds it up to me. "Would you do it for me?" Her voice is so soft, so encouraging.
I know I can do this.
I should be able to do this.
But—That girl in the mirror…
I can’t. Not now.
I shake my head, feeling the panic start deep in my backbone. I don't want to. I touched you once already. Don't make me do this. Please.
"It's okay," Iona says quickly. "Really, don't worry. Just tell me what you mean?"
"I think she means you should part your hair to the side of your head and slick it back." Emmy says. My head whirls around to look at her standing in the doorway.
"Like, really flat?" Iona asks, but I barely register it as I'm still getting over my shock. I hadn't seen her standing there.
"Yeah. Right, Cassia?" Emmy asks. Her eyes are focused on me with that crazy intensity. Does she see what I did? Is she scared of me too?
I nod. Just to answer her.
"I don't know," Iona says, looking at her reflection in the mirror and holding her hair back.
"And then black lipstick," Emmy adds, finally looking away from me with a gentle smile. "Or dark purple. Yes, that's a much better idea."
I nod once more, with more conviction this time. Emmy grins and walks further into the room. I step back as she goes to stand behind Iona. Without a word, Iona hands Emmy the brush and she combs Iona's hair back, exactly like I imagined it.
"See?" She asks. “Then slick it back, so that it's all shiny. Dark make-up, and you're good to go."
"Oh, I'm beginning to see it, now." Iona smiles. Her hands are already reaching for the stack of makeup palettes that she had on her vanity. She grins at me through the glass mirror again. "Thank you, Cassia!"
I blush fiercely at her words and look away. That wasn't so special, was it? But something in the way she looks at me so genuinely loving, makes a tiny bit of that anxiety vanish. I can’t be so horrifying if Iona can smile at me like that, right?
"So what will you guys do while we’re gone?" Iona asks Emmy.
"I don't know yet. Maybe a marathon of scary movies? Your uncle went out to get candy, but he mentioned that it is a madhouse at the store." Emmy makes herself comfortable on Iona’s bed and pulls out her phone to scroll through the messages. “He said he had to fight off Mrs. Zeller for the last bag of M&Ms.” The women laugh, and I can’t help the smile that quirks my lips up. I’ve only met her once, but I’m sure that woman put up quite the fight.
"She’s a real peach, isn’t she?" Iona beams. She sticks her tongue out playfully as she laughs again.
"Iona! Don’t speak so negatively about our neighbors. I’m sure there is something—wonderful–about her. Deep, deep inside." Emmy scolds, equally as playful.
As they are talking, I slowly make my way to the door, not sure if I'm welcome here.
When Iona turns to turn up the music, still laughing, she looks over at me. "Oh no! Are you leaving? Please stay? I really enjoy your company, you know." It's her words that do me in. I don't know what got into her but she's coaxing me into doing things I've never done before, and she makes me want them, too.
"Take a seat, Cassia. We need your opinion on things of the spooky nature.” Emmy says. She pats the comforter beside her firmly and before I know it, I’m situated within the mound of pillows that are piled on Iona’s bed. To say that my heart feels lighter is an understatement. Emmy scooches a bit closer, we’re almost shoulder to shoulder, and although part of me is still reeling over the visage in the mirror, I am ultimately comforted by their presence. I don’t feel so alone.
"Yeah, and you have good taste." Iona tells me via the mirror as she slicks her hair back, just as I proposed. It emphasizes the heart-like shape of her face and her eyes appear even bigger than they are.
Did she just say I have good taste? I look down at my baggy sweater and crumpled black jeans. Hm.
Iona admires herself in the mirror and Emmy looks along providing feedback about colors and how to blend the pigments so that Iona looks absolutely feral. Glamorous, but in a way that would startle most people. War Goddess indeed.
I watch, mesmerized and almost forgetting I am sitting here, observing two members of my new family. I like to observe, I like to watch others interact with seeming ease. It makes me sad sometimes that I will never be a part of it, but being able to watch it like a movie is as satisfying as it can get, I think. The fact that Emmy and Iona have explicitly asked me to stay here makes it easier, too.
When her make-up is done, Iona looks stunning and frightening. Her eyes are lined thickly with black with over-exaggerated wings, cheeks contoured to extreme points, and her lips are dark purple but still done to enhance her plump pout.
Iona surprises me by thrusting her phone in my hand, asking me if I would take a picture of her. She poses outlandishly for a moment, which I cannot help but smile at. The silliness in which she acts is a hilarious juxtaposition to her outfit. Even under all that makeup and her amazing costume, she’s still Iona. Hesitating, I do as I'm asked, and I capture her on the screen of the phone. When she sees the result, she thanks me profusely and throws a casual arm over my shoulder in a quick, but tight hug. "This is perfect, Cassia! Thanks!"
I blush and look away once more, leaning into her embrace for only a split second before I’m carefully disengaging myself.
"Hello ladies." I then hear Josh’s voice in the doorway. "All set to go?"
I lower myself on the bed slowly, hoping to be overlooked. It's getting crowded in this room.
"Almost," Iona beams. "I need to put on my jewelry still." She bounces back to her vanity and puts on her earrings.
"Well don’t you look dapper." Emmy says as she looks him up and down. Josh is dressed as a detective, with tweeds, oxford and blazer. In his hands a real, old-fashioned pipe. Thick, bone rimmed glasses adorn his face and to my surprise compliment him.
Josh smiles a half smile in acknowledgment. "Why thank you, fair lady." He smirks bowing to give Emmy a kiss on the hand. She swats him playfully on the shoulder.
"Oh, so here's all the fun." Nick states, poling his head curiously into the room. I shrink to a possible smaller pose on Iona's bed when he appears in the doorway. He's so tall, I can't get over that. Stretching his arms above his head, Nick grips the doorframe and leans into the room a little. " Looking Festive I see. What time are you going to leave?"
"Around eight? Then we should be there around half past." Josh responds at Iona’s pointed look. He glances down at his watch. “Probably pretty soon here actually. Soon be back around two-ish.”
Iona groaned just as both Emmy’s and Nick’s eyebrows shot up.
“Oh really?”
“Two AM?”
Josh quickly cleared his throat, gaze darting around the room. “I meant midnight…Obviously.”
"Good." Nick nodded. A smirk was exchanged between husband as wife as Emmy stood and brushed off her pants.
“You two are so mean.” Iona intones, going over to ferociously poke her Uncle’s rib cage in dismay. He doesn't move and takes a breath to speak, but then uses his air to yelp, which is so funny I can't suppress my grin. Nick jumps back rubbing his side. Iona looks utterly pleased with herself as she walks back to the vanity to grab her purse.
She tickled him. Judging by the laughter of Emmy and Josh, it's a known fact this can be used as a secret weapon against him.
"Not funny," Nick grumbles, but his eyes are alight with mirth. "This asks for retaliation."
"Oh no you don't. I just did my hair!" Iona warns him, but Nick gets to her at lightning speed and I tense up fully as he attacks her from behind, locking her in his arms and tickling her sides. Iona wheezes, squirms, and struggles to get away from his grip, helplessly laughing as he continues his assault.
I can sense my alarm as I see her being held against her will. But in the back of my mind, I know they are playing.
A strange urge of–jealousy?–courses through me as I recognize the liberty they feel. They seem to know no fear. Iona didn't even flinch when Nick locked her in his hold and even though she's obviously not enjoying the tickling, she is still laughing and not at all alarmed or afraid.
When Nick finally lets go, Iona catches her breath and goes back to the vanity to fix her hair. She’s glaring and grumbling under her breath as she does so, but her wide happy smile lingers. Nick is smug, ducking just in time to prevent Emmy smacking his shoulder.
I'm on such overload already I can't even begin to process all I have just seen and heard.
"Oh, hey, Declan," Josh then says as the last of the James family walks by the door, book in hand.
I have a heart rate of 250 with so many people in such a tiny space.
"What are you doing? Why aren’t you ready?!" Iona exclaims when Declan pokes his head around the door to greet us, but not a word escapes his lips.
"Yea dude, I thought you were coming?" Josh adds, looking equally disappointed in the news.
"I decided against it." Declan says softly. His fingers fiddle with the pages of the book he’s holding. He’s looking everywhere but his sister and looks surprised to find me buried in Iona’s pillows. His lips quirk up and he opens his mouth again, but Iona interrupts. "Ah, you boring doofus. Why not?" She persists. "Here, try the coat?"
Being a good sport, Declan puts on the coat. It fits him, of course. “I really hate this.” He grumbles.
"Turn around." Emmy says, and when he does, I can read the print on the back: 'Trust me, I'm a doctor.' They all laugh, and Declan tries to look over his shoulder to see what's the fun about.
"So, why don't you go? Because of Lola?" Emmy asks a bit more gently than Iona’s line of questioning.
"Yeah—Sure." Declan replies, starting to shrug out of the coat. Iona stops him with a hand on his arm and then reaches for Josh's glasses. She puts them on Declan, his protests ignored. Then she pulls him in front of the mirror and smiles happily.
"See? You're good to go." She says.
"I'm not going, Iona. Thanks for doing this, but I'm not. Sorry." He shrugs entirely out of the coat and hands it back to her.
"You're a wuss for letting Lola have that much influence over your life. How long has it been now, a month?" Josh, as ever, isn't very tactful.
"Almost, yeah. I'm just not in the mood to party." Declan obviously doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. The expression on his face is bland, only his eyes betraying his annoyance.
"Or to have Jessica humping your leg. Yeah, I think I can understand." Josh says. Declan stares at him for a moment before rolling his eyes.
"You are no fun." Iona pouts.
"I'm not going to be a third wheel," Declan says decisively, shrugging again and shifting back towards the door to lean against it.
From several mouths, fierce protests follow. Declan will have none of it. "Seriously. Enjoy your party, while I enjoy the quiet." His eyes flicker over to me when he speaks. My breath catches, but I think nobody noticed. I hope so, at least.
As Iona finishes up and Josh waits for her, first patiently and later not-so-patiently, I look on. Declan disappears, shaking his head. Damn I wish I could leave so subtly. I’m stuck being the fifth wheel over here. I’d have to crawl out of Iona’s pillows and over at least two people to escape. I sigh quietly though my nose, biding my time. When they all make to leave, I follow them down the stairs, trailing along as I bask in their happy mood.
With Josh and Iona gone, I find myself back in the living room with Nick and Emmy. Emmy has kindly asked me to spend the evening downstairs with them, and I do not refuse requests like these. The movie It is on, one I've seen often. I don't mind, I love the movie.
During the first commercial break, Emmy gets up to make some popcorn — salt, as I prefer salt and she asked me — and Declan joins us in the living room. He makes himself comfy on the very edge of the couch, the closest part to the loveseat I have claimed as my own. He smiles at me but doesn’t engage. Something I am grateful for since I think I’ve used up all the words in the universe today.
He talks with Nick, softly, about random things. I don't really listen to their conversation, but I find I like to listen to the cadence of their voices. They talk in such a relaxed, hushed manner, with frequent, easy pauses. I think Declan got his quiet, pensive nature from his Uncle.
Emmy returns with the popcorn, setting it on the table and giving me my own small bowl to hold on my lap.
I think it takes me almost an hour to realize I am actually eating it.
