"FUCK YOU! Fuck you! Fuck you! I fucking hate you!!"
Lila's words were muffled as I listened closely from her shut door. The decorations on her frame—stupid cute stickers of roses peeling at the edges, a collage of gothic TV show posters, shiny preppy trinkets she taped up because "it looked aesthetic", had been a stark contrast to what I was hearing.
Vampire diaries. Typical.
Something told me she wasn't exactly in the greatest mood to speak. Yet, I knocked anyway.
"Lila? It's me, Adrian…"
Silence.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the door, trying to listen. There was a soft shuffle inside— a muffled sob. It sounded like she was crying into her pillow. I felt dumb for caring this much.
I tried again.
"Lila…can you open the door?"
There was a prolonged moment of silence. Damn it. I knew this was a waste of time.
"It's—"
Hic
"It's open…"
I twisted the doorknob and the door creaked open. I suddenly felt silly for begging.
I didn't even get the chance to register her room.
The smell hit first—cheap twenty-dollar incense from Amazon, thick and sweet, crawling straight up my nose.
Then I saw her.
Lila sat hunched on her bed, dirty-blonde hair tangled, mascara streaked down her cheeks like someone dragged ink down porcelain.
This was my fault.
I did this.
I had to fix it.
I stepped toward her slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. The floorboard whined under my weight. I sat at the edge of the bed. She didn't look at me. Just breathed in these shaky, broken little sniffles.
"Look, Lila… I'm sorry for what I said."
Nothing.
"You're not a crazy psycho. I was an idiot for calling you that."
A small sound escaped her. Half-sob, half-choke.
"Lila… can you look at me? Please?"
I lifted her chin. She let me.
Her face was a mess, but somehow she was still… her. Still beautiful in that fragile, furious way only she could pull off.
"Do you forgive me?"
"We need to leave this place."
Her voice sliced clean through my apology.
I blinked.
"…What? Lila, come on, that's— this is literally the safest place right now—"
"You don't understand." She grabbed my shoulders hard—too hard. I flinched.
"My mom isn't what you think. Not anymore. She's—"
"Lila, you're the one who brought us here. We can't jus—…"
My voice trailed off. So did my eyes. Lila was confused for a second as she tried to figure out what I was looking at.
Pictures of me. That's what.
They were on the wall, layered, overlapping— At school, at practice, even when I was walking home…?
What the fuck, Lila.
My gaze slid to the pillow beside her.
A knife.
Buried deep in the cushion.
The blade stabbed straight through a photo of me, my own face skewered clean in half.
My face went pale.
She noticed my stare and yanked the pillow behind her like that would help. Her hand shot up, pulling my chin back to face her.
"Please, Adrian. You need to trust me."
I didn't answer.
"I've protected you this far, haven't I? Haven't I???"
Her voice shook at the edges, desperation bleeding through.
A long silence stretched thin between us.
"We're staying here, Lila."
My voice felt like it belonged to someone braver than me.
"That's final."
Lila had looked at me like I slapped her in the face. A shadow cast over my eyes as I got up. She needed to see I was serious. She needed to see my resolve.
"You're not thinking straight. You're just tired, alright? Get some shut eye."
I tried to sound as reasonable as possible during my retreat. I turned off her lamp, plunging the room into a softer dark, and stepped out before she could say anything else. Before my cowardice got the best of me.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I exhaled, long and shaky, pressing my back to the wood as I closed my eyes. My lungs felt too small. My chest kept rising, falling, like my body hadn't caught up with the rest of me yet.
Holy shit. What the fuck did I just see in there?
Her room replayed behind my eyelids—the pictures, the knife, her shaking hands gripping my shoulders like I was the only solid thing she had left.
No wonder my head felt like it was splitting open.
I opened my eyes—
—and jumped.
Mrs. Graham stood right in front of me.
The fuck was wrong with these people????
She didn't stand close enough to be dangerous, but close enough to make my heart thud painfully once.
Her presence didn't exactly calm me, but… it didn't make things worse either.
That was probably the best compliment I could give in this house as of right now. Other than the cooking.
"I assume you saw the pictures?" she asked gently.
My stomach twisted.
She knew?
"I apologize for not telling you," she continued. "I've tried multiple times to get her to remove them—"
"It's fine."
I cut her off quick enough for me to have doubts about if she thought I was respectful or not.
To be honest, I just didn't want to unravel another thread in this twisted household. That's enough drama for tonight.
"I just wanna know where I sleep," I muttered. "Thanks again, Mrs. Graham."
Her smile came back instantly. Soft. Warm. I couldn't bring myself to return it.
"Of course," she said.
"I'll give you a tour while we're at it."
A tour didn't sound too bad right now.
Walking. Moving. Doing something felt better than standing still and thinking.
Mrs. Graham turned, descending the staircase with effortless grace, her heels tapping lightly against the steps. I followed her down, eyes trailing over the walls, the dim lighting, the subtle hum of the house that made my skin crawl.
Mrs. Graham moved through the house like she was gliding, her fingers brushing light switches, molding the halls with warm pools of yellow light. I followed, trying to act like I wasn't barely holding it together.
"This is our second dining hall," she said, gesturing with a graceful sweep.
Second dining hall? Are you serious?
I blinked at the polished table, the eight velvet chairs, the tall vase of flowers that definitely weren't real. It was the kind of room rich people forgot they had.
I wouldn't mind robbing this place if it wasn't my ex girlfriend's parent's place. Chicago's gone to shit, anyway.
I tried to look impressed, but my eyes kept flickering, heavy. My head felt like it weighed forty pounds. Every blink lasted a second too long.
Mrs. Graham noticed. I'm glad she did.
"You must be exhausted," she said, voice dipping into a soft, honeyed tone
Bedroom quarters.
Plural.
Great.
I nodded dumbly and let her lead me.
We descended another staircase—this one narrower, carpet muffling our steps. I instantly hated it. Being below the main floor felt wrong. Trapped. Too far from Lila. Too close to…whatever this woman actually was.
The words Lila pleaded for me to believe grew louder in my mind.
God damn it, couldn't she just be wrong about this one thing?
The deeper we went, the more her motherly mask slipped. Not all at once—just hairline fractures. The smile held, but her eyes sharpened. Her movements got a little too close.
Her hand drifted to my waist. My muscles tensed.
"This floor has several guest rooms," she murmured, leading me past closed doors. "We don't use them much anymore."
Her voice echoed slightly. The hallway was long, dim, too quiet.
Then—
A smell.
Slow. Creeping.
Like something rotting behind a wall.
Not strong enough to choke me, but enough to curl into my brain and sit there, whispering that something down here wasn't right.
Fuck it. I was too tired to give a shit.
I just wanted a room to sleep in.
It felt too disrespectful to even ask, anyway.