***
Even half a house and one story of distance hadn’t muted my mother’s grief and rage, neither did the feather duvet and six pillows I put over my head and stuffed into my ears. The part of me that felt guilty gave way to my annoyance and eventually I fell asleep.
Plink, plink. Squinting into the brightness of the ceiling light, I woke slowly. Plink, Plink again like heavy raindrops on glass. It was pitch black outside, the clock rolled over to 12:00; the Witching Hour. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and emerged from the mass of pillows like a linen monster. Plink. That was definitely not raindrops. I crept to the glass door that led out to a small balcony; a heavy brass candlestick was cool in my hands. On the other side of the glass, her blue eyes wild, chest heaving, was Simone. She looked like a crazed escaped animal. Maybe she was.
"Let me in, Ahsha." It didn’t take a board certified therapist to tell me she was angry.
"Don't hurt me." I murmured, hands shaking, happy to see her but hesitating at the brass lock. If our places had been reversed, I wouldn't let me in either; not after what I had done.
Simone climbed in as soon as I tugged the door free of its catch, shoving me aside. "What the hell, Ahsha." she hissed, wrapping her arms tight around her as though she were afraid her insides would fall out; she flinched away when I reached for her. "No. No. You don't get that privilege anymore." she'd hurried across the room, pushing a steamer trunk away from the door that connected our bedrooms; her face was twisted with an expression I could not read. She hadn't known that I blocked that door and shut her out.
Like a thief in the night, Simone crept through her bedroom, throwing a few items of clothing and the semi-precious jewellery that had been her sixteenth birthday gift, all into a blanket and wrapped it up, tucking it under her arm. Back in my room, she threw my jacket at me and ran back to the balcony. "You're going to help me get out of here."
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