A stranger upstairs pt. 3

The midday sun illuminates the lids of my eyes, beckoning me from my dream. As my vision, partially distorted from sleep, clears, I see my young lover. Her mouth is slightly open, perched lips and scrunched nose. I turn to lay for a few more minutes. Now fully aware of my reality, I reach for my phone on my nightstand. No messages. I place the phone down and turn toward the sleeping beauty. Nudging her shoulder, she stirs from slumber. A bit disoriented she finally comes to and smiles. She reaches for my head, to kiss me I assume, but I push her away. I am in no mood for any more rounds. 

We wash up, separately, and get dressed in silence. Like a used toy so once loved by a small child, I discard her without care. If the circumstances around my sister weren’t so dire, I’d keep her like a pet, having her tend to my needs and I to her’s. But, my sister is hurt.  So with mutual understanding conveyed in silent stares, we part ways outside. She goes off to her rich family and friends, and I to the hospital. 

At the hospital I see my sister. She is awake and eating pudding. Her face is full of disgust, but she has no choice. When she notices me, the face of disgust turns to happiness. I know she is grateful that I am here, to rescue her from the moodiness of our parents, but her glee is partially from the fact that I snuck in a brownie and latte from her favorite coffee chain. Removing the contents of the dreadful hospital food, I replace it with the savory treats. Clapping with joy she reaches over to me. As we embrace she whispers. Our parents return and aren’t exactly happy to see me or the contraband I brought. With the voice of her words still lingering on my ears, I don’t notice my father removing the food from the tray. 

“Why can’t I have what I want!” my sister screams.

“You’re still recovering from your incident” my father pleads. 

The fake concern in his voice was honestly more shocking than what my sister had said earlier and I was just too taken back from it all that I stood there stunned. Silence filled the room and for once I saw true concern on my mother’s face. Perhaps it was what my sister had said, or the oddness of my parents’ parental affection for my sister, that I felt so deeply disturbed. I left the room and didn’t look back. Even as my sister’s sweet laced voice cried out for me. 

I was back at the resort and stood by the banquet hall. This was what I needed, a moment of silence away from them and away from that damned creepy house. As I was taking a moment, I saw my young lover. Was there something in my face that prompted the look of concern on her’s I wasn’t sure, but she came closer and held my hand.  

Sitting side by side on the marble steps, I kept quiet. After all, she was just a fling. I didn’t exactly want to tell her about the random things happening to my family. Of all the rich, as I am sure her’s was too, my family was the richest. Well, wealthiest. Our fortune was like the Sun to everyone else’s Pluto. And although I didn’t want to involve her into my personal affairs, I needed help. If my sister was here I’d have her to listen to my concerns, but she wasn’t. So, in the end, I told my lover what happened. I left out what my sister said in the hospital. 

I was relieved to know she understood, or a better word would be accepted. Together we went back to my grandparents’ home and to the junk room on the second floor. There we walked closer as I passed my sister’s room. From the door I could see it open a crack. Odd, I thought it was open from the previous day. Regardless, I continued to the junk room. Pressing my palm against the door knob, I wrapped my fingers around and squeezed. Behind me my young lover gulped as if her throat were dry and she mustered up all the moisture in her body to swallow. I too was trembling as the door opened. A waft of air pressed against my nose as a familiar smell entered my nostrils. My sister’s perfume!

Part four coming soon!

Author is Jasmine Clark. The work is fiction, and shall not be published, or sampled without the author’s permission.