8. a love letter to the mentally broken

8

a love letter to the mentally broken

Lucynda

I turn to the window, knowing someone was watching me. Feeling like someone was there.

I lower my hand, touching my fingers to the countertop, allowing Stella to crawl back down before deciding to go take a look.

Stella is a little spider I found the day I moved in. She was weaving a web in the corner of my kitchen and that’s where she’s been ever since. Sure, she’s poisonous, but I like to think it's only because black widows have been given a bad rap for it and they have to live up to their name. Like most women, they’re only truly poisonous if you don’t allow them to show you their real worth. We only bite when provoked. I didn't kill her, I know most would have. But she has done nothing wrong to cause a threat to me, to cause me to want to harm her—a lesson I will always carry with me.

I walk over to my balcony; I see only darkness. No one is there. I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the cold concrete with my bare feet. It’s chilly and the wind causes the trees to sway; leaves scattering over the ground below me. I walk toward the railing and look straight down. There are still people wandering the streets, for a reason I’m unaware. Like I said, this town is full of mystery and people who seem to be hiding more than I should even want to know. But I do want to know.

I want to know what keeps them up at night and if it’s anything like what keeps me up at night. Or are my problems less bothersome than their own?

Are we all running away from past demons and layers of trauma, trying to convince ourselves that life will get better? Or am I the only one in this town truly troubled and tortured and they simply walk the night because it’s a pleasure that they get to enjoy?

I lean back, gripping the railing, my fingers wrapped around the cold metal. I allow my back to arch as I throw my head back to look into the dark sky. I take a deep breath into the starry night as I let go of the intrusive and querying thoughts, welcoming the frigid air as I inhale

Autumn rain starts to descend from the sky, leaving little drops of rain across my skin as I appreciate this small moment in life. Freedom.

But again, that one particular feeling comes back . . . someone was watching me. Is watching me. It's a scratch in my brain that I can't reach, but I know it's there.

I bring myself back down to Earth and quickly head inside, closing the door and locking it behind me.

As I reenter the kitchen, my eyes catch sight of the invitation I'd thrown in the trash once I got home. I hadn’t thought about it much since tossing it. Though now I wonder if it could be from my uninvited stalker or maybe it was just an invite passed around town. Either way, I wasn't even the slightest interested in paying it any further attention.

Until now.

I remove the invite from the trash and inspect it. It really is stunning. Soft, white, shimmer paper with black typography and gold lace wraps around the center of it all neatly tied up with a silk red ribbon. I gently pull the lace from the delicate paper so that I can read the details scripted along the front.

Masquerade

Saturday - 10pm

The Gilded Hollow

ticket I am an outsider. But it makes me curl into myself knowing that they can so easily pick me apart from the normal crowd.

After purchasing a candle from the candle shop I'm in, I head toward the exit and step out onto the sidewalk. I decide to start heading back home realizing I won’t be finding what I’m really in search for. I feel myself deflate at the idea that I won't be able to attend this masquerade. I was starting to feel hope in stepping out of my comfort zone and possibly meeting . . . friends ?

That idea sits like a small brick in my stomach. I've never really wanted to make friends before, but the hope is shattered as I suck it up and head back down the street toward my house. But before I make it too far, the next thing I know, something collides into me and I’m forced to the ground. My bags fall from my hand and my candle shatters.

There’s pain shooting into my skull from the collision.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” A girl’s voice sounds from next to me, holding her head as well as she tries to get herself up to her feet.

I notice that she just walked out of the candy store, probably not paying attention when we bumped into each other.

“That’s okay,” I respond, but really, I’m irritated that my candle is broken. Oh, to want to enjoy the small things in life.

“Damnit, that’s my bad,” she says to me when she notices the glass and wax chunks on the ground.

She helps me gather the pieces and I reach for a large piece of one of the broken shards next to me, when I accidentally slice my finger against its jagged edges.

“Shit,” I hiss, feeling the sting instantly and pulling my finger up to my face to examine the cut.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks and when I look up at her—she’s kneeling on her knees while I still stay planted on my ass—I notice that her eyes seem to be changing into a darker tone and her nostrils flare slightly.

Her mouth falls open as she stares at the drop of blood that slides down my finger, her pupils close in and something in her face twitches.

“Are you okay?" I redirect the question to her. "Your face…” I trail off, feeling concerned for the girl who just ran into me.

She jumps up on her feet in a blink of an eye and turns around suspiciously.

“I really should watch where I’m going,” she says with her back turned to me, frantic tones lace her voice.

I squint my eyes and furrow my brows at the strangeness of her reaction, but I suck the blood off my finger before dusting my jeans off and getting to my feet.

“It’s fine, really. It was an accident.” I lean over to pick up the bag of broken glass and the bag with my new dress in it.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, back still turned to me and at this point, I don’t even know if she’s still talking to me.

“Just a small cut from the glass,” I state the obvious.

Finally, when her shoulders seem to relax a bit, she turns around to face me and sticks out her hand.

“Troian,” she introduces herself and I give her a reluctant onceover before returning the gesture to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say without giving her my name. Not because I’m trying to be rude but because I'm still kind of weirded out by her behavior.

An awkward silence falls over us for a beat and I notice her fidget with her fingers, looking around as if trying to find someone to save her from the embarrassing interaction we seem to be having.

She’s about my height and possibly around my age, maybe a few years older. She has long hair down to the middle of her back, just a little longer than mine. Except hers is a velvet black color, the kind that almost looks midnight as the sun sets behind her. And her eyes are the color of the darkest parts of the ocean, hauntingly blue.

“Well, better head back home then. Have a party to get ready for.” She breaks the silence between us, hooking her thumb over her shoulder as she tries to step away.

“Wait!" I stop her from leaving. "A party? Are you by chance going to the masquerade party? The one at the Gilded Hollow?” I ask her, suddenly feeling progress that I might actually be able to go, though I still don’t have a mask.

“Yes." Her interest seems piqued. "Why? Did you get invited?” Her brows perk up and a soft smile forms across her face.

“Yeah, I did I just-”

“Oh my gosh,” she whispers slowly, seemingly to herself. “You’re her .” Her mouth drops open as she covers it with the palm of her hand. She stares at me as if I’m the newest attraction at a zoo exhibit and suddenly, I feel like I’m the outsider again. Like I don’t belong, wanting to go home and curl up with a book that will take me far away from the feeling of scrutiny.

“I’m sorry?” I say in confusion and turn to look behind me to make sure she’s not speaking to someone else.

“I mean, wow. You’re prettier than I imagined that’s for sure.” Her smile widens as she crosses her arms.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I start to feel super uncomfortable and totally left in the dark as she continues to make weird comments about me.

I feel my face get red as she looks me up and down, examining the length of me and seeming intent on judging me.

“Hello?” I wave my hand between us, annoyed and confounded.

“Oh, sorry. Umm, I must have been mistaken. My bad. But I’ll catch you later then,” she waves goodbye at me, turning on her heel and bouncing away with each step but before I let her get too far, I need to find out what she knows about this party.

“Troian!” I holler her name and she stops to face me. “Where is the Gilded Hollow? I looked it up and can’t seem to find it,” I explain to her and watch a smile laced with trouble curl on her lips.

“It’s just at the end of Mainstreet. That way. Right next to the Hollow Echo street sign.” She points behind her to lead me in the direction of the place in question, but I don’t understand. The street sign she's talking about is right at the end of the Mainstreet strip that leads to the fork in the road.

The road breaks off into two different roads. One leads to Whispering Pines where nothing but houses take up space in small neighborhoods scattered throughout the hills. The other road leads to the Shops of Shadow.

I know the corner she’s talking about. There's nothing there. There's nothing down that road until you reach the Hollows Trace Manor, which supposedly doesn’t exist either.

“Are you sure? I’ve walked down that street like five or six times now and there’s nothing there but trees."

I have to move out of the way, still standing on the sidewalk, to let a few other townies get past me, but I immediately look back up to Troian, waiting for her to correct herself.

“Nope, that’s the spot. Trust me, you’ll see it. Buh bye now,” she sing songs. And with that, she’s gone—disappeared into the crowd.

I huff to myself feeling defeated, knowing that she’s not accurate in her direction to the Gilded Hollow. I might be seeing things, but I’m not so crazy to be missing an entire building she claims to be visible.

With that, I turn to cross the street at the cross walk and walk past the bookstore to turn the corner home. But as I round the corner, something catches my eye. I look back down Mainstreet at the shops ahead, seeing a sign for a costume shop.

“That was not there before,” I say to myself, feeling like I’m going to lose my freaking mind if shit doesn’t stop messing with me like this. I know I’ve never seen that sign before.

I curiously walk toward the shop and pass by one of the windows. On it, reads a sign that says,

CELEbrATING 225 YEARS OF BUSINESS

I read it several times before feeling like I’m living in a fever dream. Two-hundred and twenty-five years is a long time, but proves me wrong. Maybe I am blind to some of the stuff in this town. Maybe I’m not paying as close attention as I think I am.

I check the hours of operation taped on the glass. It closes at six and it’s currently five-forty-five, so says my phone. I hate it when people enter my store at the last minute, only because it’s never busy throughout the day and then at the last minute I always get someone in who doesn’t even buy anything. My mind drifts to the memory of my Edgar Allen Poe visitor from a few nights ago, remembering his wicked grin and how power exuded from him.

But I shake my head at the thought, knowing I don't have time to daydream. I have the money and I’m desperate for a mask to wear to the party that I’m suddenly anticipating even more than before, so I open the door and head inside.

I let the last bright white strand of my hair unwind from the curling iron, watching it bounce into place.

I’ve taken my time getting ready for this party. I’m not sure what to expect or who I’ll meet there, other than the girl who ran into me on the sidewalk earlier, as weird as she was. But I feel nervous and excited all at the same time, which is why I chose not to rush the process of doing my hair and makeup.

After the heat of the fresh curl cools, I flip my head upside down and shake my hair loose with my fingers. I flip my head back up and watch as my hair falls flawlessly into place. That’s the one and only thing I took away from my stupid step-sisters, was how to get ready. I especially paid close attention to how they did their hair because it was always done in pretty updos and beach wave curls. I opt to pin mine back with a white butterfly clip to create a half up, half down look, and admire my handy work.

Makeup is a different story. That takes patience and practice and for someone who never wears makeup, I decide to go for the simpler look. I decorate my eyelids with a light shimmer eyeshadow, some eyeliner and mascara. I also line and fill my lips with a deep, blood red lip stain, loving how it accentuates the tone of my gray eyes.

After checking myself out in the mirror to make sure everything is in order, it’s time to put on the outfit.

I slip out of my silk pink robe and pull on a black, lace thong before sliding into the dress I bought from the boutique earlier. It’s a black bodycon with sheer long sleeves and a plunging neckline that falls right between my breasts. I’m thankful I bought it on a whim because it’s really giving me the confidence boost I need to motivate me to walk out the front door.

I check the time to see I only have thirty minutes before ten o’clock, meaning it’s time to put on the final piece of the outfit, sealing the deal and solidifying the fact that I am actually doing this.

The mask.

A white eye mask with intricate etchings and lined with gold lace lays face up on my countertop. I snatched it up at the costume shop almost as if it called my name. I hadn’t seen it at first, in fact I didn’t spot any masquerade masks at all. So when I asked the shop manager if he had anything, he led me straight to this mystifying piece.

I walk over to the mask and pick it up, studying the object that had me worried I would miss this elusive party I was invited to. The mask is placed between two white satin ribbons, the silky texture of it feels like heaven as I rub the material back and forth against the pads of my fingers. The lace is also delicately placed along the outer edge of the mask outline. It truly is the most stunning thing I've ever seen.

But before I put it on, I need one last clarifying piece of advice on whether or not this is the right thing to do. The feeling in my gut tells me that I should stay but the pull in my heart and my mind is begging me not to listen to my instinct. And who better to ask than my best friend?

I walk further into the kitchen and see Stella sitting in her web in the corner. Almost as if she suspects my need for company, she crawls out of her hiding place and over to where I kneel down, dropping my eyes to level with the counter. I watch her as she strides enchantingly straight toward my face.

“Stella, blink once if I should go to this party,” I whisper to her knowing just how ridiculous one might find me if they saw I was seeking social advice from a spider.

I think I can safely add talking to a spider to my list of I’m truly losing it identifiers.

But of course, my spider friend doesn’t blink. Instead, the voice I’ve been craving for days enters my head.

Smooth, deep, and inviting.

Come.

It echoes in my mind.

But the thing that catches me off guard the most is that its airy whisper invites me to come to the party and not go to the party. Almost as if it’s luring me in instead of guiding me one way or the other. And in that moment, I swear I see Stella blink all eight of her beady little black eyes. But that's even more absurd seeing as spiders don't even have eyelids, so I just laugh it off and wish her a goodnight before heading back toward the mask like a siren calling my heart to sea.

I pull it carefully over my eyes, not wanting to ruin my makeup, and tie the ribbon underneath the clip in my hair, pulling it secure and snug.

Maybe I won’t be noticed by whoever invited me. Will I even get to meet them? Will I know them? Will they know me?

And there goes my intrusive thoughts running rampant in my mind thinking that my evil step-mom put this party together and will Carrie White my ass in front of the whole town.

God, how I wish I could do that to one of them.

But I have to shake those negative thoughts. The world isn’t out to get me. Hildigard and her dumb and dumber daughters don’t know where I live and if they did, I’d be ready for whatever shit they’d try to throw my way.

I decide that at this moment—I trace the scar on my cheek as a reminder that I am stronger than anyone could ever make me out to be—that nothing will ruin this night. I’m going into it with an open mind. I’ll mix and mingle. And it’s going to be fun.

It’ll be the start of a new era for me.

A love letter to myself…

Bitch, you’ve got this.

XO

-Cyn