Page 2 of Atone

Someday she’ll see that’s pointless.

When Patience turns the corner, I drop my chin and avoid her gaze, focusing on the pattern in the curtains. It’s too dangerous to look into her eyes when she still thinks I’ll leave this place someday. It’s bad enough she believes that if I did, it would be a good thing.

“I brought you more books.” Patience tempers the irritation from her conversation with the nurse for my sake. “It’s nice and warm in here today.”

She tightens her long white-blonde ponytail, but the smile on her face is forced and fake.

From the corner of my eye, I watch her set my father’sbooks on the nightstand. Proof she’s not the only Lancaster refusing to believe how far gone I am.

If I were smart, I would have accepted the light at the end of the tunnel when my heart stopped. I don’t remember much from that night, but I remember death. The cool indifference of the other side stared back at me. A testament to just how little the universe actually cares.

Why did I walk away?

Patience arranges the books into a neat stack. “I hope you don’t mind that my new roommate is meeting me here. We’re grabbing a bite to eat.”

She moves through my room, fixing the blankets on my bed next. They’re half on the floor and a mess from the nightmares. But if she guesses that’s why, she doesn’t say anything. She continues her sweep. Cleaning and organizing like she always does when she feels like things are spinning out of control.

“We were going to go see a movie later, but I need to study. The Psychology of Violence course is kicking my butt. And I swear, Briar Academy built the thinnest walls because it’s so loud in the dorm that it’s almost impossible to focus. If I don’t pass this test tomorrow, I might need to find a way to get extra credit.”

Patience never used to ramble. Each word is another thin crack webbing through her carefully practiced façade. She’s nervous. It’s the only explanation as to why she continues talking to me, like someday I might suddenly respond.

“Is it hurting today?” Her gaze drops to my clenched fist.

I hadn’t realized I was gripping it tight. Maybe that’s a good sign.

Exposure.

Enough pain and I’m bound to stop feeling anything.

“I can have the nurses bring you pain medication before I leave,” Patience continues her one-sided conversation.

I wish she wouldn’t bother. The expectations are stifling.

“Oh, there she is.” Patience stops at the window beside me, her voice lifting.

I follow her gaze down to the parking lot, where a dark-haired girl climbs out of her car. Even on an overcast day, the red streaks in her chestnut hair shimmer. The soft waves reach midway down her back, blowing in the slight breeze.

Her tan, sun-kissed legs are on full display in the white dress that hugs her petite frame and accentuates her every curve. She’s perfectly polished, from how she smooths her hands over her skirt to her head held high.

The girl slams the car door shut, finally turning to fully face the building. She pauses, taking it in, and when her gaze moves up, my heart stops.

At this distance, I can’t make out the green in her eyes, but I remember the forest that haunts me every time I fight sleep. The music that rattles with her gaze.

She angles her chin, scanning the building, expressionless. There’s not a flicker of emotion on her heart-shaped face. A breeze blows a strand of dark-brown hair across her cheek, and her thin fingers wipe it away.

Maybe I’ve died. Maybe the angel of death has finally come to drag me into the afterlife. It’s the only explanation because she can’t be here.

1

MASKS AND FACE PAINT

MILA

Pink flowers adda soft touch to the bold archway as we walk into the carnival. A variety of floral scents overwhelms my senses as I step through it with Patience, Violet, and Teal at my side. Flower petals carpet the grass, drawing a path into the madness.

Roses, carnations, allium, aster.

I know them all by heart since they’re the same flowers my parents use at the sister carnival they own. I can still feel the stems rubbing my fingers raw from when I gathered them. I can still smell the rich scent that lingered under my fingernails from mornings spent arranging bouquets before families filled the grounds.