Page 46 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

THIRTY-SIX

I called out of work today for the first time pretty much ever.

I feel a little guilty because I know there’s a lot of cleanup to do before the store opens for a half day, but I just do not have the energy.

When I woke up this morning, my eyes were so puffy and irritated from all the crying I did last night, they felt like they’d been glued shut after being exfoliated with sandpaper.

Am I making a bigger deal out of this than I need to? Yes. Do I still feel like I was gutted in front of the whole town last night? Also, yes. All the stress I’ve been under compounded into an hours-long crying jag. I feel wrung out and hollow inside, and I need time to figure out what to do next.

Dean stayed with me the whole night, holding me against him while I went in and out of crying. Staying for that long drained him, so he decided to go recharge when he could tell I was okay enough for him to leave. I practically had to force him to go so he wouldn’t burn out.

I’ ve finally washed off last night’s makeup, but you can take my ten-year-old sweats and holey t-shirt from my cold, dead hands. This is as good as it’s getting today. I fully intend on wallowing until it’s time to pass out candy to trick-or-treaters tonight.

I dig my hand into my popcorn bowl, stuffing my mouth full of the movie theater butter goodness. One of my favorite reality shows is on the final elimination episode, and I’m locked in. I’m so ready to lose myself in other people’s drama for the day.

The last two couples are having an explosive argument, likely fueled by a lack of sleep and too much alcohol.

The obscenities are coming out in a continuous stream, and all that’s audible is one long beeeeep.

Both gesticulate wildly, so I know it has to be juicy.

What I wouldn’t give for the raw, uncut footage.

My door opens behind me and I groan, hitting pause. “It was just getting good,” I complain.

I look over my shoulder to see Wren stomping in, two large grocery bags dangling from her arms, both perilously close to bursting.

She kicks the door shut behind her and tosses the bags on the counter.

“It’s never actually good. You know that, right?

” She historically hates reality TV, although I don’t believe her because she always watches it with me.

“You can’t be mean to me today,” I pout.

“Yes, I can. It’s practically my duty as your sister to continue to treat you the way I always do.” She haphazardly tosses things into the fridge, slams it shut, and then carries the rest of her haul over to me.

“I didn’t even know you were coming today,” I say, snatching the grocery bag from her hands and pawing through it like an animal .

“What? You thought I was just going to let you wallow in self-pity? When have I ever allowed that?”

“Well, there were these blissful twenty-two months before you were born…”

“Fuck off,” she says with a laugh, pushing my shoulder and yanking the bag back from me.

“I’m not even allowed one full day of wallowing?” I ask when she hands me a bag of M&Ms to toss with the popcorn.

“It’s been like eighteen hours. I’d say that’s enough,” she says, tweezing a piece of popcorn from the bowl with her long nails and popping it in her mouth.

“Now, are you going to tell me what happened? All I know is that Misha ran out of there, nearly taking me out with the door, and then you followed him.”

While we polish off the popcorn, I tell her all about Misha and Ivan, leaving out the more sensitive details from Misha’s past. I tell my sister damn near everything, but other people’s trauma is where I draw the line. Especially since she works with him almost every day.

“Well shit. Ivan is an asshole in life and death. I can’t believe he left you hanging like that!” she exclaims, looking as though she’d like nothing more than to punch his ghostly face.

“I can. I could tell he really didn’t want to come forward.

But I was so mad on Misha’s behalf that I kind of forced him.

I should have known better. I let my anger get the best of me.

Now I feel bad because Misha didn’t get the closure he wanted, and he feels like I betrayed him.

Not to mention he thinks I'm a fraud and exposed me to the whole community.” I scrub my face with my hands, wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and stop myself from ever going in that room last night.

“Rae, I’m going to say this to you as gently as I can because I love you,” Wren says, surprising me by taking my hand in hers.

“No one cares that you’re the medium. No one.

Are people surprised? Yeah, I’m sure they are because you’ve lived here your whole life and no one knew.

But no one got their pitchfork. Sure, some people will probably treat you differently and that sucks, but the people who matter won’t.

The people who love you won’t care, and they’ll just think it’s an extra interesting thing about you. ”

“But I didn’t want anyone to know,” I say, fighting the tears back. I’m so sick of crying.

“Listen, I’ve respected that you wanted to keep this part of your life private, but now that it’s out there, I think you need to own it.

You get to set your own boundaries around this.

If people ask you about it, you can say no.

This doesn’t have to change anything for you unless you want it to,” she says, squeezing my hand for emphasis.

I give her a trembling smile and squeeze her hand back.

Sometimes I feel guilty about how much Wren takes care of me.

I’m the older sister. I’m the one who is supposed to take care of her.

Her personality has always demanded to be the one doing the protecting and the pep-talking, though.

I can’t pretend I’m not grateful for it, even if I do wish she didn’t always have to be the one looking after me.

“Thank you for barging in here, even though I told you to leave me alone,” I finally say, once I’m sure my voice won’t break.

“Rae, that’s practically the job of annoying little sisters. I’m always supposed to barge in,” she retorts, squeezing my hand one last time and letting go.

We settle in and finish the episode. Wren complains the entire time about how unrealistic and overdramatic it all is, but I can tell she’s enjoying herself. Even when she tries to pretend she’s scrolling on her phone, I can see her peek over the top of it and track the TV screen.

Wren, predictably, is more outraged by the outcome than I am. “How the fuck did Trevor and Stacia win? There’s no way! She totally hates him. This ‘love score’ is bullshit.” She sits back on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the TV where Trevor and Stacia are frolicking in multicolored confetti.

“I thought you didn’t like this show,” I state, feeling myself smile genuinely for the first time all day,

“I don’t!” she exclaims defensively.

“So, are you going to help me pass out candy tonight?” I ask to change the subject. If I push too much, Wren will never even look at another TV just to prove her point.

She crunches down on a piece of popcorn and says, “Duh. It’s my favorite part.”

“You’re not wearing anything scary, are you?”

“It’s not that bad,” she says defensively. I sigh because Wren has a history of wearing terrifying costumes for the sole purpose of freaking out trick-or-treaters.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her devilish smirk.

“Oh my god,” I groan.

“What?” Wren’s muffled voice replies.

“How much did you pay for that abomination?”

“I really don’t think that’s important.”

Wren struts out of my bathroom wearing a costume that I can only describe as the result of a spider and a fly having a baby. A little, gross abomination baby.

An ababy if you will.

The mask, which covers her whole head, looks like a spider's head with six bulging green eyes and giant pincers. The sleek body glistens with exoskeleton-like plates. She’s strapped iridescent wings to her back, and her hands end in pincer-like claws.

“How are you going to pass out candy like that?” I ask, gesturing to her claw-covered hands.

She walks over to one of the giant plastic cauldrons I’ve filled with candy, picks it up, and thrusts it toward me. “Any other questions? Wait, what are you supposed to be?” she asks, tilting her gross spider head in question.

I self-consciously adjust the fur-covered hood so it sits lower on my brow.

“A wolf,” I reply. I found the costume on a fashion resale website.

It’s comfortable and thankfully fits well (plus-sized costumes are unsurprisingly hard to find).

It's a long-sleeved, gray dress with a furred hood and fur trimmed details on the hem. It goes just above my knees, so I paired it with black tights and boots, so I don’t freeze.

It’s not the most inspired costume, but at least I won’t be passing out candy with a side of trauma.

When I turn to gather up the extra candy, Wren exclaims, “Oh my god, you have a tail. This isn’t like, some kind of furry thing, is it?”

I push her jokingly. “Shut up and help me take all this downstairs. It’s almost dark.”

We lumber downstairs, carting enough candy to give each child in Ravenwood a proper sugar high the way god intended.

I’m a little nervous to hand out candy tonight, just twenty-four hours post medium reveal.

But it’s my favorite night of the year, and I know I’ll regret it if I hole up in my apartment.

“Rae, how are you?” My dad asks, plowing into me as soon as we open the door.

He gives me a suffocating and wonderful bear hug.

It makes me feel like I’m seven years old again.

And now I want to cry. I breathe deeply to hold it in, lest I mess up my cute, black-painted nose and exaggerated tear ducts.