Page 6 of Madness Becomes Her

“Lewis!” I shout, running after the rabbit, who’s a head taller than me. “Where am I to stay? You can’t just leave me here. I have nothing. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You do.” He smirks.

“What? Where?”

“You’ll stay with Hatter, of course. It’s where you belong.”

“I can’t stay with Hatter. I don’t know him. This is madness!”

Lewis smirks. “Perfectly so. Goodnight, Eleanor.”

“Goodnight, Lewis,” I mutter confusedly, watching him rush into the woods before I return to the Hatter.

He’s leaning against his chair, picking at his teeth. “Ready?”

“For?”

“Bed, of course. Don’t be silly.”

I want to scream that the last six hours of insanity around that table was silly, but I’m so tired. Tired, confused, and emotionally drained.

“I’m ready,” I answer in a huff.

Following Hatter up a hill behind the massive tea table, I’m silent as I take it all in.

The air smells like cinnamon, and the night has sounds I’m familiar with: crickets and the hoots of owls.

With the Hatter’s eyes off of me, I take a moment to catalog more about him. He’s very tall, every bit of six feet.

He’s dressed in tattered pants and a long-sleeve button-up shirt. The buttons, however, are mismatched and buttoned incorrectly, just the perfect amount of off-center, just like him.

Finally, we happen upon a cabin. The frame leans slightly to the left, and the angle appears twisted.

Hatter opens the door for me to enter, and I tentatively step inside.

The inside is just as chaotic as he is.

Hats are everywhere, hanging from the lights, tossed onto tables and counters, and thrown on the floor.

They’re everywhere.

So are clocks and trinkets. It looks like an antique store if the antique store was disorganized and only sold three variations of items.

“Welcome home,” Hatter says, and I swallow thickly.

“This isn’t my home.”

“Always was,” he growls, moving to the sink to wash the paint off his face.

I’m stunned to silence when he turns around, and his beauty strikes away my thoughts.

He’s got a straight nose and perfect lips. His jaw is hard as stone and angled beautifully.

He takes off his haphazard shirt delicately, as if it wasn’t thrown on in haste as it appeared to be.

His body is chiseled perfection, and I swallow as I clear my throat.

“Where am I to sleep?”