What Happens Over Spring Break: A Short Story Anthology by Anthology

Author:Anthology [Anthology]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B079BJSYJD
Published: 2018-03-25T23:00:00+00:00

“What are you doing?”

I screamed, turning quickly as Shaw moved across the room. He wrenched the folder from my hand, shoving it back it to the box and pushing the box aside.

“Who was she?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He stared at the box, taking a solid breath.

“My sister. My mother’s only biological child.”

I stood carefully, not moving, waiting.

“She killed herself?”

Shaw nodded, moving his gaze to the window.

I licked my lips, my mouth going dry. “She... was a dancer. And she looked like me.”

He continued to stare out the window, his gaze unfaltering.

“I couldn’t save her. I can save you.”

I backed away, nearly tripping over the first opened box behind me. “I think we’ve made a mistake.”

He turned to me, those dark eyes meeting mine. “Have we? You told me I was fucked up too. And you’re right. I am.”

I reached for the wall to steady myself. “Why did... why did she kill herself?”

He took a step, so slowly, in my direction, and I shivered.

“Because I crossed lines that I shouldn’t have. I did things to her that I shouldn’t have, Lark.”

Tears burned my eyes as I looked anxiously at the front door.

“I... I should go.”

“You live in the attic,” he said, his voice so smooth and eerily calm. “I play music, you dance.”

I felt the cold terror sweep over me as he took another step closer.

“Shaw, you need help... I need help. This is- I can’t-”

“Let’s go in the attic now, Lark.”

I gasped a sob, shaking my head. “My- my mother- killed herself. In front of me. When I was six years old. That’s why I’m sick. I know why I’m sick, Shaw. You don’t why you are. Let me help you, please...”

“The attic, Lark. It’s time for you to dance for me.”

I wanted to run. I knew he was stronger than me, but I was fast, and my dancer’s legs could probably get me to the door quick enough to escape his grasp.

And I imagined what life was like outside.

Loud. Terrifying. People, so many people, and trauma that I wasn’t ready to face.

I couldn’t face.

The attic was calm. Peaceful.

He reached for my hand, and for some reason, I placed my fingers in his palm.

He met my eyes.

What was I to him? Would he ever love me? Love was something that bred loss, and hurt, and devastating grief that I couldn’t bear to feel, not any more. If ever I wanted to end it all, to leave the world as my mother had, then I would be a lost possession to Shaw. A toy. A plaything.

A doll.

A ballerina on a spring.

And I could live with that.

“Take me upstairs, Shaw.”

He smiled slowly, his handsome face reflecting the darkness that I’d become so fond of.

He swept me into his arms and carried me up the attic steps.

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