The Revenge by Tijan

Her response came through right as we were circling to start taxiing for liftoff.

Waiting for you.





FIVE

Bailey


I woke to an empty bed.

The good news: I woke. That meant I had slept. The bad news: Kash was gone after only just returning late last night.

I rolled over, pulling up the blankets, snuggling in. I’d give myself only a second, because I’d learned that if I didn’t move right away I would space on time. That meant that if I said five minutes, I could remain there for hours.

With the two kidnapping attempts, I thought I knew trauma.

I did not.

I never lost complete moments of time before. But now, after my mom, I could lose an entire day and not know it. Then, at other moments, I couldn’t get my brain to stop thinking and rest. I would go into an altered state of mind where I was me, I was here, but I wasn’t. There was an edge of irrationality, a biting feel to my brain, and I would only know if I was in that state when I left that state. It was exhausting and perplexing. Simple things. Like now, I was giving myself just a beat before I pushed back the blankets and got up.

Padding barefoot, I went to the bathroom first.

I washed my hands.

I forgot to flush the toilet, one second.

I was back.

I rewashed my hands.

I dried my hands.

I brushed my teeth.

I put my toothbrush back. I recapped the toothpaste.

I turned the sink back on, testing it. Making sure it was lukewarm.

And bending, I wet my face.

I reached for my face cleanser, lathered it on my hands and then applied to my face.

Slow circles, tracing my entire face.

My eyes were closed, and I worked around them.

I cleaned behind my ears. A little down my neck. Under my chin.

Over my lips.

The bridge between my eyes.

Over my forehead, lingering on my temples, and I applied pressure. That felt good, but I released and the pressure from inside built up again.

I sighed, reaching and testing the water once more. It was still lukewarm.

I bent, and this time I splashed my face. I cleaned most of the cleanser off, reaching for the washcloth to get the rest. When that was done, I put the washcloth aside and reached for the towel. Everything had been in the same spot for the last three weeks.

I could move around this bathroom without opening my eyes, not once, and I would know where it all was.

I touched the towel, snaking it off the rack, and I dried my face.

That was done.

I stopped, regrouping. My mind was still not turned on, so I went through the motions.

Oh. I forgot.

I laid out the washcloth so it would dry, and then I turned and folded the towel back over the rack. It was a little damp, so I spread it all out. Later I would come in and fold it back up. I would match the corners to line up together perfectly.

My arm was reaching as soon as I was done with the towel. I snagged my hair comb and, turning from the sink, I brought it through my hair.

No snarls.

No knots.

I put the comb back down, back into its spot. I patted it, making sure it was in the right place.

Then, with another sigh, I reached up and began parting my hair. Three different sections. Starting at the base of my forehead, I moved the right section under the center, over the left. I swung the left under the center and over the right. I kept moving, just like that, all the way down to the ends of my hair. Grabbing a tie, I wrapped it three times around the end of my braid, and when that was done, I went to my closet.

Simple things. Simple movements.

I didn’t know the day. I rarely did these days, but I knew I couldn’t do schoolwork. I couldn’t work on the computer, and Kash was gone, so that meant Matt might be around. Or Seraphina. Or Cyclone. Or I might wander down to the kitchen, have Theresa put me to work and help out. I could do dishes. She always balked, but I didn’t care.

The motion of cleaning, of spraying away the dirt, of putting the dishes through the dishwasher, of pulling them out the other end and knowing they were clean gave me satisfaction. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t going to question it.

I knew there would be a time when I would.

I would look back at all these little routines I did now, that got me through each day, and I would analyze the reason I did them, the reason they helped me, but for now, I didn’t do any of that.

I grabbed jeans, a shirt, a sweater, and I put on socks and sneakers. I was comfortable, ready for anything, and only then, after snagging my phone and putting it in my pocket, did I leave the room.

I never once looked in the mirror.



* * *



“We should day drink today.”

Matt found me in the kitchen corner, cutting board in front of me, knife in my hand, and thirty carrots spread out, ready to be chopped. I’d just been victorious in getting Theresa to let me use the knife. She kept worrying I was going to miss the carrot and cut a finger off.

“Nope.” I waved the knife in the air. “I’m good here.”

Matt cocked an eyebrow, leaning against the counter beside me. His arms crossed over his chest and he hooked one ankle over the other. He took me in, the knife, the cutting board, the carrots, the knife, the rest of the room, Theresa, and back to the knife.

He murmured, “Uh-huh. Yeah.”

I shot him a grin, lining up the first carrot. “Thirty minutes.”

“You’ll be done in thirty minutes?”