15
Kam
It’s beenthree days since Alana tore the room apart and almost ended my life with that hammer. She hasn’t tried to attack me again, but I’m pretty sure it’s because she just doesn’t have the energy. Megan takes frequent naps throughout the day because she’s always worn out, so I figure the baby makes Alana just as tired as it made Megan.
But just because she hasn’t lashed out physically doesn’t mean her attitude’s improved or that she’s nicer.
I’ve never met anyone in my entire life that’s as quick with insults as she is; it’s like she has a guidebook on things to say that’ll make a man’s balls shrivel. She’s so vicious with her tongue, and she says whatever the fuck pops into her head. I’m never sure about what she’s going to say or how she’s going to say it. Sometimes, her tone is sugary sweet, but her words are jagged shards of glass flying at me. Other times, she’s nonchalant, like I’m not worth the effort. But more often than not, her tone is full of hatred. The moment she opens her mouth, I want to get away from her. It’s rare when she has nothing to say to me, and those few and far between instances are a breath of fresh air. They should be anyway.
The relief from her silence doesn’t ever last long. When she doesn’t say anything, I feel my nerves creeping up, especially if I’m in the room with her for a little while. Her silence is suspicious because what the hell could she be thinking that she’s not saying? At least when she’s talking, I know what’s running through that conniving little head of hers. No matter how demeaning she is, I would rather have her saying something than nothing. At least that way, I’m not left to make up shit in my head.
I’ve caught her deep in thought a few times when she’s sitting in the reading nook staring out the window, catching seconds when her face isn’t distorted into that frown that lets me know she clearly hates me. Those are the few moments I can actually see Megan. It’s amazing how a scowl can change a person's face into something unrecognizable.
My plan to pay no attention to her is damn near impossible when she wakes up and chooses violence each and every day; I can only ignore her for so long. With each hour that goes by, I realize more and more that Alana’s presence isn’t just for a short time. I have no idea when Megan’s going to come back, but Alana and I are going to have to get used to one another if we’re going to be interacting on a regular basis. That can’t happen if I dismiss myself every time she says something that gets under my skin. She’s not going to change, so I’m going to have to turn the other cheek.
So today… today’s going to be different. I’m going to stand my ground. She’s not going to run me off like she’s been doing. My adrenaline is through the roof, and my nerves are a wreck. Still, I walk down the hallway carrying a tray loaded up with tomato soup, two grilled cheeses, and a bottle of water. Taking deep breaths as I approach her room, I’m determined to at least look calm and in control.
When I get to the door, I tap on it, but she doesn’t answer. I wait a moment before rapping my knuckles on it again, but there’s still no answer. I don’t know if I should open the door and see if she’s sleeping, or do I just come back later? It’s insane the way normal inconsequential actions I would have with Megan have to be examined and dissected before doing them with Alana.
This might be the time she’s waiting beside the door to knock me over the head with something. Maybe the past few days of her being “tired” have all been a setup to get me to let my guard down, so I don’t expect it when she shatters my skull with something she’s had hidden the entire time.
I wish I could say I’m just being overly paranoid now. Probably not; with her, there is no being too cautious.
I need to get a grip.
“Alana?!” I shout through the door. When I don’t get an answer, I swallow hard, preparing myself for an attack. I set the tray on the table by the door, so I can free up my hands.
I unlock the door and push it open slowly. Immediately, I hear the shower going, but that could just be a ploy. She’s not in the part of the room I can see from the crack in the door, and when I peek around to the other side, she’s not there either.
Pushing the door open, I scan the room and find it empty but with it wider now, I can hear Alana’s voice bouncing off the shower walls. Her melodic tones drift through the door and float into my ears, and I’m instantly mesmerized. All the tension in my body melts away as her song fills my head and slowly oozes over me like warm honey, touching something deep inside of me.
I grab the tray off the table as Alana’s slow, sultry version of Adele’sCrazy for Youpulls me into the room. It’s an intoxicating sound, and I drift across the wood floors to the bathroom door, so I can hear her better.
I had no idea Megan could sing.
Well, Alana can sing. I don’t know if Megan can. I’m not sure if talents are something they share. Everything else about them is different, so maybe this is just something that just Alana can do.
“What the fuck!?” Alana shrieks, ripping me out of the trance I was in.
Quickly I spin around to divert my eyes as my heart thrums in my chest.
“What’s wrong with you? Why the fuck are you just standing there?” she yells at me.
I was so far from this room that her screaming at me barely comes through the fog in my head. I didn’t even hear the shower turn off. I was so lost in her voice.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, and I mentally kick myself. “I was bringing your lunch, and I heard you singing. You have a nice voice. It was unexpected.” I don’t think she’s going to accept the compliment, but I’m not going to lie, and I don’t want her to think I was standing there hoping to catch her coming out naked.
There’s silence behind me, and I can feel her eyes burning into my back as I wait for her to say something, anything. It might be better for me to leave the room.
“Lucky you,” she says, and I hear a drawer behind me open. “Most people pay big bucks to hear me sing.”
“You got paid to sing?” I probe, still trying to clear my head.
She responds with that laugh that sounds like she has an inside joke going with herself. “Who knows if they listened? I was barely ever wearing any clothes when I was on stage.”
“Oh,” I can’t keep the disgust out of my tone. “At the strip club.”
“Gentlemen's club, yes,” she corrects me, closing a drawer. “But if you’re gonna be all pissy about it, don’t ask any questions. What did you bring me for lunch?”