Stupid Boy

My hand slipped inside first, reaching for the light switch, and when I found it and flipped it, light flooded the breezeway. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Turned my flashlight off.

Home.

As I made my way to the living room, I flipped on every switch in the house until it blazed with light. Furniture sat like old ghosts, shrouded in sheets, awaiting life to enter once again. It never would. I hurried through the rest of Belle House, opening every door, turning on every single light and lamp—except for the third floor. I stood there, on the platform of the second floor, looking up. Instantly, my heart began to pound. Voices began to whisper in my head, and I slapped my hands over my ears to make them stop. Never, ever did I venture up there. Where that room was. That cramped little closet no better than the dank kitchen cabinet I’d once hidden in. No, never again. Unwanted images began to streak across my memory, and my breathing increased. “No!” I yelled out. “Stop it!”

I turned and ran back downstairs as fast as I could.

After the lights were all ablaze I headed straight for the hearth in the hall. I dropped my overnight bag, and quickly stacked a few leftover logs across the grate. Poking shards of fat lighter beneath, I grasped a long match from the canister, struck it, and set the flame. Soon the aged wood began to crackle, pop, and I sat back and watched it spark to life. The smoky woodsy scent soothed me, in a way.

Outside, the wind picked up, and it creaked against the windows and doors, and my thoughts swarmed in my head. Thoughts of Kane, especially, and how much I’d wished he was here with me. But he couldn’t be. He never could be. For him to be here would mean he’d learn my secrets. Learn of the nightmares. And I didn’t want him to know that. Then, they shifted, my thoughts. To this big empty mansion, how there wasn’t anyone here but me. Never would be. I’d called a few days before, knowing I’d be making the journey here and knowing I couldn’t tolerate staying the night in the dark. So I had the electricity turned on, and although it’d just be for a few days, it was better than letting anyone at Winston see who the real Harper Belle was. A crazy orphan with a dead family. Dead, all except Corinne Belle, who’d been in Oakview Nursing Home for the past year and a half, wearing adult diapers and having to be fed through a tube in her stomach. She still had me, though. Kept me prisoner. Belle House? All the staff had been let go. The place deserted, left to me upon the death of my grandmother. I didn’t want it; I wanted nothing from her. But she’d made sure otherwise.

Despite Corinne’s stroke and fading health, there was nothing left. Nothing now but an enormous bank account and the good Belle name, according to whom you spoke to. This was my punishment. My legacy. And tomorrow, Thanksgiving, I’d dutifully go to Oakview and visit Corinne Belle. She’d pounded it into my head, from the very first day I’d arrived at Belle House, that I was privileged to live under her care, and under the Belle name. She’d enforced it in me that, no matter how rich she was, I hadn’t earned a penny of it and that I’d best plan to pay her back for everything, one day. She’d supplied the best-tailored clothes, for Belle appearances, of course. The Lexus. Nothing more.

So for as long as I remembered, I saved every extra penny I had. To pay her back. Otherwise, she’d lock me away, she said. In a dark room with no clothes and no food where no one could ever, ever rescue me. She said I was mentally insane, an orphaned child with psychological problems no one would ever want. And if I wanted to make it in life, I’d keep it all quiet. Hide my psychosis or someone would see. And if that happened, she’d have me committed to an asylum. One far, far away so no one would ever suspect anything. So, I had hidden it all very well. Even after her stroke. Because somehow, she still scared the living hell out of me. Somehow, she could still see everything I did. And if it was something she disapproved of? If she thought sinful? There would be consequences.

Opening my overnight bag, I pulled out my cell phone. A missed call and two texts from Kane. There’d certainly be a consequence if Corinne found out about him.

She never would. I’d make sure of it.

KANE: DID YOU MAKE IT OK? LET ME KNOW YOU MADE IT OK?

KANE: HARPER? LET ME KNOW YOU’RE SAFE, OK?

My heart flipped at his words, and I wanted to call him back. I wanted to hear his voice. Instead, I sent him a text, explaining my lack of signal but yes, I’d made it safely. Then I powered off my phone before he could text me back, and shoved it into my bag. I pulled out the pair of thin blankets I’d rolled tightly and brought with me, opened one before the fire on the floor, and set the other close to it. Then I pulled out a bottle of water. A sandwich I’d bought earlier from the café. And my copy of Sense and Sensibility. I sat, read by the fire, and ate my meal.

As I lay on the floor later, book face-down against my chest, I turned and stared into the fire before letting my eyes drift shut. Kane’s face appeared; chiseled, handsome, perfect. I certainly hadn’t counted on him. His beautiful, flawless skin; rich, coffee eyes that knew way too much. He’d gotten to me, and I’d allowed it. How? So careful, all these years. Yet all it took was…him. I felt his lips on mine, and I found myself craving it, his scent, his touch—even his voice. Is this what it would feel like when he finally left Winston? Would I crave him like this? As I wavered off into what would surely be a restless night of sleep, I sighed, and kind of wished I hadn’t met Kane McCarthy at all.

The next morning came faster than I’d expected, which was a good thing after all. The dark room on the third floor usually haunted me all night, every night, but this time, it hadn’t. But my bones and joints were stiff from lying on the floor. The fire had nearly burned out, and I dragged myself from beneath the blanket and threw a couple more logs on to get the heat generating again.