Synesthesia: Chapter Thirty-One

serial fiction

Image: Manu Franco, Unsplash

I tried to slow my breathing, to give myself some time to think. But my breaths kept coming faster and faster.

Hoka guy—Daniel—had told us that Roberta had left him. I’d pictured an angry, jilted lover discovering an ugly secret, then walking out the door and never looking back.

I hadn’t imagined that Roberta would be buried in the front yard next to a warty-looking cactus.

Suddenly it was all too much. I dropped my head down to my knees and threw up.

When I stood up again, wiping stomach acid and ground bison from my mouth, I knew what I had to do.

I marched into the house and back into the dining room, where Hokas—Daniel—and Amber were clearing dishes from the table, laughing and—were they actually flirting with each other?

“Amber,” I said in my most commanding voice. “We’re leaving.”

The smiles dropped from their faces, and the shit smell of happiness evaporated from the room. I let out a sigh of relief.

Amber stared at me as if I’d just told her Disneyland had been destroyed by a meteor.

“No, Zodiac,” she said, her voice quiet but unyielding. “We’re staying here.”

I glanced over at Hokas—fuck, I was never going to get used to this guy’s name being fucking Daniel—and detected a flicker of something across his face. But what? I sniffed the air desperately, trying to read his emotions. But I got nothing from him.

Suddenly Amber was inches from my face. Her stare was rotten-egg irritation.

“If you want to walk out that door, go ahead,” she said, her voice a whispery growl. “But Jacob can finally have some stability here. For once in his life.” She blinked, and the wetness in her eyes threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “I’m not giving that up.”

I looked back over at—ugh, Daniel. His expression was still unreadable, the air around him revealing nothing.

“Can I talk to you alone?” I asked Amber, trying to keep my voice low enough that Daniel wouldn’t be able to hear.

But Amber was already walking away, sulfury rotten eggs and angry soap bubbles trailing in the air behind her.

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I sat alone on the couch as Amber, Jacob, and Daniel disappeared into the “home cinema” room to watch a movie. I tried to think systematically through my options.

I had no car. That was the biggest problem. If I still had my car, I could leave.

But I also had no money. That was a problem too.

Where did Amber put that grocery bag full of cash?

I stood up and looked around the living room. Had she brought it into the house? Or was it still out in the car?

My breath hitched.

My CDs were out in the car.

Now my search became frantic. I needed the keys to the Mustang. The fate of my music collection depended on it.

A roar of laughter erupted from the movie room down the hall, and a stink-wave of gasoline floated along with it.

God, I hated this place so much.

I checked the wall by the front door for a hook a key might hang on. Nothing.

I checked the narrow marble table in the front entryway. Nothing.

I checked the dining room, the kitchen, the living room a second time.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I must have lost track of time, because as I was checking under couch cushions for the keys to the Mustang, a door opened down the hall. Before I could put the cushion back into place, I heard Amber’s voice behind me.

“What are you doing?”

It was sharp, accusatory. I dropped the cushion, which sat awkwardly at a strange angle to the rest of the couch. Slowly, I turned around.

Amber stood with her hands on her hips. The faintest wisp of lavender floated over to me from her thin, downturned lips and pinched-together eyebrows.

Behind her, Daniel looked confused.

He was holding Jacob on one hip, the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck.

I felt a fury I’d never felt before, an anger I struggled to even comprehend. Just the sight of Hokas—fucking Daniel!—carrying Amber’s little boy made me sick to my stomach. I felt my fists clench in preparation for a fight, even as my face turned red with embarrassment at being caught searching the house.

“My music is out in the car,” I finally said. “I wanted the keys so I could go get it.”

Daniel stepped out from behind Amber, Jacob still clinging to him. My nails dug my palms.

“We can get it in the morning,” Daniel said brightly. “It’s late now.”

Then the three of them turned and headed back down the hall.

“You can sleep in Roberta’s room,” Hoka-Daniel called out. “Goodnight!”

The last thing I wanted to do was sleep in Roberta’s room.

But I couldn’t figure out any better option.

So I lay on my back, sandwiched between pink sheets and a ruffly pink bedspread, one of painting-Roberta’s eyes staring down at me, the other looking out toward the front yard, where the real Roberta lay in a shallow grave, covered in her ruffly pink ballgown and sad green squares of sod.

I felt trapped. Imprisoned. My CDs were locked up in the Mustang, and I was locked up in Roberta’s pink bedroom.

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I dreamed that squares of sod were falling onto me, suffocating me, crushing me. The more I struggled, the heavier the layers of sod became, until my bones cracked and my lungs collapsed.

When I woke up, the sod was gone, but I was tangled in the pink bedspread.

I yanked it away from my face and breathed in.

The air was hot and dry, but at least it didn’t smell like emotions—just the musty stillness of a long-empty room. Sunlight streamed in through the half-closed blinds of a window. I squinted and looked around the room, letting my eyes and brain adjust to the surroundings.

Today, I thought. Today is the day I will make my escape.