The Night Children

Chapter 19

When The Party's Over - Billie Eilish

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Edited. 

'To gaze into death is to grow fearful of what is reflected back.' The poems words circled in my brain. I hadn't stared into the eyes of Isaac; I had stared into the eyes of someone in agonising pain. Someone who was afraid for their life, who clutched their shattered heart in bloodied fingers.

Despite everything, despite the flicker of hatred for the boy who tried to strike me, the boy who ignored me and played with girl's hearts with a simple incline of his lips, I was scared. And for once, it wasn't of him, it was for him.

If his careful hands hadn't saved my life those days ago, I knew I wouldn't feel the guilt swell around me now. He'd looked me in the eyes and told me to stay alive. I had looked him in the eyes and demanded he went to hospital. My words weren't enough.

They would never be enough.

He was dying. The simplicity of the thought unsettled me. It was one matter of knowing we are dying every day we remain alive, but another to look death in the eyes and touch its clutches with shaking hands.

Death was stalking Isaac like a wolf. Nip at the heels, injure them, weaken them, toy with them. Wait for exhaustion to finish the work than go for the killing blow. It wouldn't be long before his expiry date was breached, and I hoped more than anything he would return to hospital before it was too late. But the one thing that struck me the most was the urgency in his voice. As if something was coming back. As if whatever hurt him wanted more.

Biting my lip, I gazed out the window I'd just emerged from. It had taken fifteen minutes beforehand to jump from the fire escape stairs to the window ledge.

My breaths coming out in laboured gasps, I scanned my eyes across the room. Judging from the weak rays of light, it was nearing four in the morning. Nurse Lola would arrive at six for breakfast.

Closing the window with shaky fingers, I paused to examine something odd in the mirror.

My reflection stared back at me, its ghostly pale face drooping in exhaustion. A hollowness sharpened my cheek bones and added a touch of purple to the rings under my eyes. Dirt clung to my skin, spraying its paleness with a splash of colour, mixed with the essence of blood. Shallow cuts etched under my chin and across my forehead.

I gazed at myself, disconnection seething through my bones. I didn't recognise the girl staring back at me. She was a stranger to the girl she was a month ago.

Ripping my eyes away from my reflection, I realised immediately what I had to do first, but I had to do it quickly.

Once I had scrubbed the blood from my skin to leave my flesh red in the shower, I then pulled on comfortable clothes Mum had previously bought from home. Before our fight. I winced. Leaving the wet clothes in the basin of the sink, I now eyed the mirror. My lips were returning to their usual colour, but the colour in my irises had darkened. I knew they would never blaze with life again.

I looked somewhat normal. Almost like a painting that seemed ordinary at first but the more you examine it, the more complex it becomes. I knew myself too well. It was obvious to me how my eyes flashed with fear. For others, my expression would remain passive.

I once again tore my eyes away from the haunting image of me and yanked my phone from the side bench. Four twenty-seven. I had time.

Skittering like a deer to the door, I pressed my ears to its glass window. No tell-tale jangle of keys indicated anyone was around. Trusting my instincts, I creaked my door open and peeked out into the hallway.