Bedtime snack

The hallway light flickers in answer to the hurried scamper across the landing. A pause and sharp intake of breath. Feet pad down the stairs, toes first and heels raised like the hackles of a fearful cat. Dead straight ahead lies the kitchen and she eyes it up over the floorboards stretching long and swollen in their grooves. Determined, she creeps her way, board by board, balanced on her toes. She curses at the reluctant warning groans from the floor, anger flushing her skin a dark pink that is swallowed by the shadows. She throws daggers out with narrowed eyes, back down the hall to chase away any prying eyes, but only the walls glare back solemnly.

The kitchen sits a ledge higher and she steps up, her heel slowly meeting the cool slab like a baby being laid gently to sleep. She takes a shuddering breath and hovers in the doorway. No, no. no. I shouldn’t be here, echoes in her head. The house sits quiet as a sunken stone, but her voice is ragged in her head, non-stop and desperate. It won’t rest. Now. Now. It drives her to the cupboard and she knows where to reach, can see it with her eyes closed, tucked in the corner like a scared animal. Her clawed hand grabs, her arm stretched tight as a strand of hair, ready for yanking. In one quick move, she pulls. The rustling noise is as loud as a wail in the silence and she holds her body still, eyes wide and huge in the dark, searching. Nothing.

Lifting her prize, she feels it nestled in its shiny binds and fingers the edge of the wrapping. Out they tumble into her hand: one, two, three, four, five. Her mouth feels heavy, saliva pooling like the beads in her underarms. This is what we wanted. The first she lays whole in her mouth. It sits impatiently, softening ever so slowly in the warm damp. Her jaw is slack but tension pricks at her neck and temples. And then she bites, sending it crumbling under talkative teeth, the melting rush soothing the voice. It goes quite in contentment. For once she is present and everything starts drowning away. Again, again, it says. She swallows a breath and obeys, chasing down the first with a second, a third. Her palm is feeling empty and she knows she should slow down, savour it, but she can’t, swallowing the dry remains that scratch at her throat. A clump disappointment in her stomach. I have to get to bed before they know.

Her nose wheezes as if she has just finished a run, swollen like the half moons under her eyes. She needs sleep, but that is miles off. Now to clear the evidence. The red package is strewn on the table, its flattened shape like a muddy streak of blood in the inky light. It is scooped in shaky hands and shimmied down the inside of the bin to nestle among the rubbish. There is a soft murmur from above, trickling down the stairs and the unmistakable creek of her parents bed. Her back shoots straight as a rod and she dances indecisively at the doorway, waiting to hear the feet. Please go back to bed, please, please, she prays.

Slow and shuffling, the steps ease along the upstairs hallway. She crosses fingers and toes that they will go to the bathroom, and waits for her chance to snake up the stairs undiscovered. A silky light glints down the hallway, the landing light bringing the figure to a halt as they steady themselves. A sleepy sigh. Then there is the thud of the first decline, and down they start. Damn it, She curses to herself and pulls her finger back sharply to the back of her hand, the joint stretching painfully as she flits in the doorway. There is nowhere to go.

Her mother rounds the corner of the banister. Her surprised gasp is muffled in a fluffy robe sleeve, and her eyes crinkle in the shared secret of startling each other. The daughter wrings her hands behind her back and prays the shadowy light is enough to hide her flaming skin. “Hi,” Her mom whispers when she nears, “you okay, honey? Gosh, what time is it?” She glances at the glaring clock on the side table: 2:00am. Bedtime, bedtime, bedtime. “Couldn’t sleep?” The girl nods her head stiffly, and smiles in response. “Okay, I just came for water. Do you need anything?” She asks, pulling the robe strings tighter around her shrunken waist. Hide, hide, hide, says the voice. “No thanks, I just came for a glass. I was heading to the bathroom.” Her skin burns and she itches at her sleeve subconsciously. The mother glances down, her mouth pulling tight.

She flicks on the overhead light, and they both grimace as their eyes adjust. “There, that’s better, I could hardly see you.” She croons. “Have you used that cream we got, honey?” The girl gives a nod, and her nails drop to the cuff of her sleeve. “Good, you’ve really got to stop scratching, hun, or it’ll never get better.” She tucks a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. Her mom’s face is soft and warm beneath traces of lines, her fair hair turned white in the fierce lights. Without her makeup, the lights runs straight through her eyebrows, and they too turn finer than a powder of snow, making it hard to see if she is frowning. Nodding, the daughter murmurs, “Yeah, I know,” running her nail along the pad of her thumb, “thanks.” She can feel the flaking skin begging for something to pull at it, whispering under her layers. She can't help it anymore. What does it matter if it gets better, wrapped as it is on me? Her mom’s eyes flickering briefly onto the corner of her daughter’s lip, before darting back up. She gives her arm a reassuring rub with a “Well, goodnight,” and drifts on to the kitchen.

The girl closes the door to the bathroom, with her back against the wood. Her eyes are squeezed tight, pushing out everything, but the voice swells inside. Why did you listen to me? She shakes it out, and tries to drive her tense shoulders down. But she needs to see. She faces the sink mirror, staring herself dead in the eyes. This isn’t what I wanted. The weight is there, pulling at her face, and her neck sags. She can feel it hanging low and puffy, and yet the finger she stabs into her neck meets taunt skin. A black dot snags her attention, and her heart drops seeing the crumb resting precariously at her lip. It shines in her eyes, growing as she splashes cold water to wash it off. Embarrassed, she hugs her hands around her sides, her fingertips finding a spot in each rib space. The skin is still tight, and the bone runs close as she dances her fingers up and down. Okay, okay, okay. It’s okay. She smooths back her hair and smiles at her clean face in the reflection, her chin tilted up so she can only see above the line of her jaw. It’s all okay.