BORROWED WALLS

I roll the car window all the way down before flicking my lighter, the flame briefly flaring like a secret before it kisses the tip of my cigarette.

When I inhale, I finally breathe.

Every drag settles something inside me. A quiet comfort. A warm hug I didn’t ask for but desperately need.

“Hey. Put that out. Now!”

Elliot twists around in the passenger seat to glare back at me. His curly black hair looks greasier than usual, as if stress has been running its fingers through it all day.

The driver sighs for the fifth time this drive, as if he knows me or something.

I ignore both of them.

Leaning into the car door, I let my head slip outside. The cool night air lashes my long hair back, sharp and clean, and I take another long inhale of smoke, of freedom, of the town stretching out ahead of me.

Welbury Hills. Population: 4417.

Somewhere in Washington. Somewhere near seatle.

One of those small towns where a trip down to the grocery markets involves twenty interactions.

This is where I’ll be stuck for the next few months. Or maybe I’ll be gone before that. Who knows? And who even cares anymore?

“I mean it, Cordelia,” Elliot snaps again, eyes narrowing.

I sigh, exhaling a lazy cloud of smoke before flicking the cigarette out the window. It disappears into the dark like it never mattered.

At least the temperature here is decent, I think to myself. Not too cold, not warm either. I like balance. Or at least, I pretend I do.

We pass rows of old, important-looking buildings, brick worn thin with age and secrets, then a couple of diners glowing under yellow lights. Families sit inside, laughing, talking, living.

Suburban houses blur past next. I can imagine families living happily inside them, with a hundred things to fill their days with worries, of course. Adults seem to worry a lot. I have noticed that detail almost everywhere I go.

Then we pass a wide stretch that looks suspiciously like a high school. I don’t give it another look, just a glance. I have a feeling I will be inside it very soon. The thought makes bile rise in my throat, and my hands itch for another puff of comfort.

I pull the hood of my grey hoodie over my head, shielding my black hair from the wind. Laughter drifts through the air—teenagers scattered along the sidewalks, balls being kicked, bottles swinging loosely from their hands. Carefree. Happy.

Soon, the streets go quiet. Houses line up neatly, cars parked in obedient rows, until we stop in front of one.

Ughh. I like it when we’re moving. I don’t like stops.

“At least this one’s bigger than the last one,” I say, eyeing the place.

It’s massive—at least three stories. And I can already picture a pool hidden somewhere in the back, water glittering under the moonlight.

Jackpot

I turn my head and my attention to Elliot, waiting for him to give me his usual words of wisdom.

“Don’t be... yourself,” he mutters. Then, for the first time today, his expression softens. “Be good, Cor.”

Rolling my eyes, I open the door and step out onto the street. The car idles behind me as my eyes sweep over the house again—wide windows, white walls, quiet wealth—

Something hard smacks into my head.

I stumble sideways, swearing under my breath, just as the car speeds off.

“I guess he’s over it,” I mutter, picking up my bag from the ground and slinging it over my shoulder. “I should go in, I guess.”

But my feet refuse to move. Not even an inch.

I bite my lower lip and stare at the tall house ahead of me. It looks...daunting. Then I look around.

Parallel-parked cars. Kids’ bicycles abandoned on lawns. A neighborhood trying very hard to look normal.

I inhale deeply, then bend my knees and lie flat on the road, arms stretched wide.

The cold, rough road presses against the back of my head as the stars shimmer above me, distant, indifferent, beautiful as always.

A part of me actually prefers lying on the road all night, rather than going inside.

“Do I really like the cold,” I murmur, “or would hot weather be better? The last place was scorching, and I hated that...” My eyes move back to the stars. I count them. “One, two, three...”

Footsteps approach behind me.

I shut up instantly.

A face appears upside down above mine.

Dark hair, too messy, slightly tan skin. I gasp at the sudden interaction.

“Cordelia?” he asks. His nose wrinkles when he speaks. He really needs to clean those boogers before they fossilize.

“Yes,” I reply, still very comfortable on the street.

“I’ve been waiting for you for an hour,” he says, straightening. “And why are you lying in the middle of the road?”

I get back to my feet, slowly. The sudden ache in my back reminds me of my lack of exercise and flexibility.

I finally take him in properly.

He’s tall. Very tall—at least six-four. His eyes are the same color as mine: blue. His body looks like it was built for impact, for attack.

“I’m ready to go in,” I say lightly, gesturing toward the grand house. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” he replies, clearly thrown by my lack of explanation as he turns and starts walking the opposite way.

Why are we moving away from the beautiful white house with a pool?

“Um,” I start, awkwardly pointing behind us, as I follow him. “Is that not your house?”

“Nope,” he says without looking back. If he had, he would’ve seen the devastation on my face. I follow him past at least five houses before we stop at a smaller one. No pool. Two stories. Decent. Homey.

“You’re really late,” he says as we enter the driveway. “We’ve been waiting since the afternoon.”

“I know,” I reply, sliding my right hand into the pocket of my hoodie. “There were... complications.”

He gives me a look. The kind that saysI know exactly what you mean. I swallow.

We stop right at the double white doors. They are small and arched.

“There are rules,” he says quietly. “Rules you absolutely cannot break. Otherwise, we send you back.”

I nod like an obedient dog.

“The most important one,” he continues, “No fighting. No violence of any kind.”

“Of course,” I say, nodding again. He studies my face, clearly struggling to believe the innocence I’m presenting, then finally twists the handle and opens the door.

White light assaults my eyes as we step inside.

I find myself standing in a kitchen with a dining area stretching behind it. A wooden table with chairs sprawled across it.

I count them—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—eight chairs. I take a moment to absorb the space, the paintings on the walls, the photo frames, before realizing I’m being stared at.

Two younger girls stand side by side. Long hair, wide expectant eyes, fear clinging to them like a second skin. Behind them are an older woman and a man.

The woman smiles first, wide and rehearsed, and steps toward me, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her hair is short, perfectly styled into soft curls. She’s tall and slim.

“Welcome, Cordelia,” she says warmly.

“Cor,” I correct her. No smile. Not necessary.

She nods, undeterred. “Welcome... Cor. I am Rudy, and this is my husband, David,” she points to the blonde man. He smiles before coming to stand by his wife again. Then her attention turns to her girls, “Girls, would you like to introduce yourselves?” She smiles at them.

The smaller one comes forward and offers her hand like she had been practicing it all week.

“I...I am...Erica,” she looks ten, maybe eleven. I shake her hand but don’t say anything. Her smile vanishes at the lack of interest, and she steps back.

“Hayley,” the other one says, matching my disinterest. She looks my age, sixteen. Her hair is beautiful, golden, and long.

My head turns back to the guy who walked me in.

“I’m Mason,” he says. “And my brother, Kai, but he is not here right now.” he looks to the parents, who seem worried for a moment.

Great. So many names, not worth remembering.

“Have you eaten, Cor?” David asks, with a genuine attempt at a smile. I nod, lying.

“Okay then, I will just show you to your room, and we can talk more tomorrow, okay? You must be tired, and it’s late,” Rudy says, leading me towards the stairs. The girls awkwardly move aside as I step between them and walk to the wooden stairs.

As we climb up, I glance at more photo frames and memories of all the kids lined on the walls.

They all had a life here, a childhood.

I stop to see an unrecognized face in one of those photo frames.

Onyx hair falling messily over his forehead, dark eyes, pale skin...I seemed to have stopped all four of them behind me, who are, for whatever reason, following us up the stairs. So I continue my climb back up to reveal a hall with numerous doors, left and right.

Hayley walks past us and strides through the door right in front of us. It shuts close behind her. Erica does the same on the left.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have an extra room here currently,” Rudy starts, “but I hope you’ll like the makeover I did to the...storage room...it will give you all the privacy you need and a great view of the front of the house as well,” she continues, half-smiling.

“She can take my room, you know,” Mason adds, pointing to the room beside Erica’s on the left. “I am not going to be here anyway.”

“Nonsense, your room stays your room,” Rudy answers firmly.

I can’t blame her for wanting to keep her son’s room as it is. He has a mother who cares—that’s a good thing.

“I am fine with the storage,” I say, already moving to the end of the hall. They follow me as I step inside, wanting to end this unnecessarily dragged-out introduction.

I take a look around the compact room. There is a bed, a small one with obnoxious purple flower sheets. One pillow, flowers on the side table, clearly to make the room more...roomy. A large window behind the bed and a closet to the right. The rest of the room is just that...storage.

“If you need anything...” Rudy starts.

“Great, thanks,” I cut in, nodding, planting a fake smile before slowly shutting the door. Their faces fade out of view as I fully close it. I take out another cigarette from the pocket and light it, then finally breathe.