Six: The Mansion's Dust
Yesterday we buried my grandfather.
It was hard.
In his Will, he’d written that he wanted to be buried right next to my grandma. That meant visiting the family crypt and seeing my cousin’s grave plaque as well as my grandmother’s, and his open casket. It had done a number on me.
I broke down. Surprisingly enough, Prescilla comforted me.
I couldn’t bring myself to look into the casket and see my grandfather’s unmoving body. I wanted my last memory of him to be when he still had a smile on his face, not the image of a cold corpse that probably displayed the grief he had gone through before his heartbreak took his own life.
After the funeral, and at the wake, Prescilla was still around.
I enjoyed her presence.
Even though I know her kindness is only temporary.
We hosted the wake at the mansion, my mansion I guess now. I had an hour or two to clean up the foyer. Pre helped.
I broke down again there. So many people showed up to give condolences and share their happy memories of the late previous mayor. It was overwhelming. Prescilla was there to comfort me, once again.
I couldn’t go home after. I didn’t want to spend another second in a house with my parents who had ignored me and my grandparents for the last 18 years. Maybe my grief was just misplaced, but I can’t go back.
I would rather face that feeling of loneliness truly alone in a place full of happy memories, rather than a place that doesn’t even have any to begin with.
So, I’m living in the mansion now. My parents didn’t even blink after I told them. In fact, they offered to pay the moving cost of my stuff. Real fucking sweet of them.
So, yeah. Today I’m cleaning up the rest of the mansion because goodness knows all the dust in this place could smother someone, not to mention the rest of the shit left behind over the years of parties and late night rendezvous.
I may even have a little fun with Prescilla. She stayed the night with me. We didn’t fuck, which was strange because she had said that was all that’s between us.
I think she might pity me. But, I’ll just go with it.
She’s actually peeking over my shoulder right now. She must think that I can’t feel her warm breath against my bare shoulder. Or smell that sexy as sin perfume of hers.
Prescilla, I’m hard.
Dealing with a peeping tom now,
“I’m sorry!” Prescilla squeaks once I stop writing in my journal.
I’ll admit, I gave her a chance to read that last bit before closing it and tossing it on the floor.
“You shouldn’t invade people’s privacy. It’s not nice,” I chide, pushing her down on the bed.
Dust permeates the air as soon as her body hits the mattress. She coughs. “Crap.”
She continues coughing. It’s strange because I’m nowhere near as affected by it as she is.
When her face starts turning blue I realize that something is seriously wrong. I panic. “Fuck. Prescilla are you alright! Did I hurt you? Shit!” I grab her and in my panic addled mind start to check her for any injuries.
My head spins with worry. Did I really push her that hard?
“Purse,” Prescilla suddenly gasps, waving her hands toward it on the floor. I bolt to it and dump it out onto the bed when she starts fumbling, trying to find something in it.
A bunch of junk falls out, tampons, her phone, money, keys, lace underwear that would probably make me cum in my pants if touch them—More importantly, I see an inhaler.
I grab the inhaler and pretty much shove it in her face, the adrenaline coursing through my body not allowing gentle movement. I help her push the top down and a flood of relief makes me fall to my knees when she inhales deeply and the blue hue in her face subsides.
I’ve never been more frightened in my life. Not even when I thought I’d knocked her up.
Prescilla starts laughing. Her body falls back on the bed and more dust wafts up. I jump up and push the inhaler back in her mouth when she coughs again.
She continues to cackle.
I glare at her and shake my head. “Ha-ha, so funny.”
Before she can move again, I grab her off of the dusty death trap she’s laying on and pull her into my lap on the much cleaner floor.
“Are you okay?” I ask sincerely, moving her wild blonde hair aside so I can see her face clearly.
“I’m fine Arnie,” she smiles, leaning against my chest.
I sigh in relief and let her finish catching her breath. The adrenaline in my body suddenly crashes and the reality of what just happened, what could have happened, sinks in.
Prescilla sits up in my lap, looking at me in concern once my posture tenses.
“Are you okay?”
I rub my eyes with my fingers, half to rub away developing tears and half to hide myself from embarrassment.
“I-i uh,” Can’t lose anyone else. “I’m fine, just tired.”
I make the mistake of looking at her then. Her scowl says she knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t push—she pulls me up off of the floor.
“Lets go explore. This place is huge, I’m sure your grandparents didn’t let you wander off too far.”
She’s right. The entire west wing of the mansion had been off limits. My grandparents didn’t want me to get lost, or hurt.
The mansion is one of those old Victorian style ones. It has those creepy old metal statue things around like every ten feet and in front of nearly every door. Most of the ones in the east wing had been baby proofed for my clumsy, curious, childhood self. Guess I got a little too rambunctious with the swords as a kid.
I rein in my emotions and clear my throat, “Good idea. I’m sure my grandpa left behind a few surprises.”
I’m positive that he did. Once upon a time before he and grandma had settled down in white collar Oakwood, he had been an explorer.
The west wing is probably filled with tons of things from his ‘adventures’ as he called them. Grandma always said there wasn’t enough room in their English cottage for all of that stuff. I was too young to be around anything fragile, so I never actually got to see much of his findings.
Prescilla grins and pulls me out of the dusty bedroom. Once we’re out, she lets go and sprints down the hall toward the west wing, her laughter echoing around along with the slapping of her bare feet against the hardwood floors.
I chase after her.