Page 28 of Melancholia

There’s nothing for a few moments. Just the rain and the cupcake in my mouth. But my brain can’t move past the rain pounding on the window. I get up, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor, until I’m standing against it, nose pressed to the glass, though I can barely see through the rain and the bars that stop anyone from doing anything stupid.

And really, I can’t promise I wouldn’t be one of those people doing something incredibly dumb.

From the second floor, I can just see the parking lot. Where cars should line the spots marked in faded yellow lines, there’s nothing but asphalt.

Well, asphalt and her.

She stares at me as if I’m looking in a mirror. And the rain doesn’t touch Elaina as she stands in it, like she’s not really there at all.

She’s not. I know that, since by the time I was seventeen, Elaina had already been dead for five years. But she’s standing there looking up at me with the face we’ve shared since we were born and the same long, black hair.

I raise a hand and press it to the glass, fingers splayed and palm flat against it. “I miss you,” I whisper to my twin. And somehow, through the rain, I see her smile kindly.

“You could always see me again.” I shouldn’t be able to hear her, but I can. Like she’s standing right beside me. Elaina reaches her hand up and up, as if she can surmount the two-story distance and reach through the bars.

But thunder shakes the windowpane, louder and louder, until⁠—

My eyes snap open, and in the darkness of my apartment, I sit up straight. A storm rages outside, as another peal of thunder shakes the nearby window.

It hadn’t stormed that day, I remind myself. For some reason it matters to my currently scattered brain that I get all the details right in my head. It didn’t storm, and Elaina was obviously long dead by that point.

God, I think to myself as I get to my feet and press my face to the cold glass of the window. I always have the weirdest dreams on my birthday. My only saving grace this year is that no one here knows what day it is.

The storm outside persists as I get dressed in the dark, knowing I could sleep for a few more hours if I want to. But some part of me is afraid of those dreams. Because I know they’ll eventually twist into something else. Something with fewer smiles, less laughter, and more of my mother after my father left.

It’s hard not to think about those birthdays. As always, I shove the thoughts away as soon as they appear, though a few memories manage to slip through.

First, the strawberry cake. Never something I wanted, but always Elaina’s favorite. Which is all Mom cared about once she was gone. Everything Elaina was missing.

And how unfair it was that I was the one who got to have it instead.

“You better stop it,” I sigh to myself, pulling on the second hoodie of the year. Not that I’m counting the amount of perfectly crisp days or anything. “Or you’re going to summon one of them.” Thankfully, my brain has never brought my mom back to life for me. Maybe some deep, primal part of me knows that would be a step too far. That I’d never recover from the sight of her face, whether it ends up being from before or after⁠—

“Not doing this today,” I murmur. “Absolutely not doing this, nope. Today is going to suck enough without doing more to make it worse.” Jerking on a pair of leggings, I don’t even bother to do more than roughly brush my hair before pulling it into something resembling a bun on top of my head. The black strands fall and twist, never wanting to stay still or orderly. But I’m not in the mood to make it perfect. Just passable.

After snagging my phone, I glance around the small apartment like I always do, to make sure everything is in its place. When nothing sticks out as wrong, I let out a breath, just like always, before leaving and locking the door to my apartment behind me.

My steps are quiet on the wooden stairs leading down to Coffee Crest, though it took me months to stop thumping down them and shaking the bannister. Not that I’m willing to take all the blame for that. Part of it is the stairs, and just how old and shaky the damn bannister is.

I’m surprised to find Hestia isn’t behind the counter, though Justin gives me a quick, friendly grin when he sees me. “Oh, hey! Good morning, Nell,” the teenager greets. While I’m not usually a fan of children, teenagers least of all, he really is a nice kid.

“Hey Justin. Where’s Hestia?” I walk to the front and place my order quickly, though he’s made my coffee enough times that he barely needs me to do more than say ‘large’ and ‘iced’ before he’s already moving around like a hurricane. While Justin doesn’t have Hestia’s casual and knowledgeable grace or experience behind the counter, he is fast and earnest.

He flashes me a quick grin and, in less time than believable, he’s handing me my coffee. “I don’t know. She just told me she had to go out for some stuff. Asked if I could take an extra shift this morning. I really don’t mind as long as I don’t have to be here alone for lunch.” A shudder goes through him at that, though I’m pretty sure it’s more theatrics than serious.

“Yeah?” My lips tilt up in a grin—I hope. But the taste of very sweet coffee packed with chocolate makes most things better. “I’ll, uh, cross my fingers for you. See you later.” A couple comes in, laughing, sheltering from the rain as they look around. The man goes up to the counter first, pulling Justin’s attention completely off me so I can make a clean getaway from any wayward conversation he might pull me into about some sport I know nothing about.

The rain outside is heavy. Sure, I’ve been watching and listening to it, but there’s a difference between seeing it and feeling it pound against my hoodie the moment I’m no longer covered by the coffee shop’s awning. The water is cold and soaks me almost instantly, dripping through my hoodie to my tee beneath. All thoughts of wandering around town fade, and I turn to jog to the parking lot behind the building.

I’ll be a few hours early, but I can always find things to do at the mortuary. Even if I just go there to exist with my headphones and something to read on my phone.

Predictably, very few people are out in the storm. As my wheels slog through water from flash flooding, I wonder if maybe I should’ve stayed home instead of coming out. Luckily, I manage to suffer through and not get washed away in the storm.

And thankfully, Still Pines mortuary is on a hill. The parking lot is free of anything but a few shallow puddles, and I pull into my usual spot next to the loading bay entrance before bracing myself to get soaked again on my way in.

It’s as empty as I thought it would be. It’s perfect this way.

The silence presses in on my ears until I hook my headphones over them, and my mortuary playlist starts strong with “Take Me Back to Eden” by Sleep Token as I get going on chores I’m definitely not being paid to do.