Page 50 of Melancholia

But that feeling never comes. Whether it’s the fog of the meds or my own practicality, I’ll take it. With one last look behind me, I dart into the open space on the other side of the gate, closing it behind me and making sure it doesn’t lock.

Immediately, the moonlight is replaced with an abyss of black. I don’t pull out my phone. I don’t want to give Amir any clue of where I am. But with only the patterned sliver of moonlight through the wrought-iron gate, I have to use my hands to feel along the inside of the family shrine.

My fingers find indents and engravings. Names and dates I can’t read as the darkness presses against my eyes like a physical thing. I didn’t even look at the name on top of the mausoleum, and I send up an apology to the spirits of whoever is interred here.

Maybe if I get the chance, I’ll check after this, and I’ll bring the family flowers, like the respectful adult I to pretend to be.

From somewhere far away I think I hear the sound of Amir’s Range Rover. That fact is only solidified in my brain when a car door closes, but after that, there’s nothing. Carefully, I slide down in the corner, checking to make sure my phone is on silent and hugging it to my chest like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Please don’t let him find me, I beg silently. For once, I’d like to win a game against Amir that involves more than saying his name out loud.

I tilt my head back, eyes closing, trying to hear anything at all. I know minutes pass, and at one point, I think I hear the crunch of gravel underfoot, but it’s gone fast enough that I wonder if I’ve just made it up. My fingers curl and uncurl around my phone, and I press my thighs together under the skirt that’s now pooled around my hips on the cold concrete floor.

For the first time this year, it’s actually what I would consider cold. A shiver runs through me, from toes to nose, and I have to bite back a soft tremble of my teeth at the discomfort. One of my hands leaves my phone, and I reach down to rub at my legs like I can warm them from friction alone.

Another crunch of gravel makes me freeze, and I hold my breath when the footsteps get louder. Closer, until I’m gripping the hem of my skirt and hoping I’m imagining things.

That hope gets thoroughly, painfully crushed when the gate to the mausoleum opens, letting in more moonlight once there’s no longer any wrought-iron in the way.

Thankfully, I’m far enough in the corner that I’m hidden completely by the shadows. I don’t move, and I barely even breathe when Amir’s shadow falls across the line of moonlight into the mausoleum.

He doesn’t move either. He just stands there, while I count in my head to ten and try to keep myself utterly still.

Finally, he takes a step. But not in the way I want him to. Instead, he crosses into the mausoleum, haloed by the pale light from outside.

I hold my breath again, terrified, my fingers clenching so tight into my skirt that I swear I feel my bones creak. There’s no way he can see me, but it won’t take him long to find me if he does even a little perusal of the family mausoleum.

Amir looks around, though I can’t tell if he’s actually focusing on anything. The moonlight doesn’t do much to illuminate his face, unfortunately.

But then he takes a step forward, and another step, until he disappears into the same darkness I’m hiding in.

Fuck.

I’m so dead.

There’s no other thought that goes through my head. No plan or idea to get out of here. My eyes lock on the entrance to the mausoleum and for one brief moment, amidst the anxiety beating hard in my chest, I wonder if I can run for it. If I could get to the gate and slam it behind me before figuring out how to lock him in here.

My legs tense. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had, and the Ativan makes it seem almost like a good one⁠—

“Do you even know whose mausoleum you’re currently sheltering in, my little mortician?” A hand suddenly reaches out, stroking down my face, until Amir can wrap his fingers around my throat. “And unfortunately for you, I’m afraid you’ve lost our game.”

18

Idon’t move. I don’t even know how to move anymore, as I sit against the cold crypts that seem to suck all the warmth out of my body. Staring into the blackness, I force myself to take a breath. Then another.

“How did you know I was in here?” I whisper finally.

“Because it’s the best hiding place in the cemetery. And the one that most people would shy away from. There are fresh crypts, after all.” He shifts closer, his thumb stroking over my pulsepoint. “But not you. Not my little mortician who doesn’t fear death at all.” His voice is crooning, full of praise and sweetness. “No, this was the perfect choice and I knew you wouldn’t disappoint. But I believe I asked you a question, did I not?”

I can feel him shift closer. Can feel his warmth against my side where the mausoleum has leeched away my body heat. Part of me aches to lean against him, and I tell myself it’s only for the heat, nothing more.

“I don’t know, I didn’t look,” I admit quietly. “I was a little busy, umm, you know, trying to find a hiding place.” Amir’s fingers just barely tighten. My breath feels caught under his fingers, and my heart flutters in my chest, though not yet the terrified bird it would be if I wasn’t medicated.

“You’re different tonight.” Amir’s voice is thoughtful. “You don’t feel as panicked. Your heart isn’t racing like it has before.” His hand drifts lower, tugging down the neckline of the sweater until he can press against my sternum.

“What did you take?”

The words surprise me, and I glance blindly to my side. “W-what makes you think I took something?” I demand, before belatedly realizing I’ve all but admitted it.