Denial by Stephanie Wilson (best books to read for young adults txt) 📕

Two more steps.

I could smell something now...like a bowl of rotten fruit, except somehow richer. It was coming from the coffin, there was no doubt about that. My heart was beating hard, my breath caught in my throat.

One more step.

…don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to...

But I gripped the sides of the coffin, almost feeling the coolness or the wood, and bent over to look.

It was a head.

Just…a head.

Blood congealed around his neck where it had been severed. My stomach retched when I realized whose head it was. It was a familiar face, a beloved face.

Night night, don’t let the bed bugs do any biting tonight.

His dark hair was dishevelled, as it always was. There were the little crinkles in the corners of his eyes that reminded me of a laugh, deep and throaty. Stubble was spread across his chin, which I use to hate so much but...

-‘Baby, tell you father that we don’t like to kiss men goodnight when their faces are all scratchy like that.’-

...now I wanted to touch it.

I reached out for his chin wanting to feel it beneath my fingers. The bloodied stump below the head no longer seemed important. Perhaps if I just touch it....just a little bit more...perhaps...

His eyelids flew open, and I froze – hand still out stretched, scream stuck in my throat. His now revealed eyes were clouded over and sightless, there was no hidden intelligence or glint of humour to be seen. Not familiar, not how they should be. I wanted to retract my hand and back away, but my body no longer seemed to respond to me.

Suddenly that detached heads mouth started to stretch and sag. As it did so, it made in odd sound – like crinkling paper. The skin pulled away from the teeth, melted and morphed in front of my eyes. It was no longer the beloved face that I remembered, but his face. My stomach lurched as a maggot crawled out from behind a bulging eye.

 That mouth kept on stretching, until it formed into a wide grin, revealing crooked yellowing teeth. It hissed at me, blood frothing out from under its teeth.

 ‘...if you cry, you die...’

I jerked awake gasping and reaching out in front of me as if to defend myself.

Where am I? WHERE AM I?

Sucking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes tight, and opened them again. Reaching for the pillow behind me, I shoved it over my face, biting down on the cotton and screamed.

Out of breath, I took the pillow off my face, waiting for panic to subside. But the muffled scream hadn’t served its function this time. My heart still pounding in my ears, I began groping urgently beside me to switch on the light on my bedside table. The need to check that my room was in fact empty was overwhelming.

CLICK

I stumbled out of bed and looked around the room- empty, of course.

I went into my draw, rummaged through a pile of pills I kept in a makeup case, hands shaking, breathing shallow. It took me what felt like a year to find what I was looking for. Valium. With shaking hands I quickly unscrewed the bottle, shook it onto my palm and popped one in my mouth, swallowing it dry.

I sat on the edge of my bed, bent over so that my head was between my legs and focused on taking in slow deep breathes, trying to get myself to calm down. Mentally filling in the crack in the wall which kept the images out.

It had been a while since I’ve had to take a Valium. I attempted not to, especially if it was school day. It made me feel like a zombie and my concentration went right out the window. But I figured with church being that morning, I could treat myself. The thought of going to church made me tense up like a coiled spring.

Once, when I was twelve I passed out in the middle of mass. My then psychologist claimed it was due to post traumatic stress. Reverend Masters told me in a very grave voice that it was because God had finally found me and his love was such a shock I fainted (he said it in a very proud voice, as if I should be thanking him for such a humiliating experience). Whatever the reason, I did hyperventilate, I did panic and I did end up being carried from the hall in complete embarrassment, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

If this wasn’t enough to worry about, the day before Mrs Abbot had taken me shopping with strict instruction from Mr Abbott to buy something decent for church. I guess the standard jeans and singlet wasn’t good enough.

Normally a chance to get new clothes would be a good thing. But I knew that the clothes I would be getting would not be ones I would be pleased to wear – and I was right. We went into a store that looked as though it sold clothes to middle aged women.

Mrs Abbott, I soon found out, did not possess a strong will. When she encouraged something that was truly hideous, I would pick out something similar but less ugly and say things like ‘But oh – this one is cheaper.’

She would agree without much enthusiasm. But I wasn’t sure she was capable of being enthusiastic.

None of the clothes we got in that trip would be ones that I would voluntarily buy or indeed feel good about wearing. All had conservative neck lines, most were colours that were in no way flattering. There was even a blouse that had frills. I cringed at the idea of going out in public in these things.

  On the plus side I got some decent cardigans that looked similar to what most people would wear, I even managed to talk Mrs Abbot around to getting some of the more brightly coloured ones rather than the grey, tan or white.

Ten months and three days. I had told myself in the store.

But in the corner lay one of the most hideous outfits I have ever had to wear. A grey pleated plaid skirt, a salmon coloured shirt with bloody awful frills around the collar, coupled with hideous closed toed thick black shoes with an equally awful thick strap going across the centre was laid out.  This awful outfit was what I was, apparently, to wear to church this morning.

I pushed that thought out of my mind and concentrated on feeling the effects of the valium slowing my heart rate. It took around twenty minutes for me to feel safe to stand.

I checked my watch and noted that I was only five thirty.

I thought longingly of the books that Mr Abbott had thrown in the trash. I had other books, my iPod and my cellphone – all of which I had locked in the violin case the night before, out of fear that Mr Abbott would take them because they were...offensive. I had also taken to hiding my various prescribe pills and hiding them in little pocket, inside sun glasses cases – that kind of thing.

                 The morning flowed be slowly, and I dressed early. When I had looked in the mirror (the only one being in the bathroom). I felt humiliation ebb its way up my neck. I tossed my wet hair, making it go wavy and left it loose, hoping that some of its length could hide the shocking shirt. I applied a bit of makeup, just enough to make my face look less awful with the colour of the blouse. I was careful not to make it too obvious though, because I was sure that make up would be amongst the list of the many things that Mr Abbott doesn’t approve of.

                I put on one of the cardigans we had got the day before in an attempt to hide the ruffles. Though I suppose it was a little better, it was not enough for me to feel comfortable.

                Who the hell cares anyway? It’ll probably just be filled with a whole bunch of middle aged people sitting stiffly on wooden pews.

At 6:30 I went down stairs to get some water, I was surprised to find the Abbotts up. Mrs Abbott was at the stove, stirring something with a wooden spoon and Mr Abbot was reading the bible at the table. He looked up at me when I entered, and I immediately felt uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” he said, eyeing the outfit I had on with what looked a bit like satisfaction.

“Morning,” I mumbled back.

I sat down uncomfortably at the table staring at my hands. Not a few minutes later did Mrs Abbott pour some porridge into a bowl and place it in front of me and another in front of her husband. We ate in complete silence, the only noises the sound of spoons hitting plates and Mr Abbots oddly loud swallows. I shovelled the bland sludge into my mouth mechanically, not daring to ask for some brown sugar or maple syrup.  The effects of the Valium made everything seem coated in hazy ease. A pleasing feeling of numbness spread through my body.

*

As I got out of the ute I couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the church, with its magnificent stained glass windows and large mahogany doors. People were already filing in and I noticed in a detached sort of way that they were not all middle aged like I had hoped.  That boy going in now sure looked like a high schooler.  Looking down at my awful skirt, I plucked at the pleats like somehow they would magically disappear.

Trailing behind the Abotts, we entered the church and took seats near the back, only because the majority of the others were already full. They were typical church pews, hard and wooden and very uncomfortable. There was a quiet jumble of voices around the church as people greeted each other warmly and up the front someone was playing a slow calming tune on a piano. Watching two elderly ladies greet each other in the row in front of us, I couldn’t help but notice that no one had greeted the Abbott’s.

Looking out of the corner of my eye, I examined Mrs Abbott. She had her bony hands clasped in her lap and was staring to the front of the church with deadpan eyes…maybe she liked to partake in Valium too. Mr Abbot, on the other hand, was clutching a very worn bible in front of him and was sitting straight back, a solemn expression on his face. The corner of his mouth was slightly downturned and I got the feeling that he wasn’t impressed with the general air of comradery and laughter.

The valium was in full force now, I felt detached, rather calm. I could still feel the pressure against the walls I had built, testing for a weak spot - but I was confident that they would hold.

I just had to get through this hour, and that was all. It would be fine.

"Hey,” the voice came near my ear suddenly and I gave a surprised jerk in my seat to turn. A pretty blonde girl was standing in the aisle next to me. Where did she come from?

“Sorry,” she said, obviously seeing my surprise, “I was just wondering if anyone is sitting here?”

“No. Feel free,” I said, ushering for her to take a seat absently, which she promptly did with a gracious smile.

She sat down next to me, one leg crossed over the other delicately. A long flowing blue skirt over the top of a sleeveless black blouse, a large belt joining the two together and showing off her slim figure. Her hair was a mess of shiny blond curls which she had plaited and clipped back either side of her part so