Chapter Text
I stood outside my childhood bedroom door, suitcase in hand. I took my third deep, steadying breath and still my head was spinning with anxiety. I wondered if it would be pathetic to ask Toby to walk in with me. He was only ten, but he had such a calming presence for me. I could hear him playing some video game in his room across the hall and decided I didn't want to bother him. I didn't think he knew I was here yet, and I wanted to get settled before I made my big appearance. He was always so happy to see me, and I didn't want to spoil that by interrupting his 'match' or whatever.
I realized I was never going to really be ready, so I steeled myself and turned the doorknob, pushing my way in. The heavy wooden door creaked with disuse and I watched as a flurry of dust fell in front of me as I stepped through the threshold. When Irene had told me she hadn't touched my room since I'd left, I don't know what I expected, but I realized stepping into a time capsule of my teen-aged years wasn't at all what I was prepared for.
Pictures of my birth mother and her handsome costar still littered my vanity and mirror, playbills and Broadway posters papered the walls and surfaces of my furniture. All of my plush animals were in their proper places, aside from Lancelot who belonged to Toby now. There was still a spilled pile of body glitter on my school desk that I ran my finger through, rubbing my thumb and finger together to feel the gritty texture. I placed my suitcase on the foot of my bed and turned around 360 degrees, taking it all in. I hadn't seen this room since I was 18, and something about it made me feel so...I couldn't place the feeling. But it wasn't unpleasant.
I began to unpack, wrenching open my dresser drawers to make room for the clothes I'd brought. I pulled out an old puffy-sleeved blouse, smiling down at it. It was my favorite shirt. It always made me feel like the heroine of a fairytale when I put it on, and without thinking twice, I began to pull it on over my tank top. I was surprised it still fit, even if it was a bit snug in the chest now, I left a few buttons undone and checked myself out in the dingy mirror over my vanity. I squinted my eyes, took a closer look, and could not believe what I saw. I looked...15. Not just because of the shirt, in the face as well. I pinched and pulled my cheeks, trying to find my face in the reflection, and the girl in the mirror did the same. I quickly pulled a compact from my purse and checked my reflection, just to be sure.
There I was. There in my Nyx compact powder concealer, was a 25-year old woman staring back at me. Her mascara was a little smudged, and her lipstick was NOT the color she thought she'd put on this morning--damn airport fluorescents--but I looked exactly how I expected I would. Glancing up at the vanity mirror again, I saw my proper reflection. No hint of myself as a teen at all. I closed the compact, not taking my eyes off the mirror. Huh. That was strange. I must have imagined it. I convinced myself I imagined it.
A sudden breeze lifted my curtains and billowed them into my face. Dust flew around the room and shined like glitter in the setting sunlight, and I jerked my head to the window. Wide open. I hadn't opened it...and surely Irene hadn't kept it open for ten years. I raced to the window and shut it, sliding the lock in place for good measure. My pulse was quickening, and my breathing was coming in gasping pants. If I hadn't turned away from the window to look for my pills, maybe I would have noticed the white barn owl perched on the tree limb, watching me with dark, hooded eyes, before the curtains fluttered closed.
I poured Xanax into my palm and dry-swallowed three of them. The best way to prevent a panic attack was through a coma, I presumed. But then I started to wonder, did Xanax make you fall asleep? I couldn't remember. I was on sleeping pills too, so maybe not. Why was I suddenly so scatterbrained? I couldn't remember anything. I assumed it was the panic attack and sat down gingerly on my bed to breathe my way through it while the pills kicked in.
My bedroom door suddenly slammed against the wall beside it and I nearly jumped out of my skin when a large, shaggy dog sauntered through and loped towards me, jumping onto my bed and covering me in wet-tongued kisses. "Merlin!" I shouted happily, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his neck. Irene was just behind him with a plate of cookies, smiling at our reunion. "I opened the garage door to get us some wine for later, and he barged in and raced straight upstairs. He hasn't done that since, well, you were home last. I figure he can stay as long as you and Toby clean up after him. You know the old rule." I couldn't help but laugh raucously as Merlin climbed on top of me to nose at my shirt, no doubt sniffing himself on the old fabric. Irene let herself in and sat next to us, offering me the plate, that Merlin took as an invitation for himself. He snagged a cookie and took off, despite Irene's disapproval. "Oh, well," she reasoned, "Good think they're peanut-butter and not chocolate."
***
Dinner was uneventful, aside from Toby's gleeful squeal when he came downstairs and saw me sitting in my usual seat beside dad. He ran straight into my arms, the wine in my hand sloshing down my chin and his powder-blonde hair. Irene tutted, but smiled. Dad even cracked a little grin at our reunion, and he was usually stoic about everything. I dried his hair as best I could with my napkin and pulled his seat closer to mine so our elbows could touch as we ate. I couldn't stop staring at him, and I couldn't figure out why. He looked normal enough. And I had just been in town for Christmas. Oh! That's what it was! He was dressed like a candy cane, despite it being late August. He was in a long-sleeved red and white striped pajama shirt with matching pants. I called him Waldo for the rest of dinner, a reference he didn't get of course. I promised I'd show him after dinner.
"Oh, Sarah," Irene started, wiping her mouth daintily with a napkin. "I meant to ask sooner, and it completely slipped my mind. Your father and I are going out tonight, we won't be too late. Midnight at the latest. Would you mind staying in with Toby?" I shrugged, looking lovingly at my little brother. "Sure, I was going to stay in anyway. We'll just be here pigging out on junk food and watching scary movies, right kid?" He bounced excitedly, then started gushing about some slasher he wanted to see with me because it was 'the best movie ever' and 'the blood looks so real!' Irene and my father had a quiet argument behind my back about it, but Toby didn't notice. In the end, my dad won, and Irene conceded to let us watch the movie. They left right after dinner.
It turned out her concern was wasted though. He was asleep on the couch before I was even done popping the popcorn. I sent Irene a quick text to let her know the development and then covered him up with some blankets I found in the linen closet. He would probably be pissed at me for not waking him up, but I figured I'd rather deal with his tantrum tomorrow than a terrified kid who watched an R-Rated movie too young. He'd bought me an entire day to talk him out of it and convince him to watch something else instead.
"Lancelot." He muttered in his sleep, and I smiled.
"I'll go get him. Is he in your bed?"
"Mmhmm," he answered, turning over.
I planted a kiss on the side of his head and made my way up the stairs to his room to retrieve Lancelot. It warmed my heart that he still loved him as much as I used to. It gave me a warm sense of pride that it was my hand-me-down that he kept as his lovie all these years. His door wasn't closed, so I stepped in and turned on the light. I froze, confused, because instead of his four-poster space-themed bed, there in the middle of the room, sat a crib.
I took a tentative step forward, watching the lump under the crib sheet twitch. I heard a small giggle, and then a shushing sound. "Who's there?" I asked out loud, with far more confidence than I felt. More giggles, more shushing. Then silence.
Slowly, I hovered my hand over the shapeless lump in the crib. Quickly, I pulled off the sheet, ripping it across like a band-aid. There, under the cover, was Lancelot.
The lights flickered. For a moment, the room was cloaked in black darkness. When the lights came back on, there was Toby's normal bed. The crib was gone and Lancelot sat in the middle of the bed. Facing me. Looking at me.
I left the room without grabbing the bear and ran to mine, locking the door behind me, my panic attack now surmounted to an unmanageable level. I didn't want to take any more pills, but what choice did I have? Maybe coming back home wasn't the best idea. Irene had told me to come see this shrink because I had opened up to her that my mental health was getting worse and worse. I was diagnosed with BPD and my previous therapist had dropped me. She had comforted me and suggested I move back home, to see her shrink. He had a specialization in childhood trauma and personality disorders and she had already told him all about me. She would let me live here rent free as long as I committed to my mental health and focused on getting better. I didn't deserve her. She was the best mother I had ever had.
"Your appointment is tomorrow," I told myself sternly, focusing on my breathing. "Just keep it together until then. Thirteen hours. Thirteen hours. Thirteen hours."
Thirteen hours.
Thirteen hours.
Thirteen hours.
I forced my eyes closed. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but I felt it the moment it showed up. I squeezed them shut, drawing my knees to my chest and hugging them tightly. I heard the whoosh of large, feathery wings, and then the succinct click of heeled boots on the hardwood floor. Then, the light tic, tic, tic, of three crystal balls being touched together as they swirled across his hand.
"Oh, Sarah," he drawled, his voice a suggestive purr. "You aren't trying to forget about me, are you?"