Tell Me I'm Worthless(46)

“You’ve never treated me well, have you?”

The voice that floated from between her lips was high and girlish, like the one she affected to get free drinks at a bar. Her hair was more golden than it had ever been before. It glimmered as a halo around her. She appeared as some pre-Raphaelite painting, some kind of perfect, flawless muse, with skin as white as the canvas it was painted on.

“What?”

Ila moved backwards. Alice stood behind and closed her arms around her in a protective embrace.

“Neither of you ever treated me well.”

Hannah lifted her arms forwards, palms facing upwards. Here I am, the embodiment of grace.

“I never knew why. I always thought, ridiculously, that I just wasn’t cool enough for either of you. I bought into it. You were so much better than me in every way. So much cleverer. So much more interesting. But now, I know. Now I’m home, I know.”

“Home?” asked Alice. She gripped Ila tightly.

“You hated me because I was better than you.”

“What?”

Hannah’s voice had previously been calm, and her face had been blank. But now pain started to intrude into her speech. Pain, anger, and hate. Her eyes glimmered brighter. Her mouth twisted, as if every syllable was coated with razor blades.

“Because… because I’m just better. Look at me. Look at you.”

She screwed her palms shut into fists. Tremors rippled through her body like she was having some kind of fit.

“You two, fucking on the beach after that fucking parade. You thought I didn’t see, you thought I was asleep, but I saw and it made me sick. You fill me with bile, you disgust me, you hated me because I was too perfect for you, too pale, too blonde, it told me all about it, it told me and I knew it was true, fucking dykes, fucking fags, fucking pa-” the words spilled out of her like sickness.

She doubled over then, bending in on herself as something sharp jabbed at her guts. “Fucking.” It was difficult for her to speak. Every dark instinct within squeezed through her body and out of her mouth. Every terrible thing in the world. Her head bent upwards unnaturally, looking up again. The light reflected in her eyes. Yes. They were red now. Red, and hot as a sun. There was spit foaming around her lips, bubbling down her chin unbidden.

“As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood. And as I look ahead I see this, that I loved you but now I see. I loved you but now I’m home and I have always been home and I will always be home. And this home is not made for you.”

She swayed, and was struck by some great, unseen force that made her stumble backwards, yelping in pain. She nearly fell, until her body was leaning against the far wall, and her arms were splayed out on either side of her, rigid.

“It’s okay,” Ila said, trying to keep her voice free of the immeasurable rising panic that was within her. “You’re just hurt.” She wanted to embrace Hannah. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, she told herself. “You’re having some kind of… we’ll call an ambulance or something.”

“You can’t just call an ambulance on someone,” said Alice, quietly but sharply into her ear. “They won’t just send paramedics, they’ll probably bring the police as well!”

“Well what else do we do? We can’t take her to hospital, can we? We probably can’t even safely move her from this room.” Ila snarled. “Look at her. She’s not right.”

“She just called you…”

Hannah arched back and her arms, which had been so straight, suddenly contorted, twisting around behind her, fingers grabbing uselessly at nothing. From within her came a scream of horror. She screamed, and her body spasmed, stuck in an unnatural position, her arms knotting behind her back.

“Tranny!” she shouted, with all the force in her lungs. “Fucking tranny! Fucking tyranny!”

The words were wet, every syllable came with a further bubbling of fluid. Ila thought she might bite off her own tongue.

All Ila could say was “She’s ill. She’s having some kind of psychotic break.”

Behind the two of them, the door to the room swung shut on its own. Ila ran to it and tried to force it back open, but the door felt as if it had not only been locked but welded, merged to become part of the door. There was no exit.

“Help me, Alice,” she shouted, but even with both of their full weight pushing the door didn’t shift. Even as they tried to open the door, a noise came from behind them. They turned to look at Hannah. She was still leaning against the wall. Her mouth was open, but no words or screams left her now. Her mouth opened and shut, like she was trying to speak still, but found it impossible. The only sound she produced was a gurgling, her breathing ragged. Just a few moments ago, Hannah had appeared as a saint, or an angel, but now her hair was tangled over her face, and the white of her skin looked more like the symptom of a sickness than anything else. Her arms were still tangled around together, and Alice and Ila heard a cracking as the bones within them gave into the strain. Then her right arm suddenly shot out and up. There was more crunching. The arm was held at a strange angle to the rest of her, an angle that would never have been possible for Hannah to make on her own. Something was using her, bending her, without care. As the bone shattered, the skin seemed to stay unbroken, although they could see it rippling. Her eyes were still looking upwards. Staring heavensward. Her right leg was pulled out from under her by something unseen, but she stayed upright still. It was manipulated, bent to the side at another sharp angle. Her other arm was pulled up, too. Hannah’s hands were still grasping at air, sometimes managing to touch the wall where she dug her nails in, only to have her hands pulled away by force. No, not like that like this. A great force puzzled through her body, twisting her towards its own ends. Each limb pulled until it stayed in a right angle to the body, and with every movement there came a chorus of splintering bones. Her arms and legs bent again, and then her body was pulled to the side, and there she was. The House had turned her into a swastika. It had used her body as a material to mould it, and now it held her up, showing her off to them like a proud little boy who had just drawn his first crayon picture. Look at this. Look at what I made. Don’t you think it is pretty, don’t you think she’s pretty?