Inescapable Escapism

My face was still hot as I rushed into the shower, pushing the memory of what I had done as far from my mind as possible. It had been so risky and dumb, but it had fulfilled my desire to do something reckless. And there were no negative consequences for it because it didn’t even happen in my world.

That realisation made me feel conflicted. Part of me was glad, it meant that I wouldn’t get in trouble or anything, but it also caused the urge to return quickly. It suddenly didn’t feel like I had done enough. If anything, I think it made me want to do something else that was stupid. I wasn’t sure what, exactly. I just knew that I wanted to do something.

But I was isolated in Scotland. I didn’t even know anyone there, so there was nothing I could do. Not unless I did something like walk along the drive completely nude. A wave of horror at that thought hit me so strongly that I physically recoiled. It would get back to my mom or worse, my grandparents. The town would be alive with gossip, and I wouldn’t be able to stand that. It would be horrible.

My recklessness started to subside as I imagined the conversations that it would cause, the judgement and the comments. My mom would assume that I’d had some kind of mental breakdown; I didn’t doubt it. She would haul me to a doctor, a psychiatrist, or anyone who could explain my behaviour.

A laugh slipped out of my mouth, but it was drowned by the noise of the running water. It would be kind of funny if she took me to a doctor, I couldn’t help but think. They’d probably have a lot to say about my mental health, but she’d hate it. If they said I was depressed, or whatever was going on with me, she would see it as a personal insult. An attack on her parenting.

No, I couldn’t do that. Even though I was pretty sure that she’d send me away after that. She wouldn’t want me to be around her anymore, not if there was the potential that I might do something like that again. She might send me away somewhere, like to a boarding school or something.

Dizziness pulled at my mind as I started to comb shampoo through my hair, fantasising about how good it would be to be sent to a boarding school. Even if it was a really strict one, it would be better than being at home. I’d be away from my mom; I’d have the chance to start over. It would be just like one of my fantasies.

But, no. I couldn’t do that. It was just an impulse, nothing more.

I pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on the sensation of the water slipping over my skin and warming my muscles. It felt so good. I could feel my body relaxing and the tension flowing away, disappearing down the drain along with the water.

Reaching out for the shower controls, I turned the water pressure even higher. That was one of the best things about my grandparents’ house. The water pressure. The shower was so strong that it almost hurt but in the best way possible. It was like a massage. I could feel it drilling into my muscles, leaving them relaxed and loose.

I hesitated as I picked up my conditioner. I hadn’t had a massage, not in this world, but I had a distinct memory of it. I could remember the feeling of warm hands gliding over my back, of thumbs pressing into my shoulders, but I knew the memories weren’t mine. Or, they weren’t real. I’d probably had a massage in one of my daydream worlds. That would make sense. Almost.

My mind stuttered to a halt as I swung my hair over my shoulder so that I could rub the conditioner into it, and my gaze found my stomach. Confusion hit me as I stared blankly at the dark, blooming bruise on my pale skin. It was already a dark, splotchy purple, but I had no clue what had happened. I let the conditioner drip from my hand as I reached out, touching my stomach lightly. It was tender, a little sore, but not too bad.

What had I done? It was in the exact spot that I had been shot in, I was sure, but I must have caught it on something. Maybe, when I rushed into the bathroom to be sick in the night, I’d hit it on the toilet. Or possibly the sink? No, it was so dark; it had to be more than that. But then, what?

I couldn’t work it out. I didn’t remember hurting myself in real life, but I must have done. There was no other explanation. Maybe I’d started sleepwalking? I could have run into the bannisters or something. That would explain it; it was about the right height. But my mom would have heard that. She would have come out to see what I had done.

If she had found me sleepwalking, would she have woken me? It was dangerous to wake a sleepwalker, I’d been told that before, but surely she wouldn’t have just watched as I hurt myself. I liked to think that she wouldn’t, but I genuinely wasn’t sure. I think she would have stopped me from seriously hurting myself, but maybe not from a minor injury.

Did the giant bruise on my stomach even count as a minor injury? If I had hurt myself while sleepwalking, I must have been running. It would have taken a lot of force.

Unease washed through me as I finished washing my hair, not wanting to look away from my stomach for long. Suspicion was eating at me. I knew it wasn’t possible, I really did, but I couldn’t help wondering if it had been caused by my fantasy. I mean, it was in the exact place where I’d been shot.

No. It was a coincidence, nothing more. I tried to force myself to believe that, but it nibbled at the back of my mind as I turned the shower off and stepped out into the now-cold bathroom. A shiver went through me as I reached for my towel, straining my ears to listen for any sign that my mom was outside the door.

I hadn’t thought to grab a change of clothes when I first came into the bathroom, having been too distracted by my nausea, and now I was stuck. I’d need to go back to my room to get changed, which was usually fine. I did that sometimes, but now it felt risky. If, somehow, I dropped my towel or something as my mom came out of her room, she would see my stomach. If she hadn’t seen it happen during the night, she would demand to know what happened.

How would I answer her? I couldn’t. There was no way I could tell her what I suspected, and if I told her I woke up with it, I wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d either not believe me and demand to know the truth, which I couldn’t tell her, or she haul me to the doctor to be tested for every medical condition under the sun.

Random bruising was probably a symptom of something, and probably something bad, but I didn’t want to risk my mom not believing me. There was no way she would believe that I hadn’t done anything to cause it. She would suspect I’d snuck out, gotten into a fight or something. I’d never been in a fight, not in this world, but that wouldn’t matter to her. She would demand to know the truth. No. It was better to hide it from her; I knew that.

I towelled my hair, trying to pick up any sound from the hallway or my mom’s room, but there was nothing. It was silent. That meant she was either waiting to ambush me and demand to know something, or she was in the kitchen already. I hadn’t heard her go down, but I might have missed it whilst I was showering.

Deliberating for another few seconds, I made my decision. I would just wrap the towel really carefully around myself and go. That was smarter than just waiting to see if she made any noise. If I was in the bathroom for too long, she’d get suspicious anyway.

I pulled the towel around my body and carefully picked up the pyjamas I had worn the night before. I hadn’t noticed any vomit on them before, but I didn’t want to risk touching or getting any on myself after I had just showered. Examining them closely, I decided they were clean enough for me to clutch them against the towel, using them to help keep me covered.

Sucking in a deep breath to steel myself, I pulled the door open. My mom wasn’t in the hall; that made relief crash into me, but it didn’t last long. It was quickly replaced by a new fear. She might be waiting in my room.

She’d done that before. I couldn’t remember what I had done then, but I walked into my room to find her perched on the end of my bed, waiting for me. I hesitated for just a moment at my bedroom door, my hand resting on the handle, before sucking in another breath and pushing it open.

Luckily, my room was empty. I slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind me. My eyes darted to the wardrobe, and I had the irrational impulse to pull it open, just to make sure that my mom wasn’t hiding in there. She wouldn’t be; that was ridiculous. Even she wasn’t that paranoid and determined to catch me out.

I dropped my dirty clothes on the floor, glancing at the wardrobe again. I couldn’t help myself. Crossing the room, I pulled the towel even more firmly around myself and tried to make it look like I was just trying to work out what to wear as I pulled the wardrobe door open and peered inside. It was empty, of course.

An irritated huff slipped through my lips, and I looked at my suitcase on the floor. There was no point in wearing a dress or anything like that today; I wasn’t sure if my mom had planned anything yet. I should wear my normal clothes, just leggings and a shirt. She’d tell me at breakfast if she wanted to go out.

Pausing once more to listen for any sign of my mom, I started to get dressed. My eye bounced towards the door almost constantly. The chances of Mom throwing the door open and bursting into my room were low, I tried to reassure myself. They weren’t zero, though, and that made me hurry to finish getting dressed.

The waistband of my leggings pressed against the bruise a little, I realised as I left my room. I couldn’t exactly turn around and change, though; if my mom noticed, she'd find that suspicious. Instead, I fiddled with them, trying to pull them down lower so that they didn’t cut into my tender skin quite so much. It helped, but the pain didn’t completely go away.

As I started to pad silently along the hallway towards the kitchen, I realised that I could hear my mom in the room. She was bustling around and switching on the kettle. That felt weird. She normally was up much earlier than I was and didn’t have her second cup of coffee until a little later.

“Good morning,” I called cautiously as I entered the kitchen, eyeing her.

Her back was to me, but she turned, a wide smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she replied, her tone a little too pleasant.

Her response made me immediately on edge. It felt fake, but I wasn’t sure why. I looked away from her, her expression unnerving me, and my gaze fell on the table. She’d already eaten. Her plate had crumbs on it, and the bread was still out. Something felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

Being suspicious of her wouldn’t help; it would just make her more sure that I was hiding something.

“Like a baby. How about you? You’re up early.”

The way she said it sounded like an accusation, but it also made me realise that I didn’t actually know what time it was. I glanced at my phone. It was only just past eight.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I am,” I said. “I just woke up early, I guess.”

My mom turned away from me as the kettle finished boiling, and I walked towards the table. We were silent as she finished making her coffee, and I started making some toast, but I was acutely aware of her gaze on me as I moved. She didn’t say anything else until we were both sitting at the table.

“How early did you wake up?” she asked, her tone too casual.

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.

I wasn’t specifically trying to be cagey, but I also didn’t want to answer her question truthfully. Ideally, I wanted to hide the fact that I had been sick from her. It would only lead to her asking more questions or fussing over me, and I wanted to avoid both. Hopefully, I hadn’t woken her up when I had run into the bathroom, but I wasn’t sure.

“No?” she asked.

“Nope. I didn’t check the time until just now.”

Her smile faltered for a brief moment before returning.

“Mmm, that happens sometimes,” she said.

I thought that I was safe, that she wasn’t going to ask any more questions and would return to her book, but I was wrong.

I made the mistake of starting to eat. It felt like the right thing to do, I was at the table, and my toast was just sitting in front of me. It would have gotten cold if not, and it was weird for me to not eat it after making it.

“You seem hungry this morning,” she remarked, watching me as she took a sip of her coffee.

I wasn’t, not particularly. I was mostly just eating because it was breakfast time. Her tone hadn’t been judgemental though, it was too upbeat still. I wasn’t sure where she was going with her questioning.

“I guess?” I said unsurely.

“Even after such a big unhealthy dinner yesterday?” she questioned in that same tone.

“Mmm,” was all I said to that.

She was probably leading up to some kind of judgement of how much I’d been eating recently. A suggestion to work out more and eat less would probably follow.

“Well, that’s good. You’re a growing girl, after all!”

I tried to keep the uneasy confusion off my face. If it wasn’t for how forced her side looked, I would have assumed that I’d slipped into another world without realising. She was being too nice to me; it didn’t feel right. It was intentional though; it had to be.

But I wasn’t sure how to respond. Would it be better to ignore it and act normal or to play along? Part of me wanted to just ignore it and ignore her altogether, but that felt so rude. Plus, it would probably annoy her.

“I’m not sure about that,” I said in a jokey voice. “I don’t think I’ve grown in the last year!”

Again, her expression flickered. I wasn’t responding the way she wanted me to; that much was obvious. How did she want me to respond, though? I had tried playing along. I should do the opposite next time, ignore the positivity.

“Nonsense,” she said, her smile growing so wide she was practically baring her teeth at me. “You’re becoming a woman; that takes a lot of energy.”

My eyebrows started to pull together in confusion, but I fought to keep my expression clear. She was clearly trying to get at something; I just couldn’t work out what.

Was I supposed to respond to her? She was looking at me so expectantly, but what she had said didn’t seem to warrant a reply. I settled for just making a noncommittal noise which made irritation flare across her face.

She took a moment to have a sip of coffee, drinking deeply and staring at me as she did so. I looked at the discarded crust of toast on my plate, continuing to watch her out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to get up and leave so badly, but I had the feeling that she would just follow me if I did. Instead, I forced myself to reach for a scone.

Her eyes narrowed as I cut it in half and started to smear jam across it.

“I heard you in the bathroom this morning,” she stated, her tone becoming colder.

I froze for a split second before placing my knife down and biting the scone. She watched me carefully as I chewed, taking my time to avoid answering her for as long as possible. I barely even tasted it; I was too distracted by her eyes burning into my face.

“Oh?” I said, trying to sound completely neutral.

She might have just heard me taking a shower. There was nothing wrong with that; lots of people took showers in the morning.

“Yes,” she said, leaning towards me. “You know, the last time I threw up like that was about eight months before you were born.”

“Oh, really?” I said without thinking.

“That’s how I found out I was pregnant with you. You know, morning sickness is genetic.”

The conversation seemed to have taken such a random turn, I thought before my mouth dropped open. She thought I was pregnant. She must have heard me throwing up. That’s why she commented on how hungry I was and about becoming a woman. She was trying to make me confess.

“I’m not pregnant,” I blurted out.

Her smile became smug, and her eyebrows rose.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah! I’m not,” I insisted.

Her eyes flickered to my stomach, and my hand twitched, wanting to cover the bruise that throbbed softly under my clothes. I refused to let it, though; I knew how bad that would look.

“Are you sure about that? No form of protection is completely effective,” she said, a disgusted look on her face.

I’d never even kissed a boy; how could I be pregnant?

“I’m sure!”

“We’ll go out after breakfast,” she told me, finally picking up her book again. “We’ll need to go into the city. I refuse to buy a pregnancy test in the village. If the word gets back to Mom and Dad…”

Her expression told me that they wouldn’t react well.

“What? No, we don’t need to go and buy a pregnancy test!”

“So, you already knew?” she demanded, her tone icy. “Well, I’m not surprised. Your father’s always been too soft on you. He lets you get away with too much, but you’re on your own with this. I won’t let him coddle you any more! You need to learn to take responsibility for your actions sooner rather than later.”

My face was on fire, and my mind reeled as I tried to think of a way to convince her that I wasn’t pregnant. The only thing I could think of was to shout that I was a virgin, but that felt so humiliating. My cheeks were burning just at the thought.

There was nothing else though. She’d find a way to twist anything else I said.

“I can’t be pregnant,” I forced myself to say, trying to be as calm as possible. “I’ve never… been with a boy.”

She looked baffled.

“Really?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“No,” I said.

“Oh,” she replied. “Well, I guess you must have gotten food poisoning from that pub you wanted to go to last night.”

I was too embarrassed to correct her. At least she had changed the subject because talking about my love life with her was horrible. I longed to get up from the table and sprint away. Where I would go, I wasn’t sure; I just wanted to leave.

The urge to escape into the daydream pulled at me again, but this time, I fought to stay in reality. Mom seemed content with my answer, but I didn’t trust her. She might just be waiting to throw another question at me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it and took another bite of the scone instead.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked.

I hesitated. Swimming or going for a run seemed like a bad idea with the giant bruise on my stomach. It would probably be smarter to take it easy for a couple of days, make sure that I was actually okay before doing anything too active.

“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. “I might just read or something.”

“I was going to go into town. We’re running low on food.”

As much as I wanted a day alone in the house, I knew she wouldn’t trust me to stay there without her. She just expected that I would go with her.

“That sounds good,” I said, reaching out for my fantasy.