#selfpara.005

Santana snapped her curtains closed, slandering her mother under her breath for leaving them open, again. Lately (since returning from Hunter’s cabin) she hated when they were open. The winter sun flooding into her room was now a welcome mat to be watched, by whoever, whatever. It was a pessimistic thought that had fully bloomed between homecoming, Castle House, and then the cabin. And thoughts, were followed with fatalistic behavior. Like the short walk from her car to her door was now a jog with frequent glances over her shoulder. She hated being home alone, she had even resorted to hanging out with her shit head brother to avoid it.

It changed her; the fear that night. 

It was too real, and she couldn’t shake it. It crept up on her at night when the house was dark and still. When silence made the home vulnerable to every creak or bump, so it boomed through the hallway and rattled her nerves.

So instead of a few hours of half-hazard sleep, she had settled into a new routine - not sleeping. She would sketch, sew, take care of business, but most of all, maul over the never ending questions, and timeline. How it had escalated from petty attacks, to broken glass and ominous shadows of footprints outside of locked sheds.

She lazily reached for her glass of wine (her lunch) as she opened up her notebook. A new foundation for her thoughts and conspiracies. It was separated in different categories.

Who Dun it?

One person? Two?

Different people behind the different events?

Events. Brody.   Overall, it was an organized mess. Questions, and two solid facts sprinkled in the middle.

Brody had manila envelopes.

Brody ran.

Jane wasn’t at the Halloween event.

Had a LAME secret.

Saw a text, ‘delete our text’ on Bree’s phone.