The Soul that Haunts Me

1

Serai stood in the center of her bedroom—a hollow carcass of a place that once held every version of herself she had ever tried to be. Her rebellion, her rage, her loneliness and her quiet ache for the moon and stars—these feelings, they all haunted the air around her like smoke. Now stripped bare, the room was almost unrecognizable. her posters were gone, bookshelves emptied; all of her trinkets boxed and sealed away. All that remained of her life in that room were the walls painted in a pink so offensively bright it made her eyes water painfully—her mother's attempt to bleach her spirit into something sweet and compliant. A color chosen to cage her; a not so subtle hint at conformity... Serai spun once, arms out, her silver hair fanning behind her like a banner of surrender. She twirled until the room blurred into sunset hues—pink, peach, and dying gold—until her legs buckled and she dropped onto the floor with a breathless laugh that tasted like hysteria. She laid there stuck in a fit of laughter. But suddenly, the laughter died as quickly as it came. With her back on the hardwood floor, Serai could feel the cool and indifferent chill on her overheated skin. She stared up at the ceiling, tracing hairline cracks with her eyes. The fissures spiderwebbed across the plaster like constellations—pictures in the stars only she could read. Almost looks like home, she thought, though she didn't know what home actually was or even what it felt like; Serai only knew that it wasn't there. "Maybe I could've gotten used to it," she whispered to the ceiling. A lie. Serai knew that nowhere would ever feel like home as long as she was made to feel like an outsider... her chest tightened. This is the last time I'll ever see these damn pink walls... Serai's mother had painted them herself, humming as if each brushstroke might transform Serai into something softer. Something easier...something normal. "It's the color of a sunset," her mother said—her voice brittle with hope and fear. Serai wished she would've known better; her mother didn't want Serai—the child who liked thunderstorms more than tea parties, who pressed her palms to the cold glass of the window because she swore she could feel their warmth. She wanted a replica of Rowen, her little sister. Pretty. Polished. Predictable. A daughter who knew how to give the perfect smile with no teeth; a daughter who didn't sleep in the woods behind their house because it was quieter there—truer there, safer there—than anywhere else in the town. The first time she saw the paint, Serai had screamed; there were no words, not even an ounce of anger. The feeling of grief —raw and unsettling—had filled her, her space had been violated... Her mother cried. Her father stood between them, hands raised like he was shielding two wild animals from tearing each other apart. And Rowen, she watched from the doorway, wide-eyed and silent... already everything Serai wasn't. Serai? Serai had never forgiven her mother for trying to paint over the truth of who she was—for trying to cover up her own shame. It was her mother's fault, filling her head with stories of magic and mates, of destinies born in the stars and of love... Serai clung to those tales until they broke her—until the kids at school mocked her for believing in anything beyond what she could see and feel. It was easier to be angry than betrayed... or even hurt. It was easier for Serai to remain quietly in the background unseen and unheard. Serai had spent many nights wishing the stories to be true, but each night when she ventured into the woods alone... nothing would come. Nothing would save her from this life. Footsteps creaked up the stairs, pulling her from her thoughts. "Serai, sweetheart, are you ready?" her father called, voice gentle but edged with impatience. "If we don't get on the road soon your mama's gonna have an attitude the whole drive." The intrusion startled her; she sat up too fast, the room spinning like a kicked kaleidoscope. When she tried to stand, her balance betrayed her causing her to collapse back onto her ass with a graceless thud. "Ugh," Serai groaned, flopping onto her back again. The floor was safer. The ceiling wouldn't judge her. The corners of the room held memories—loud music pulsing through her bones, laughter that made bellies ache and whispered secrets traded between best friends on sleepless nights. But those same corners also held slammed doors, tears swallowed before anyone could see or notice, and her mother's pinched expression every time Serai refused to shrink herself around her. Serai's fingers traced the grooves etched into the floorboards—tiny symbols carved by time and tantrums. "Mama probably thinks I'm a lesbian," Serai muttered to herself—her voice as dry as dust. A beat of silence—and then her father chuckled from the hall, obviously hearing what Serai had said, though there was tension laced his amusement. "There's nothing wrong if you are, Rai." He told her reassuringly. Serai snorted. "I'm not a lesbian, Daddy." She paused. I'm just not Rowen, she thought to herself sadly. "Don't be too hard on your mother. She's trying...you guys are just too—" "Different." Serai finished flatly; her temper flaring when she heard that word again. Trying... Mama was trying to understand you. Mama was trying to get along. Mama was trying to be better. Why did her love come with so many qualifiers? Serai rolled onto one elbow and looked at her father directly in the eyes. Aren filled the frame of the doorway, big-shouldered and broad, his work-worn hands dangling at his side. Old oil stains clung to his nails no matter how hard he scrubbed. His hair was a rusty brown with gray blooming around his temples, laugh lines carved deep around his mouth and eyes. Her father was the only one in the house who didn't make her feel wrong just by existing. He leaned his shoulder into the doorframe. "She really is, you know." "She's really trying to turn me into Rowen." Serai huffed. Her father winced. "That's not—" he was cut off by Serai death glare. "—not entirely untrue." One corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. "You're supposed to lie to me, you know." "I don't lie to my girls," he said simply. Her throat went tight. Serai's thoughts flickered to Nana. Her grandmother never would've painted anything pink for Serai, Nana would've seasily asked... instead Nana listened and so did Serai. Nana told tales of queens crowned in starlight, wolf-warriors, and rivers that glowed with magic. A place that felt more like home than this house ever had. Nana never tried to smooth Serai's edges. If anything Nana encouraged her. At night, when Nana had come to visit, she would hand Serai a flashlight, pointed towards the woods, and said, "Go see what's waiting." "Can't I just stay with Nana?" Serai blurted hopefully, sitting all the way up. "You know she'd love to have me." Aren's sigh sagged out of him, heavy as stones. "Nana insisted you go." "Of course she did," Serai said lightly, even though it sounded brittle. "Kick the problem child out of the nest. Classic." "Hey." Her father's voice was firm. "You are not a problem. You're just... bigger than this place and these people." Her eyes prickled and burn hotly, she turned away. "Darling, what's wrong with looking on the brighter side of things?" he tried, an old cliche line, but gentle. Serai chewed on the inside of her cheek. "And what's the brighter side of things, Daddy?" Serai regretted the sharpness as soon as it left her mouth. She knew her father didn't deserve her ire; his shoulders tensed, for a long moment her father looked older. Tired and worn. But he smiled anyway. "For starters, you could be happy for me. New job means more money; better house, better neighborhood and better schools for you and Ro." Serai could practically see her father's pride radiating from him as it etched itself into every word he said. "You worked hard for it, Daddy." she said quietly, pushing herself up to her feet. "I am proud of you. And I'm sorry for acting like it doesn't matter." Serai crossed the room in three quick steps and wrapped her arms around her father. He smelled like engine smoke, cheap soaps, and the faint metallic tag of motor oil... he smelled safe. "Congratulations, Daddy." she said. Aren hugged her back so hard it almost hurt. "Thank you, Rai." "I'll be better," she mumured into his shirt. Trying to muffle the tears threatening to expose her. "I'll try with Mama and Rowen... for you." Aren leaned them back, his eyes searching hers. "You sure you can handle that?" She gave him a crooked little grin. "Not entirely, but I have a plan." Aren narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion. "What kind of plan, Serai Lee Novack?" From out the hall and down the stairs, Lia's voice, Serai's mother, cut through their moment like freshly broken glass. "Aren! Serai! We need to leave, now!" "We're coming, Lia!" Aren shouted back, his eyes still on Serai. "You go," she said quickly, already backing out of the room towards the bathroom. "I gotta pee... I'll be down in a minute." "You just peed fifteen minutes ago." "I'm nervous. Blame your genetics," she retorted shrugging her shoulders. Aren snorted. "Five minutes, Rai. Don't make me send your mother to get you." Serai gestured that she would before closing the door and leaning against it. The second her father's footsteps faded, Serai sank to her knees and opened the cabinet underneath the sink. There tucked in the furthest corner, wrapped in a soft linen that smelled of dust and cleaning supplies, was the key to Serai's plan. The pendant rested in her palm like a captured star. A slender, pale stone curved around a shard of glass. The intricate threads of silk, impossibly soft and strong, allowed the pendant to dangle on one's neck. The stone that sat in the center seemed to pulse with a warm, faint, silvery glow. Nana had given it to her and made her swear to not show it to Mama, but maybe the pendant would be the thing that helped them... to show both her mother and father that she was trying...