for grace

I lounge on my bed, trying to count the spots on the popcorn ceiling.

Thirteen,

fourteen...

 did I already count that one?

Nah. Fifteen.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen...

I blink as the doorbell rings, and sit up, pulling on a hoodie and heading down the hallway. I open the door and blink.

"Oh, hi Uncle Lennon..." I grin at Raspberry and wave, slightly shyly.

Raspberry shakes her head, and I blink again, stepping out of the doorway.

Why is she acting so strangely?

My uncle slips inside and drags in my cousin, looking around.

"So, are you here all alone?"

I nod. "Yeah, my parents went to go see a movie."

He smiles. "Oh, I hope they have fun."

I slide my hands into my hoodie pocket and look at Raspberry, who appears to be nervous. I blink at my Uncle. "Um..."

He steps closer to me, and I step back. He continues until he has me backed against a wall, and roughly grabs my hips, slinging me over his shoulders.

I hear a small yelp escape my lips, and close my eyes as I am thrown back onto my mattress, which seems far less comforting now as Raspberry's father unzips my hoodie and rips off the tank top underneath, smiling at the rhinestones on my pink bra cups.

"Cute."

I just stare up at him, beginning to shake.

What is he doing to me?

Raspberry bangs on the door, which has been locked by her dad, and yells at him to let me go.

Why does she sound so scared? Does she know what’s happening to me?

“Raspberry!” I scream desperately. “Help me!”

Her father smacks me across the face and I feel his ring hard on my cheekbone. Uncle Lennon rips away my bra and my leggings.

He leans in and presses his lips to mine.

They taste like cheap whiskey and lipstick. He jams his thumbs into my hipbones, grinning as I close my eyes tightly and squeal.

He starts biting me. His teeth are tearing into me, and it hurts.

Why is he biting me? What is he doing?

My heart is beating out of my chest in rhythm with Raspberry’s fists on my door. My underwear is gone, and he’s grabbing at my thighs. I feel like I am not in my body. I feel light, like I am drifting from myself.

He is touching me. Why is he touching me so much?

It hurts. Suddenly, my door bangs open. Raspberry grabs her father's shoulders and yanks him away from me, tucking the blankets around my shoulders. My tears blur my vision, and I don’t hear much but my own sobs, but I know he is hurting her. I only see small flashes.

Raspberry’s silky pink and red hair being pulled at harshly.

My uncle’s horrible teeth, now far too close to my beautiful cousin’s shoulders and lips.

Her porcelain skin being kicked and shoved and torn by dirty fingernails.

Too much.

I see too much.

And I can’t make it stop.

“Baby?”

Raspberry is leaning close to my face. Her hair is tied into a bun and all her makeup is off. She is wearing a pair of my sleep shorts and my big sweatshirt.

I wrap my arms around her. She strokes my cheek where her father’s ring hit me so hard.

“Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “I’m scared.”

She picks me up and rubs my back. I fight against her arms, feeling self conscious without any clothing.

She sighs and picks up a blanket, wrapping it around me.

I let her pick me up again and rest my head on her chest.

“What did he... do to me?”

She just kisses my forehead, and I bury my face into her neck.

She smells like Winter Candy Apple, the Bath and Body Works scent she wears all the time. I sniff her, and she walks with me to the couch, sitting down.

I curl up closer to her and hide my face in her soft breasts. She tenses up for a moment and I realize I’m probably pressing on all kinds of bruises, but then she relaxes and returns to petting my hair.

Her shiny black nails gently comb through all my tangles, and she begins a braid. I feel myself release at her hands in my hair, and for the first time since my uncle arrived, I feel calm.

I feel okay.

I am okay.

My cousin is holding me and is going to keep my safe.

My parents will be home soon and they will help to make sure my uncle never touches me again.

I am okay.

“Raspberry?” I feel her jump slightly, like I woke her up.

“Mm?”

“Do you love me?”

“Do I love...” She sounds like I’ve caught her off guard. “Of course I love you.” She whispers into my neck.

Her breath is warm and smells like cinnamon and sugar. I close my eyes and let her steady chest movement completely relax my mind.

Raspberry’s voice is angry and tight.

I am still warm on the couch.

A phone slams on a cradle.

I pretend to be asleep.

I can hear Raspberry open my bedroom door and go inside. She walks back out a few minutes later, and I open my eyes. She is holding a pair of pink underwear, my black leggings, and a soft sweatshirt.

Her eyes are sad when they meet mine. She slowly makes her way over to where I’m sitting and hands me the clothes.

“Here, put these on.”

Her voice is still too high pitched and strained.

“Where are we going?” I whisper, clutching the blanket tightly. Tears gather in her eyes and spill down her pale cheeks. They fall on my forehead.

Why is she crying?

What’s going on?

Her cracked lips tremble. “Your parents are in the... your parents drowned about an hour ago.”

The room spins.

This isn’t real.

This is a dream.

I clutch the couch cushions.

She gently pries my fingers out of the fists I’ve made them into and unwraps my warm blanket, sliding the sweatshirt over my head and guiding my arms through the sleeves. She eases my underwear up my legs, careful of places where my uncle grabbed me too hard, and finally, with a bit of effort, she gets me into the cotton leggings.

Her shoulders shake as she stares at my face.

“Pinch me.” I command, my voice hard and angry.

She covers her face and her sobs fill my ears.

I know this is not a dream.

My chest explodes.

My parents are dead.

A shrill siren invades my head.

It does not stop.

It is me.

I am screaming my lungs out.

When I open my eyes again, I’m in a bright room on a couch.

People are talking, and I smell Raspberry’s perfume. My head is in her lap and she is snoring. Wheelchairs and stretchers scurry past. A few people look shaken. I am in the emergency room.

I sit up slowly and find a blanket has been draped over me. I pull it around my shoulders and reposition myself against my cousin. She stirs slightly but doesn’t open her eyes. Another snore tells me I haven’t woken her.

I notice a bit of red standing out on my white sweatshirt and peek underneath. There’s a large cut, sticky with dried blood. My skin hangs sadly, like it has accepted defeat.

I shuffle over to where a receptionist is holding her head in her hand and occasionally jumping after her head nods a few times. She blinks her heavy eyelids open wider and sits up.

“What do you need?” Her voice is very careful and her expression is serious and sad.

I realize then that she knows I’m their daughter.

The two bodies lying somewhere in bags have a daughter and I am her.

I swallow and pull at the neck of my shirt, showing her the tear. “I... I think I need stitches...”

She nods, looking even sadder than before.

Did Raspberry tell her what happened to me?

She speaks into a small radio.

Silence.

A second of static.

A voice.

“Paging Dr. Odair.”

She smiles at me but she doesn’t really smile. “A doctor is on his way right now, he’s going to fix it.”

I nod slowly and sit down on the floor in front of the desk. The receptionist peers down at me and her lip shakes before she returns to her seat. I hear her blow her nose. I close my eyes.

Big man feet.

Scrub pants.

Manly voice.

A hand on my shoulder.

I open my eyes and see a doctor with soft grey eyes and wavy black hair kneeling in front of me. I just pull down my collar. He nods.

“I’m Doctor Odair, I’m going to fix that for you.” I nod back and wince as I pull myself up with the help of the counter.

It still hurts.

He nods at the receptionist, whose eyes are red and the skin around it is all puffy. He leads me down a few hallways before selecting a room and gesturing to the bed. I sit down and watch him gather supplies from cabinets. He closes the door behind him, and I feel my body tense.

His eyebrows knit together and lines on his forehead intensify. The skin around his eyes is crinkly.

He looks nice.

But why did he close the door?

“Can you take your shirt off for me?”

I quickly push myself off the other side of the bed and grab a tool that’s sitting in a tray. “No!”

He raises both his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to remove your sweater so I can stitch up this laceration without stretching out the collar on your pretty shirt.”

“I’m not wearing a bra.” My voice sounds small and scared.

“I promise I will not hurt you. Do you want your cousin to come in and make sure I don’t?”

I nod, and my hair flops into my eye.

I don’t fix it.

He picks up a radio from the counter and speaks into it.

His voice is smooth. “I need Raspberry Summers to come to Room 138.”

Silence.

A second of static.

The receptionist’s voice.

“She’s on her way.”

Raspberry suppresses a yawn as she enters the room. Her bun is falling apart and it has somehow ended up on the left side of her head. She sits down in the chair close to the bed and I return where I was before.

The doctor holds up four thread color choices.

“Pink.” I whisper, and he glances down at my shirt, then lifts his eyebrows.

I take a deep breath and peek over at Raspberry.

She blows me a kiss.

I reluctantly pull off my warm shirt.

He doesn’t even blink. He just examines the cut, pours a clear liquid on some cotton, and presses it to my chest. It burns, but I don’t say anything.

He throws the rusty colored cotton away and threads a long, curved needle.

I swallow and squeeze my eyes shut, unable to watch as it goes through my skin and begins its journey.

I can feel my skin being pulled on, and an occasional stick, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as I was afraid it would.

Suddenly, my sweater is lying on my lap.

I open my eyes. The doctor tosses the needle in a red box and returns his spool of thread to a cabinet, then locks it.

I pull my shirt back on and see Raspberry smiling at me.

“You did a great job.” She whispers, and I run over to her, climbing into her lap. She wraps her arms around me and I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I look over my shoulder to see Dr. Odair half smiling at me. I half smile back.

“Thank you.” I mumble shyly, and he touches my cheek lightly. “I’m here for you if you ever need to talk.”

I nod and hide my face in Raspberry’s chest. I hear her murmur something to him, but I don’t listen to their conversation.

After the door closes, Raspberry runs her hands through my hair again and I savor her relaxing touch as my eyelids grow heavy.

“I’ll come check on you every day, okay? And remember, you’re not supposed to be living alone. You’re supposed to be living with us, so make sure no one knows you’re staying here.”

I am back in my house. Raspberry and her mother are working on getting my uncle out as soon as possible, any way they can. They said my house would sell quickly so they’re looking for an apartment for me.

Everything is boxed up. Aunt Juli and Raspberry came to help me pack some of my parents’ furniture and all their other belongings up. They’re picking it all up tomorrow to take to their house and keep in their attic.

I can’t stand to see it.

I can’t stand to be in this house.

Everywhere I go; there are little wisps of them,

and of me,

and my uncle’s dirty hands.

I know they’re doing the best they can but I hope they can hurry and get me out of this sad, haunted, painful place.

I nod at Raspberry. “Okay. No one will find out.”

She kisses the top of my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

No.

Not okay.

Don’t leave me here.

Uncle Lennon’s ghostly hands are grabbing at me, reaching all the way from my bedroom to the foyer to get me.

Don’t leave.

I need you.

Protect me.

His hands are choking me.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t do this.

Stay.

Please.

“Okay.” I fake a smile and she smiles back. “Okay, call me if you need anything.” I hug her tightly and she jumps a little bit before hugging me back. “I’m coming back tomorrow, I promise. Do you want me to stay?”

Yes.

Don’t ever leave me.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” I don’t want her to get worried and think I have emotional problems and I’m too dependent on her.

She smiles at me. “Alright... I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I nod again and try not to cry. “And remember, my mom is going to come too to get all your parents’ things. We’re putting your house on the market at midnight tonight.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

She kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

I swallow again and hope my voice doesn’t crack. “I love you too.” With that, she strokes my cheek, steps outside, closes the door, and is gone.

The tears flood, dripping all over the sweatshirt Raspberry let me borrow.

I hear fingernails on the cardboard boxes stacked all over the place.

My parents are trying to get to me.

They miss me.

And I miss them.

My uncle’s hands tickle at my neck and his grimy ghost fingers twirl the strands of hair that fall from my bun at the nape of my neck.

His sharp and snakelike voice hisses in my ear.

“Come on, girlie. Come on.” He drags me to my bedroom.

I fall to my knees and let tears splash all over the wooden floor. Little pieces of pink and red hair cover the planks. My bra and panties are still on the bed, small blood stains surrounding them.

My uncle’s whispers invade both my ears. “Helpless little girl. You’re mine. I’ll get you.”

I run to where my couch still sits and curl up in the corner. It smells like perfume and cinnamon-sugar.

Raspberry’s gentle fingers caress my neck, soothing the still burning places my uncle’s fingers grazed my skin.

Her smooth voice drifts throughout the whole house.

I close my eyes and wrap my arms around a pillow, pretending it’s my warm cousin. I’m safe.

When I open my eyes, the clock reads eleven.

It’s dark outside.

All my blinds are still open.

My door is unlocked.

I run to the windows and hurriedly yank on the cords, then turn the lock. My hands shake.

My house is dark.

The nails on cardboard and my uncle’s fingers return.

I flip all the lights in the living room on and dive back to the couch. I’m starving, but there’s no way I’m getting up again.

Thunder shakes the windows. I jump and look around. My cell phone is in my bedroom. I could call Raspberry.

I dash to my room and pick up my phone from the pillow where I tossed it earlier. It’s dark in here, and my uncle’s laughter makes my body tremble.

Thunder rattles the house again, and I can hear my mother’s china shake in its’ box. The lights from down the hallway flicker and then go out.

I start to panic.

I hurriedly jam my fingers into the numbers that make my cousin’s phone number. I hold it up to my ear and try to block out everything else. The phone rings once, twice, three times.

I’m starting to cry when her sleepy voice greets my ear. “Brigida?”

I burst into hysterics. “Help me! I’m scared! Come get me! I can’t take it!” I can hear her click a light on and her bed creak. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?” “He’s touching me and I’m scared and it’s dark and youhavetohelpme!”

Raspberry’s bed creaks some more and I hear her open her closet. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“DON’THANGUPONME!” My voice is loud and scared.

“Shhh. I’m not going to hang up on you. It’s okay. Put your phone on speaker, okay?”

I press the speaker button and hold it away from my ear.

“Now use the light from your phone to get to the door so you can wait for me.”

“Can I sit on the couch?”

“Yes. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

I can hear her boots on her staircase. She mumbles something unintelligible, I’m assuming to her mother or father, and then I hear her front door close and lock.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m on the couch.”

“Good. You’re doing good, okay?”

“Okay.”

I hear a car start, and a small click. I start sobbing again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

I hiccup. “I thought you hung up!” My voice is squeaky.

“I was switching to Bluetooth.” Her voice is calm and beautiful and it makes me feel better.

“Oh.” I sniff.

“I’ll be there soon, I’m coming as fast as I can.”

I can hear car horns honking and Raspberry mumbling things like “eff off,” “stupid-ass”, “titface”, and “you’re an ugly bitch”.

I assume she’s talking to the people honking at her. I listen to her quiet roadrage for a few minutes before I hear tires squeal and a sigh. “Okay, I just turned onto your street.”

I start crying again, relieved, and she tells me she loves me.

I’m too hysterical to respond.

When my door opens, there’s a wet spot on the pillow I put my face in and Raspberry runs over to me, picking me up.

I gasp for breath, making loud honking sounds as she rubs my back.

“You’re okay, I promise.” Her chapped lips kiss my cheek repeatedly, drying up my tears.

Stop, I want to say. You’re going to hurt them even more.

I want her lips to be normal lips.

Not cracked and dry from anxiously licking them and covered in red patches from biting the skin off nervously and split from a fist into an undeserving mouth.

I want them to be soft and pink and always smiling.

I don’t say anything.

I just cry.

Raspberry picks up the blanket and drapes it over my shoulders, then turns out the lights, carries me to the porch, locks my front door, and hoists me higher on her hip before trudging back to her car.

She places me in the front seat, tucks the blanket around me, fastens my seatbelt, and closes my door.

I can hear her heavy platform boots clomp around the back of the car before she slides in next to me.

“Can you tell me what happened?” She asks quietly after pulling out of my neighborhood.

I close my eyes. “I could hear my parents’ nails on the cardboard boxes. They want me to die and come with them. They know I miss them and they want me back. Your dad’s hands are still in my house, and his voice. He said he’d get me. He was touching me. Your hair is on my floor.”

Raspberry licks her lips.

“Your lips are chapped.” I whisper, and she stops at a light. “You’re making them worse by licking them. You need chapstick. They look like they hurt. I don’t want them to hurt.”

She looks over at me and smiles, the little cracks on her mouth splitting open slightly and revealing the red underneath. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”

“I don’t want them to hurt.” I shiver and touch her cheek.

She turns up the heat and drives again. “They don’t hurt.”

I don’t believe her.

When we pull up to Raspberry’s house, the front door opens and I see her mother slowly descend the front steps.

Raspberry gets out of the car and Aunt Juli opens my door and scoops me out of the seat. I rest my head on her shoulder and I hear Raspberry lock the car before bounding up the concrete stairs and heading into the house.

Aunt Juli follows her and locks the door behind us, then positions me on the couch.

“Are you hungry?” Her eyes are sad and pretty.

I nod.

Raspberry is banging around in the kitchen, and her mother peers inside, asking her something, then smiling and sliding Cinderella in the DVD player.

I curl closer into the velvety sofa and rub the blanket against my cheek. When Raspberry emerges from the kitchen, Cinderella is cleaning while her sisters sing unattractively.

Something smells wonderful and I want to eat the entire world. Raspberry squeezes in next to me and tucks my blanket and a quilt under a cushion to keep us from falling off. She hands me a bowl and I peer inside.

I almost drool at what I find.

Not quite done chocolate chip cookies have been squished into a huge pit of hot, still doughy cookie stuff. It’s been attacked with hot fudge and whipped cream.

She smiles at me. “Nothing makes someone feel happier than chocolate.”

I kiss her cheek shyly and dip the spoon into the cookie magic. Raspberry watches as I take a bite.

“Do you like it?”

I can only make pleased noises in response until I swallow. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

After quickly devouring the entire contents of the bowl, I snuggle into Raspberry and let her play with my hair. It sends warmth through my entire body and makes me feel like I’m glowing. She twists it into a braid and then rakes her fingers through it, destroying her progress. She splits my hair into two parts and twirls it around my ears like Princess Leia. She lets them both drop and then just strokes my hair.

Comb.

Twirl.

Kiss.

Her fingers are gentle and cold when they touch my neck. I grab her wrists and press her fingers to my lips, kissing them occasionally.

She blinks down at me.

“Your hands are cold.” I whisper, closing my eyes. She slips her hands under my shirt and presses them to my back, pulling me closer to her. I bury my face in her neck as I listen to Cinderella cry after her dress has been ruined.

When my eyes are open, I’m warm and enveloped in Raspberry’s arms in a nest of blankets. The clock reads four, and its pitch black outside.

I move closer to her and put my face in front of hers on the pillow so that our noses touch. Her warm breath tickles my cheeks and smells like the toothpaste that settled in the corner of her mouth and chapstick and sleepiness.

I love her.

I exhale slowly, press my lips into hers, and let her air fill my mouth. One of her eyes opens and then it rolls back into her head before closing again.

I close mine too, and focus on her soft snores. I press my head into her chest and listen to her heart beat.

The rhythm is slow and perfectly constant.

A kiss on my forehead pulls my eyelids back open and I smile at Raspberry, whose unbrushed hair tickles my face and neck.

“Good morning.” Her voice is low and raspy like I remember it being when we had sleepovers in her bedroom on Christmas Eve.

I hug her tightly. “Hi.” Saying good morning has always felt strange to me, like the words didn’t belong in my mouth. And I don’t think today will be a very good day, with going back to that terrible house and spending hours on end there.

She hugs me back, and her strong arms make me feel secure.

“My mom wants us to leave by twelve. We’re going to get lunch and then go get the boxes and any of your stuff you want to take.”

“I want to burn my bed.” I whisper into her hair, which smells like coconut.

She rubs my back. “Okay, if we can find a place to burn your bed, I promise we’ll burn it. I’ll even let you light it.”

I smile. “Thank you. And I want to burn that stupid bra and...”

I’m suddenly crying, thinking about everything in that painful, unbearable bedroom full of my shattered happiness and Raspberry’s hair and the disgusting taste of my uncle’s harsh and unforgettable lips.

“Okay.” She rocks me back and forth. “We’ll burn it all.”

“I want to keep the sweatshirt from California I got with my parents.”

“Okay. We’ll keep that.”

I nod and stand up. She looks surprised that I pulled away.

“I want to hurry and get there so we can get rid of it all.”

She nods slowly, like she understands, then walks to her closet. I watch as she looks through the rack of clothes.

After searching for a couple of minutes, she pulls a peach colored sweater from a rack and tosses it to me. It’s soft.

She closes the closet doors and slides a dresser drawer open, digging through countless pairs of pants.

She finally selects an old pair of light brown corduroys, holds them up, examines the waist and looks at the tag, then looks at me, and sends them my way as well.

I study her walls. A picture of us last Christmas Eve is hanging above her bed. The rest of the wall space is covered with photos of Aunt Juli and sloppily cut out pictures of women from magazines with tan skin, large breasts, dark hair, and blue eyes.

There are post it notes stuck to all of them.

One says, “Fix yourself” in Uncle Lennon’s handwriting and then, “HA!” in Raspberry’s with a sketchy hand showing off its middle finger.

Another says, “You’re not pretty yet” and then, “YOU SEEM TO THINK SO QUITE OFTEN”. I don’t want to think about what that means.

Suddenly Raspberry is laughing. I look at her. She points to me. I don’t understand. Then I feel something tickle my nose. A bra strap is hanging from my head. She has thrown me a bra and it has landed on my head. I giggle and let her take my picture, then rest it on the pants and sweater.

She looks at my feet for a minute and kneels by a set of racks where all of her shoes are lined up perfectly. “You’re a five, right?” I nod, then realize she can’t see me. “Yes.”

She runs a hand through her hair and pulls a pair off the bottom rack.

Her old moccasins. She used to wear them all the time.

She peers over her shoulder. “These okay?”

I nod again, and she draws herself to her feet. “Come on.”

I follow her to the bathroom and she closes the door.

It smells like everything Raspberry does.

Coconut, Winter Candy Apple, chapstick, toothpaste, cinnamon, and sugar.

She quickly swallows four little pills and sets down a pile of clothes that I hadn’t even realized she’d picked out.

I can’t help but watch as she drops her sleep shorts. Her hipbones stick out and red-purple-green bruises cover her thighs. My eyes are drawn up as she lifts her shirt off. Her ribs show themselves off and her pale skin stretches over them tight as her arms go higher. Her breasts nearly spill out of her bra cups.

She looks over at me and I quickly avert my eyes. She laughs quietly and out of the corner of my eye I can see her tug a pair of tights over her creamy white legs and settle a lavender dress over her head, slide her arms into the soft sleeves, and turn to me.

“How does it look?” The pretty fabric fits perfectly over her large chest and hugs her waist affectionately. The skirt falls to her lower thighs, and the sleeves are down to her delicate hands, slightly long, just like she wants.

“Perfect.”

She smiles at me and kisses my nose. “Thank you. Let’s see what yours looks like.”

I nod and shyly step out of the pajama pants I ended up in, then quickly zip myself into her soft corduroys.

I turn away then, and let my sweatshirt fall to the floor as I look at my stitches sadly. I fit my arms through the bra straps and don’t turn to meet Raspberry’s eyes as she hooks the back of it for me.

I bend to pick up the sweater, and pull it on with ease. It’s big and soft and warm. The sleeves nearly cover my whole hands. Raspberry smiles as I face her again. “That’s cute.”

I look in the mirror. “Thank you.”

She kisses my cheek and picks up a hairbrush from the counter. I watch as she yanks it through her hair. The tangles make loud tearing noises and at one point the bristly part breaks off from the handle.

She sighs as if this is normal, plucks the top from where it hangs in a clump of her hair, and shoves it back into the bottom before returning to her task.

She smiles at her reflection when her hair is perfectly silky and flows over her shoulders with ease.

I brace myself when she turns to me, but her brushing is completely different in my hair. She slowly and gently drags the brush through, stopping on tangles to pick them apart with her fingers.

It feels amazing.

I love her.

I close my eyes and enjoy the steady motion of her hands in my hair.

Brush, pick, brush, brush, brush.

When I reopen my eyes, my hair looks prettier than it has in days, and a small braid starts at my hairline, wraps over the top of my head, and is tied off with a peach colored ribbon and bobby pinned on the other side.

I smile up at her. “Thank you.”

She nods and plugs in her curling iron before digging around in a drawer and pulling out eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, two tubs of creamy white stuff, and a tube of lipstick labeled “SALSA”.

She wraps her hair around the curling iron a small section at a time, and when she pulls the steaming rod away, a perfect corkscrew curl bounces down and makes her look even more elegant than before.

Her hair isn’t like mine, where if you curl it, you look like a doll from the 1900’s. Hers just falls in long, loose, but still perfectly corkscrewy pieces. She just barely wraps her bangs around the iron and holds it for a few seconds before pulling it out. They do exactly what they were meant to do and curl under to tickle the top of her eye socket.

“Wow.” Is all I can manage to whisper.

She turns off the iron and looks at me. “Do you want to wear any makeup?”

I shake my head and she laughs. “You’re lucky, you don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look adorable all the time.”

I feel my face grow red. “Well I think you’re very pretty all the time.”

She picks me up and sits me down on the counter, pressing a chocolate kiss into my palm.

I unwrap it slowly and watch as she pulls a tall, cushioned stool out from beside the toilet and sits down to the rainbow of face products she brought out.

I set the chocolate on my tongue and close my mouth.

She squirts a line of mint gel on her toothbrush and viciously scrubs her teeth, making her lips and cheeks quiver. When she’s done, she spits and goes back over her whole mouth with minty water until no more bubbles come out into the sink.

Then she puts more paste on the brush and I think she’s going to do the whole thing again, but she hands it to me.

I run water on top of the gooey bristles and swallow the last of my kiss before putting the toothbrush in the bottom left corner of my mouth and slowly moving it around.

She picks up a soft pancake looking thing and scoops up some pinkish white stuff, then spreads it all over her face. It blends in with her skin tone and covers up a small zit popping up on her chin.

Then she presses the pancake into another tub of pale something, and covers her face with it too. Now she is completely spotless and matte cream color.

She opens up the eyeshadow and rubs the little padded stick in black dust before coating her eyelids in it.

She is transforming into my vixen cousin who I am sometimes afraid of,

who sometimes yells at me and calls me immature,

who doesn’t love me nearly as much as my sweet Raspberry who holds me at night and kisses my tears away.

I don’t know if this person even likes me.

She covers her eyelashes in black goo and then draws thick lines on the very bottoms of her smoky eyelids, turning them up at the ends.

She closes every product but the lipstick, and carefully paints it on the two peaks of her upper lip and the middle of her lower, making her mouth look like a Japanese doll’s.

She looks over at me and her eyebrows come together in the middle of her forehead.

Oh, no.

She’s angry at me.

She’s going to tell me to get out.

She’s going to call me immature and spoiled and annoying and tell me she doesn’t want to see me anymore.

She’s going to tell me she hates me.

Oh, no. No.

She stands up and leans over, gently plucking the toothbrush from my mouth and rinsing it off.

She puts it in a cup and wipes my mouth with a towel.

I spit into the sink and slide off the counter.

She pulls her big black platform boots over her calves and zips them up, then puts all the buckles together.

I step into her soft, worn, furry inside moccasins.

She smiles at me. I don’t smile back; still afraid she might get mad at any moment.

She looks sad. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re her again.”

“I’m who?”

“Her. The one who yells at me and doesn’t love me.”

“I don’t...” She shakes her head, seeming confused.

“Usually when I see her she yells at me. You yell at me.”

Her mouth falls open. Oh, no. Last time that happened, she slapped me.

I hurriedly open the door and start running, halfway tripping down the stairs. She catches my shoulder and jerks me around to look at her. I teeter on the edge of a step, and she pulls me closer.

“You’re afraid of me when I wear the makeup... because I get angry at you sometimes?”

“You’ve never gotten mad at me when you’re not wearing it! You’re different!” My voice is high and on the verge of hysterical.

“Oh, baby, it has nothing to do with the makeup. It’s me. I’m still here. Sometimes I can’t control how I act. The only reason you’ve never seen me get mad without the makeup is because most of the time, I’m wearing it.”

Her voice is calm and gentle, like she’s afraid of pushing me to tears again. “I... have something called Bipolar disorder. Sometimes my mood changes too quickly for me to control things I say or do. That’s why sometimes I’m happy and then I start yelling at you... I didn’t know it hurt your feelings so bad.”

Her voice has changed again. It’s catching on words and it’s unusually hushed. “You know my dad hurts me.”

I nod.

“Sometimes I get... sad... and I can’t deal with it. When you were around before and it happened, I would lash out at you because you’d never had to deal with what I do. I was jealous of you. You were still happy and innocent and so lucky. So sometimes...” Her throat moves as a loud gulping noise emerges. “I hated you.”

She wraps her arms around me tight and lifts me off the step. “I couldn’t even stand to be around you because of how unfair it was.”

Finally, I start crying. My throat and chest hurt too bad to keep it in anymore.

“Oh God, don’t cry,” Her voice is shaking. “You’re going to make me.”

I make those horrible embarrassing honking noises and hide my face in my hands.

“I thought you didn’t love me. Because last time you said you hated me.”

I feel her soft chest cave in with a loud exhale. “I love you. I love you so much.” I feel her pull me up higher, and I wrap my legs around her waist.

She carries me the rest of the way down the soft, plush staircase and sits down on the couch, holding me tighter than she ever has before, like I’m the most valuable thing in the whole world.

I close my eyes.

Her hand slowly moves up and down my back, and I can feel her frigid fingers through the sweater.

“Your hands are cold.” I whisper.

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps her hand moving.