The Incident at Westwick Plaza

Cerise Noonpiece pulled the quilt over the side of the bed she had slept on. She tucked in the corners and sprayed the bed with enough perfume to mask the stench of despair. She stretched her arms and legs, pushing the elasticity to the limit until her fingertips reached opposite sides of the room and her head reached the ceiling.

One more inch than yesterday.

Cerise pulled her rubbery limbs back in.

She paraded into the kitchen; her sights set on her favorite spiced tea. Stiff rubber fingers wrapped around a teacup like a boa constrictor around its prey. Cerise filled the cup with water and concentrated. The all too familiar power surged through her hands, flowing into the porcelain. The warmth comforted her lonely soul. A moment later, her tea bag plopped into the boiling water. Cerise added three lumps of sugar and sipped.

Gliding into Westwick Plaza to look for Philip, the sight of young couples in love discouraged her. The sparkle-filled ‘U’ on the necks of every single person reminded her of her own silver letter that she received when Philip had left. Her heart was an empty teacup.

Soon, the day will be upon me, but I’ll have nothing to fear when he returns.

***

She pulled the quilt over her desolate side of the bed and squeezed a few spritzes of perfume. She stretched only her arms, reaching them over twice her height to the top of the room before bringing them back.

Cerise strolled to the kitchen and grabbed her teacup, filling it with water. She held the cup in her hands, trying to concentrate. Those couples kept intruding on her thoughts.

How long had it been since Philip? When was he coming?

It took her longer to heat the water than yesterday. She placed her tea leaves into the hot water, added two lumps of sugar and sipped.

Walking into the courtyard, she noticed people stared at her, whispering. A twinge of anger bubbled up inside. A young pair kissed on a nearby bench. The ‘Us’ on their necks faded.

She snaked her hands up to them, hovering over their legs. The heat that caressed her soul flowed from her hands into the unsuspecting lovers until they stopped kissing. Their ‘Us’ reappeared. She pulled her hands back, unseen. They mumbled something about it being too hot outside, got up, and left.

The more of us independents, the better we can stick together.

***

Cerise forced herself out of bed on a cloudy morning. She didn’t feel motivated to arrest her demons, so she pulled the quilt over and walked away, not bothering with the tucking or fragrance. She barely stretched her toes an inch before heading to the kitchen.

He should have been here by now. One more day.

Meandering toward the tea, she picked up her teacup and haphazardly filled it with water. She felt drained emotionally and could only muster a lukewarm cup of tea with one lump of sugar that morning. She sighed and sipped it.

Cerise moved like molasses outside, her rubbery appendages feeling stiffer than expected.

Why do I do this to myself? What if he never comes?

She attempted to flex her fingers, but they barely moved. People stopped to stare.

Someone’s face turned serious. “The spinster.” He scurried off.

Cerise tried to ignore it, waving him away.

I’m not that old.

She sat on a bench, fixated on the warmth of the sun on her skin, but the whispers continued.

“Single,” she thought she heard someone say, but they were talking about hot dogs.

She closed her eyes. The sound of nearby necking irritated her. Cerise tried to picture her hand in Philip’s, the sharpness of his long-pointed nails pressing between her knuckles. But it had been too long. She couldn’t remember what it felt like. A biting cold had replaced his heat. The smacking noises rang loud in her ears. She opened her eyes and turned toward the couple, extending her hands. She grunted in anger as she pushed her power into them until one of them cried out. Cerise snapped out of it and stopped.

“Something burned me,” the woman said as she drew away.

Cerise knew she shouldn’t be happy about what she did, but she couldn’t help feeling justified. She returned home to sleep off her guilt.

***

A drab ceiling of wood beams and plaster stared back at Cerise the next morning. She thought she saw burn marks on some beams. After some moments, she rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen, not bothering to make her bed or to stretch.

She made herself walk to the sink and filled her teacup with water. Too many things took her focus while she tried to heat the water. She knew what she would face today. Cerise screamed in anger and smashed the cup of cold water against a cabinet.

She willed herself into the courtyard, hoping this would be the day Philip came. The couples of Westwick were out in force and they all stopped to stare at her.

Why did my home have to be at the center of this cursed place?

Twisted smiles crossed their faces.

“Happy Old Maid’s Day,” one of them drawled out.

“You shouldn’t make fun of people.”

“What?” He shook his head and walked away.

She let the sadness and anger swirl around within her until it became a tempest of rage.

More people laughed. Was it at her?

“Murderer.” Someone said.

Cerise ran into her home to shut out the voices. She flung the covers off her bed, revealing a scorch mark on the side opposite hers.

“Philip.”

She remembered the heat. Too much heat. Writhing in the bed next to Philip, her powers had activated. She had screamed. He had screamed. But for entirely different reasons.

Waves of guilt washed over her. Waves that burned her insides. Waves that radiated out. She heard screaming. Were those coming from outside or from within?