Verbena | Part Two
chapter one, part two. 2.5k words
I left the diner with a full stomach and an ache between my thighs. Such an eventful morning for my first official day in Verbena. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor, the dark-haired line cook who’d played prince in the diner. I wondered if he was close with Layla — or if Connor was. There is so much in this town, so much that I don’t know. So many questions I have, yet nobody to answer them.
I made my way into my aunt’s store, the bell above the door ringing sharply through the walls. Her store was filled with so much clothing that it looked like an overstuffed closet. Her style was peculiar, especially for a small town. Whimsical, soft, and light. She had a plethora of dresses, long skirts, white tops, and so much ribbon adorned to her work.
“Hey, Aunt Sharon,” I exclaimed as I made my way to the register.
She turned with a wide smile. “Ma danseuse.”
I laughed, admiring her French and her love for my ballerina side. She took a seat on the stool behind the register. “So, how was breakfast? Pancakes taste the same?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, setting my bag beside the counter, “The dudes in the place were a nice addition.”
She shook her head, catching the sarcasm. “Who’d you meet?”
“Connor and his pack, his girlfriend, and Trevor, the line cook.”
The bell rang again before she could reply. A woman and her daughter entered, and Sharon groaned softly.
I smiled at her before asking, “Who’s that?”
“Connor’s mom,” she said. “Goes by Elise, but her real names Catherine. And his little sister — can’t remember her name right now.”
I watched as she walked over to them. She spoke with Elise, who was a bright blonde, dressed pristinely in a thin button-up and light-wash jeans. She didn’t look like the type to wear Sharon’s clothes. The daughter rummaged through the racks, gasping at one of the dresses. The two talked for a few minutes before my aunt made her way back to me.
She blew a raspberry before whispering to me, “That woman is unbearable.”
We shared a smile before she softened, “I don’t want you to feel obligated, but if you ever get bored and want to help out, I can show you the register.”
I nodded and she gave me a quick run down, “Just scan, price comes up, you enter how much the customer gives, and the drawer opens. Simple.”
“I think I can hack it,” I laughed.
Elise approached the counter, handing me her items with a smile. “So you’re Mariella?”
“Yeah,” I said, scanning the first tag. “I’m staying here for three months.”
She nodded, grabbing her wallet out of her bag, “You look just like her. The news is spreading ‘round town fast about you. I have two kids around your age; you’ll probably meet them at some point.”
Sharon chimed in, “That’s Verbena for you. Talk, talk, talk.”
Elise didn’t even give me a chance to tell her the total before scanning her card. Sharon began bagging up her items while I glanced toward the door, where her daughter was waiting. We caught each other’s eyes for a minute. She was so unlike her mother. She was dressed in denim shorts, a white tube top, and under-the-knee boots. She had long blonde hair tied in two braids and a pair of sunglasses on her head.
“Have a nice day,” I said, handing her the bag.
“I plan to.”
Once they left, Sharon waved her hand. “Piece of work she is. She was back in high school, too.”
“Oh, I can see that.”
Around six, Aunt Sharon and I arrived home. The humidity was dying down, and I was ready to wash the day off of me. We discussed dinner options before I made my way upstairs to gather my stuff for a shower. I stripped down and opened the door to the enclosed shower. My products were in my hands as I placed them on the built-in shelves in the tile. But Layla’s strawberry shampoo fell to my feet in the process. I knelt, my sopping hair moving around my back as the water ran down my head.
I grabbed the bottle that landed by my toes, light pink shampoo amidst my black nail polish. Before I could even stand back up, I noticed the shower drain was glistening, or rather, something inside of it was. I could see something gold stuck in the drain, a chain that was tangled yet somehow still reachable. I stuck my fingers in the drain, searching for the right area to grab so I didn’t lose it, and eventually it was sitting in the palm of my hand. I put it under the water in an attempt to rinse whatever may have stuck to it, who knows how long it was down there.
It was a dainty gold chain with a small heart that had her name inscribed in it. It was small, but if anyone got close enough, they’d be able to make it out. I furrowed my brows, staring down at the necklace in my hand, water dripping off my face and hitting it softly. I began untangling the necklace as I stood under the water, eventually putting it around my neck. I started to wash my hair and wondered when the last time it was around Layla’s neck. I couldn’t stop thinking about it even during dinner; it was hidden under my shirt, sticking to my moisturized skin. I made my way back into my room just as the cicadas were starting their nightly opera. I felt restless, confused, and like enough time had passed for me to begin snooping around her room. I needed to know about her, I needed to find her again.
I was plopped on her bed. I had turned the radio on, so I sat in something other than silence. I could hear faint music from outside, and children still laughing as it was only around eight. Glancing over her room in search of answers, her desk was the most obvious place to start since it was cluttered with papers and journals. I sat in the chair and turned on the lamp that sat in the corner of the desk. Her journals were stacked to the left of me; each was dated, going all the way back to when we were kids. Except for one from the last year, so I began opening the drawers.
The bottom one was oddly empty—compared to the others that were full—but all that sat in the drawer was a keyring with three keys that had a ribbon tied to it. I let out a puff of air, pouting my lips in defeat. I got off the chair and began fiddling with the keys between my fingers. I could hear the faint sound of the radio amongst the loudness outside on the street. I sat on the edge of the bed just as a loud car door startled me, causing me to drop the keys to the hardwood.
I groaned, looking down at the floor, trying to see where it landed. Confusion filled me as it was nowhere to be found, “What the fuck?” I spoke softly. I got my hands and knees, looking all over the floor and under the bed. I saw an extra comforter folded up, a box that read Old stuff, and another box that had a ribbon on the front of it. The keys not far from it.
I grabbed the box and the keys, plopping back down onto the bed and preparing myself for what I was about to find. I tried all three keys, but only one fit in the lock, and when I opened it, I found Layla. Two journals, a plethora of pictures, dried lavender, three vials that were empty except for one that had powder in it, and a bag full of makeup and jewelry that was wrapped in a lace veil. As I laid everything out on the bed, I checked the box once more for anything else, but nothing. Both of the journals were screaming at me. I figured the last two keys would open each journal, but only one of the keys opened both. I could feel my heart begin to race as the anticipation of reading her journals rang through me. But I was plagued by the third key. What was it for?
I picked up the journals, trying to decipher which to start with, so I began with the unfinished one. I peeled back the cover and got to the first page that read, Little Lavender Layla. I turned the page and the first entry was dated May 22, three months before her nineteenth birthday and only five months before she died.
May 22
Dear Diary,
Another late night, and I cannot sleep. I feel thunder coming. I started a new journal since I filled up the last one; the spine was breaking, which tracks since it’s full of last year and the beginning of this one. I last wrote about him, I don’t really remember what I said, and am too lazy to get it out to check. Mom is working on more designs again. I can hear her dancing around right now; I don’t think she knows I just came back from the fields. Tonight was messy. He kept getting on me about the bruise on my thigh. He thought some other guy gave it to me, but that’s not true; he is the only one who has touched me in a while. He was pissed and took it out on me by fucking me; I still feel scratchy from the ground, and an ache is forming on my chest from my necklace pressing against it while he choked me. I still love him, and I know he loves me. I didn’t know how to explain the bruise to him, so I lied. I said I fell at work. But it happened the other night with Lucy. She is my secret best friend since Connor would lose his shit if he knew. I feel such a connection with her. She likes to party in the same way that I do. I feel so protective of her. She’s so different than her family; I can’t believe she came out of Elise, she’s so much more like me. We went partying at the abandoned house on Carpenter — the one I mentioned a few entries ago. I felt so free with her the other night, maybe it was the snow, I don’t know. There were only eight of us there. Trevor was there, which isn’t his speed at all, but we did have a hard day at work, so I guess he just wanted to let off steam. He was excited to see us, even though we are platonic. I thought he looked so good that night. He was in that mood where he talks all raspy and smiles with his tongue pressing to his front teeth. But, he and Lucy are the loves of my life, they are my only friends, or at least the only ones who don’t believe what Connor and his fucked up group say about me. Trevor got into a scuffle with some of the other kids there, and he left right after with a bloody nose. Lucy and I had no idea who they were and ran out trying to find him to make sure he was alright. We searched for him as soon as we made it out, but we never found him, so we just went to the fields, and I fell trying to climb the fence. It is a pretty bad bruise, honestly, but it fits with my other ones. Lucy said I am too resilient to put up with his shit, but there is something about him I just can’t shake. He keeps telling me I am as dark as night, and nobody else sees it but him. I think Lucy sees it; she sees it when it snows.
May 24
Dear Diary,
Yesterday was such a long day at work, so I didn’t get to write before bed. I showered and passed out right after. Today was a good day, mostly because Lucy and I drove into the city an hour away. I wore those black boots that Mom wears when she wants to feel lucky with my tights. We went to this high-end-looking lingerie shop. It wasn’t too expensive, but I still spent a buck of my work money. The receipt is long, but I am gonna tape it in when I am done writing. Lucy and I got the same set of lingerie, just in different colors. I got the black, and she got the white. It is perfect for pictures, along with all the other lingerie I got; I want to take pictures tonight so I can post them on my blog. I spent the last hour on there, but been too lazy to take pictures. I feel myself getting addicted to posting. I can share everything that lingers deep inside of me, and talk to people like me. Some of the ones I trust know my name, facts about me, and what I look like. But sometimes I still get paranoid that I give too much away. My secret life here overlaps with my secret life on my blog. I hope it doesn’t come undone; all that I am hiding will kill me. He doesn’t know about my blog, the abandoned house, or all the filth I love. He thinks I am like the girl who died in that abandoned house on Carpenter; he is superstitious or whatever. But he is unaware that I am already cursed. I think I keep making it worse by what I do at night. I desire the people I am talking to, I say things and hear things that make me feel like I am playing in the snow. And when I am already in the snow and have conversations, I feel like I am a god. I know I should be more pure, less secretive, but I can’t. There is so much of me all over this town, and people don’t even realize it. I like knowing I am embedded in the dirt of the fields. Lucy and I took pictures in the fields the other night when we were there. I put them on my blog, and even though I was clothed and had my face hidden, so many desired me. Someone even said they can see my heart through them, that I belong there. This one person I talk to keeps calling me his sex kitten. I feel it run through me every time he does. I feel bad talking to people in such a sexual way because of him, but I crave what I find in others and what they find in me. Nights like tonight, I love my life and what I am doing, but I fear the consequences if my secrets are revealed. Lucy knows a little bit, but I don’t tell her the extent of my actions. She wouldn’t judge me, but sometimes I just want secrets.
note..
thank you for reading!! pretty short part but it’s heavy on the diary entries! working on chapter two right now, so the first part should be out soon! feedback is always appreciated!
- sister honey <3
can’t wait for the next. xx