by Jordan Nishkian
Stay With Me for a While
In the silence of Corinne’s home, I lie on her living room floor, gaze pinned to the vaulted ceiling. I take inventory of my body. The blood under my nails has hardened. My right shoulder is so dislocated it feels like my arm’s swimming in its skin. Every ragged breath spreads cracks across my ribs, and my hair, slick and warm, clings to the back of my neck.
I consider playing dead—would it even be playing?
Upstairs, a floorboard creaks.
I scan the second-story banister, then strain my eyes to Corinne’s body, draped head-first over the bottom stairs. Even from the shaky edges of my vision, I can see one ankle twisted away from her knee, and a bone in her forearm bulges from trying to catch herself. At the base of the stairs, her shoulders slump and stack over her neck. Corinne’s face, propped upright by her crooked jaw, stares at me—blank and blue. Blood from where she bit through her tongue flows onto the hardwood floor.
A surge of nausea rises and overwhelms my chest. I clutch my shoulder and use my legs to roll onto my side just as I start vomiting. As silent as I’m trying to be, the pain betrays me. I cough and wail in the ebbs of retching.
“Is that you, Billie?” Preston’s voice taunts me from the top step.
I spit bitter acid, then—dizzy and heaving—drag myself toward the front door. Through the rattle of my breath, I hear the deadbolt click.
An hour ago, I was on the other side of that door, hoping Corinne would let me in. I had biked six miles from my condo to Corinne’s house, interrupting suburbia with squeaking wheels and the song under my breath.
I eyed Corinne’s white sedan as I rolled onto her driveway. A cobweb on her tire billowed in the breeze. I leaned the bike against the side of the garage and walked the herringbone path to the front steps. A dandelion flowered between two bricks. I smirked. Preston would’ve lost his shit.
I slipped my backpack off my shoulders and rang the doorbell. The ring bounced off the walls inside.
I listened, waited, knocked, and waited some more. “I know you’re home,” I texted her, “Your car’s in the driveway.” The last time she texted me was on my birthday.
Worried, I glanced at the overgrown lawn. She’d been radio-silent since Preston served her with divorce papers. A sparrow perched on the fence took off at the sound of a door slamming upstairs.
“Corinne!” I shouted, knocking rapidly.
I knocked through her silence, and again after I told her I wasn’t leaving. I knocked until I saw the doorknob turn. By the time she opened the door, my knuckles were starting to swell.
“Hey,” Corinne said. Her smile, like the rest of her, looked thin and weary. Her blonde hair was dark at the roots and hung limp around her shoulders. Her wedding band glinted in the sunlight.
“Hey, yourself.”
Corinne stared. Her eyes were damp and rosy around the edges.
“Couldn’t you hear me?” I asked.
“Oh—I was doing laundry, sorry.”
“You weren’t upstairs?”
She tilted her head. “No.”
I frowned. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“No need.”
“Right.” I searched her face. “So, I was thinking we could get out of the house and go for a bike ride. You’ll have to slow down for me, but it’d still be fun.”
Corinne shook her head. “I’m okay, thanks.”
“We talked about doing this—”
“I’m more of an indoor cyclist now.”
A frustrated laugh escaped me. “Corinne, did I do something?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
She nodded.
“Good.” I unzipped my backpack, revealing a bottle of pinot noir. “Then we’ll day drink.”
Corinne hesitated, clicking her teeth.
I sighed. “I haven’t seen you in months. I miss my friend. All I’m asking is to have some wine with you and then I’ll leave.”
She eyed my feet. “Can you leave your shoes outside?”
“Yes?”
Corinne stepped away and headed into the house, leaving the door open. My brow furrowed as I kicked my shoes off to the side of her welcome mat and closed the door behind me.
The afternoon sun filtered through the linen curtains. Dust lingered and swirled as I sat on my usual side of her sofa. While Corinne rummaged in the kitchen, I surveyed the room. A trail of condensation dropped from the windowpane to the molding baseboard. Next to the TV, three shelves—once heavy with gold and silver—were empty. So much had changed. So much hadn’t.
The last time I was here was the day Preston left. I moved Corinne out of their bedroom and into the guest room, put his photos in boxes, and batch-cooked her two lasagnas. The flowers I brought her, a bouquet of mimosa and ranunculus, were still on the coffee table. The petals had withered and the vase was stained with muck. The air was dense with pollen and rot.
My head shot up as floorboards creaked in the bedroom above me.
“What was that?” I asked when Corinne rounded the corner.
“Hm?” She set down two wine glasses and a corkscrew.
“The creaking.”
“Just the house settling,” she said, tapping the corkscrew. “Let’s have our drink.”
“No need,” I snipped, opening the screw top with my hand.
I breathed in as I poured, letting the alcohol burn away the damp stench of dead flowers and mildew. Corinne snatched her glass from my hand and chugged, emptying it before setting it back in front of me.
“Cheers,” I murmured and took a sip. Corinne stared at me with an increasingly patronizing grin. A drop of wine dribbled from her bottom lip.
“Jesus, Corinne.” I wiped the wine away with my thumb, then pulled a clump of black powder out of her hair. I examined it between my fingers. “What is that?”
“I’ll have another.”
“Am I keeping you from something?”
“No, I want another.”
I frowned but refilled her glass anyway. I hadn’t worried about enabling her since college. I slid my hand over the rim as she lifted it. “Please don’t chug. Drink it normally—pretend you’re happy to see me.”
Another creak.
“I’m always happy to see you.”
“It doesn’t seem like it right now.”
“Of course I am.”
I took another sip. Corinne followed suit, clearing a third of her pour in a noisy gulp.
“Are you feeling alright?” I asked.
“Yes, thanks.”
I waited for elaboration. She took another swig.
My fingernail tapped the glass. I missed being the listener in the relationship. I exhaled and leaned on the armrest. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Mhm.”
“Why’d you take down your cycling medals?” I asked, nodding toward the shelves. “I liked seeing them up there.”
“It’s kinda tacky to have them out, isn’t it?”
“Tacky? Who said that?”
“Preston.”
I scowled. “He’d feel differently if he accomplished something.”
Corinne’s brow twitched. “My husband has plenty of accomplishments.”
I let slip an uncomfortable laugh.
“Billie, I’m serious.”
“Okay, sure.”
“I am.”
For the first time since she opened the door, her smile dropped. I set my glass down. Corinne poured more wine into hers. We watched a stream of sediment settle at the bottom.
“Why are you defending him?”
“I wouldn’t insult your husband if you had one—no offense.”
“None taken. You don’t have one either.”
She gritted her teeth. Footsteps circled overhead.
“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked. “He came back.”
I looked up at the sound of Preston’s muffled voice taking a phone call.
Her head tilted. “See?”
I groaned. “Why?”
“He’s on a work call.”
“No—why is he in your home?”
“We decided to make it work.”
Preston’s idiotic laugh echoed down the hall. Hate tightened my jaw.
She blinked. “Say you’re happy for me.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Why?”
“Because you sound fucking brainwashed,” I raised my voice. “You haven’t sounded like yourself once today.”
She wiped a tear from her face, leaving a black smudge across her cheek. Cracks in her foundation revealed how pale her skin had become.
“He belittled, betrayed, and abandoned you. Why are you ignoring that?”
Her smile widened and stretched into a laugh. One of her incisors had turned gray. “I can’t not be a wife anymore.” Laughter wheezed and tumbled out of her. She kicked the table, tipping her glass and sending pinot across the surface. She laughed so hard I thought her eyes would burst.
I stood, watching the wine spread.
“Oh.” She crouched at the edge and used her finger to drag grains of sediment into her mouth. Preston’s voice grew louder. My heart pounded. My head ached. I knelt beside her and lifted her hair from the spill.
“I think you should stay with me for a little while,” I said, draping her hair back. Something that looked like soot dusted her shoulders. Under her skin, dark blue splotches radiated across the back of her neck. My hands shook.
“Did he do this?”
She quieted.
“Do you know where your car keys are?” I whispered.
She nodded.
“Get them, we’re leaving.”
“I can’t.” Clumps of sediment rimmed her gums. “My things—”
“We’ll come back—”
“I can’t.”
Preston paced the bedroom. I wasn’t going to miss this chance.
“Look at me.” I held her face. “Get your keys, wait in the car. I’ll pack some things in my bag for you.”
Her lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Billie. I don’t feel like myself.”
“It’s okay.” I hugged her. “We’ll get you safe and we can have a big laugh about this, alright?”
“Alright.”
“He’s in the bedroom?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Are your clothes still in the guest room?”
She nodded. Her jaw clicked.
“Go. I’ll be right there.”
I watched Corinne grab her keys as I climbed the stairs. I watched the closed bedroom door and held my breath as I heard Corinne unlock her car. I waited to hear his voice, then snuck across the hall.
The guest room was cold and tidy. I began pulling clothes from the dresser and tossed them on the neatly made bed, pausing only to look for something blunt and heavy when he was quiet. Dust flew into the air as I stuffed her clothes into my bag. I swallowed my coughs and my urge to flee till my head throbbed.
I studied the surface of the nightstand, caked with dust. Frowning, I lifted one of her shirts to my nose. It smelled like cedar. The room wasn’t neat—it was untouched.
I rushed to the window and peeked at the driveway through the blinds. Black mold and moisture dappled the pane. A chill grazed my arms. Corinne’s car was empty.
Down the hall, the bedroom door slammed. From inside, Corinne screamed.
“Corinne?” I ran for the door, turning the knob and pushing hard when I reached it. It wouldn’t budge.
I kicked and pushed. I’d break its hinges if I had to. I rammed my shoulder against the wood until I felt a pop and my ears rang with pain. Her silence terrified me.
“Let her go!” I pleaded, ramming with my other shoulder.
The latch opened and sent me sprawling across the floor. I scrambled to my feet, holding up my arms while my eyes adjusted. Every step roused the smell of decay.
The sound of my pulse filled the air as I searched. The closet—including all his shelves—was empty. In their bathroom, one towel hung over the shower door. There wasn’t a sign of him anywhere. Corinne, however, felt everywhere.
The bedframe squeaked behind me, and my adrenaline rush turned into a shudder when I faced it. A thick mass of black mold radiated from the bed and crept over the walls, carpet, and ceiling. I held my breath and moved to the center of the room, examining the space on one side of the bed where the duvet was still white. Its shape was human—familiar.
A branch pulsed and writhed over my foot. I recoiled and stepped backward into a body. A thin arm wrapped around my neck. I saw the flash of a wedding ring.
“Corinne?” I gasped. “What are you doing?”
Her hold tightened as she pressed me toward the bed.
“Stop!”
Her lips brushed against my ear. “I think you should stay with me for a little while.”
I silenced my spinning mind and dug my nails into her arm. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to survive.
I threw my head into her nose and pushed with my legs, sending us both onto the floor. I clawed down the hall, kicking her off until I could run.
It didn’t matter—she caught me by the shoulders at the mouth of the stairs and pushed. I turned, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pulled her with me. We fell together, crashing against the steps in a tumble of crunching bones.
I shake the thought that this could be part of my life flashing before me. I glare at the mold creeping over the front door but drag myself into the foyer anyway.
Something crunches and rattles behind me. Out of hope, I push for the exit. Out of fear, I look back.
The surface of Corinne’s skin flickers and radiates with indigo blotches, reshaping her skeleton as she slinks down the stairs. Blood spurts from her lips. Her teeth chatter and chip while her face skids against the floor. As she pushes herself up to her hands and knees, her head drops and hangs before a black claw of mold reaches across the back of her neck and into her scalp.
I want to call for her, but her name gets stuck in my throat.
Corinne’s head snaps forward. Skeins of mold catch the edges of her face, pulling her mouth into a gummy, bloodied grin. Her gaze locks onto mine. She charges—back arched, hands and knees slapping against the floorboards.
Before I hear my own scream, she pulls and twists my body underneath her. She pins her knees onto my biceps and drops her head to hover over mine. I wail from the pain as my ribs buckle under her weight.
“That one was different.” Preston’s voice spills out of Corinne’s mouth. “Do that again.”
I clench my jaw but wail again as she presses her palm into my dislocated shoulder. “Corinne! Stop!”
“Corinne!” Preston’s voice shifts into Corinne’s, then into mine. “Stop!”
I start to cry. Corinne unhinges her jaw and weeps with me. Inky tears fall onto my cheeks.
“I could’ve gotten us out,” I whisper before her hands cover my mouth and nose. As I grunt and kick, the house echoes with a collage of my screams and cries.
I watch the mold spread under her skin, traveling down her arms and into her palms. I choke on the cold burn of spores as her tears trickle into my eyes. Darkness pours into my widening pupils. In the surviving pinpoint of my vision, her dead mouth smiles.
Author Jordan Nishkian is an Armenian-Portuguese writer based in California. Her prose and poetry explore themes of duality and have been featured in national and international publications. She is a winner of the Rollick Magazine Fiction Prize and nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best American Short Stories.
Artist Tanya Young is a BIPOC writer, visual artist, and PhD student. Her work is featured in publications such as Salt Hill Journal, The Amistad, New York Quarterly, and others. She is a VONA alum. Currently, she is a staff reader for TriQuarterly. She has also read for publications such as Frontier Poetry and Tupelo Press. www.tanyasroom.com IG: wheelofashes
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