Chapter 4

The rain had stopped but the air was chilly. She reached the porch, her drenched muddy shoes squelching and squeaking with every step, hair dripping wet and clinging to her face. The rain hadn't let up, and the wind cut through her like icy knives. Shivering, Jay stepped up to the door and fumbled with the handle. She twisted it—locked. The door was locked.

"What?" she whispered, then tried again.

She rattled the knob harder this time, but it didn't budge. "No one must be at home…" she muttered, her teeth chattering in her mouth, bone hitting bone.

She stepped back and looked around, hoping — praying — for a spare key. Under the flowerpot. In the fake rock. In the usual corner behind the shoe rack. Nothing.

"No keys?!" Her voice cracked with frustration.

Her drenched clothes clung to her skin, and her backpack had soaked through. Cold water dripped down her spine. Her fingers were numb, and now her nose that was now red, was starting to sting. She couldn't take it anymore — the day had already drained her, and this was the final blow.

With trembling hands, she pulled out her phone. Her fingers slipped on the wet screen as she opened her contacts. She tapped on a number saved without a name — just a white heart emoji.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

No answer.

"Mama… where on earth are you? Why aren't you picking up?!" she cried out into the void of rain and wind.

She hung up and dialed another number, this one saved with a mustache emoji. "Please…" she whispered.

But that number was switched off.

Jay stared at her phone screen as the message "The number you are trying to reach is currently powered off..." echoed in her ears like a cruel joke.

"Damn it!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Why is everyone doing this to me?!"

She dropped to her knees on the porch, the backpack sliding off her shoulder with a dull thud. Her hands covered her face as the tears finally broke free. She sobbed into her palms, her cries muffled by the thunder overhead.

The day had been unbearable. From the awkward encounter in the pharmacy, to the public humiliation in the bus, to the peppermint-girl's strange kindness. All of it — too much, too fast, too heavy. Now, this. Locked out of her own home. Alone in the cold.

The rain started pouring again, harde this timer, soaking her completely. Her breath came out in foggy puffs. Her fingers turned blue. The porch light flickered above, but it didn't help the darkness creeping into her limbs.

It was getting dark and there was still no sign of anyone who could open the door for her. She tried calling her parents again but again no one received her call. Miserable as she was, she got up on her knees and looked at the locked door. She took out a hair pin from her messed up hair and tried unlocking it but to no success.

Soon Jay's head started to feel light. Her vision blurred. She sat down by the door. She couldn't feel her toes. Her ears were still ringing with a high-pitched buzz. She blinked hard, trying to stay upright. She felt sleepy and a current like sensation passed through her head, it was as if water had entered through her nostrils and caused a really bad headache and an electrical sensation. She knew sleeping in this cold would be death of her. Then suddenly she saw someone pointing their torch at her, it caused her to flinch and then she fell unconscious. And everything faded.

When Jay woke up again, she was warm.

She blinked, confused, the dim golden light of her bedside lamp washing over familiar walls. Her comforter was tucked neatly around her. Her wet clothes were gone — replaced by dry, soft pajamas. Her hair smelled faintly of jasmine shampoo.

She sat up slowly, disoriented.

Had that entire day been… a dream?

Then the pain returned. The soreness in her body. The tightness in her chest. The cold remembered in her bones. The humiliation. The peppermint. The bus. The girl. The locked door.

It wasn't a dream.

The door creaked open, and her mother stepped in, balancing a tray with two steaming cups of tea and a small bowl of biscuits.

"Jay, dear," her mother said cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. "Come, let's have some tea."

Jay stared at her, blinking again.

Her mother set the tray down and began arranging the cups and spoons like she was hosting a guest, not comforting her own daughter who'd nearly passed out in the rain.

"Mama!" Jay burst out suddenly, unable to hold it in. "Why didn't you leave the keys behind?"

"I did, sweetheart," her mother said without missing a beat, not even glancing up. "I left them in the usual place."

"I checked!" Jay's voice rose, raw with frustration. "There was nothing there!"

"Then it must be your fault, isn't it?" her mother replied, still smiling. "For not looking clearly."

Jay froze.

The warmth in that smile — wasn't there. It was painted on, like a practiced gesture.

"And why weren't you picking up your phone?" Jay asked, louder this time, her voice cracking at the edge.

Her mother finally looked up and said in a flat tone, "Because I was busy, Jay. Do I really have to explain myself to you now?"

Jay's lips trembled.

Busy?

She lowered her eyes to her hands, which were still shaking slightly despite the warmth of the blanket.

Everything she had felt earlier began to build again — a rising wave of helplessness, anger, loneliness.

She took a sharp breath and whispered to herself under it all, barely audible:

"…I didn't do enough?"

Her mother didn't respond. She was too busy stirring sugar into the tea.

Jay looked out the window. The rain had stopped and it was pitch dark. The night was on top with a chilly air and smell of the mud causing a serenity but inside jay, the storm raged on.

"Here"… her mother offered her a cup of tea.