Home. The word meant different things to different people. It could mean a house, a place or even a person. But they all held something in common—home was where comfort was. 

Not for Tressi.

Home meant anxiety, panic, terror, and the wish to run far, far away. She had not thought of Lapec as home in a long time. In fact, she wondered if she ever considered it such—if she had ever felt at ease, even when she had been a child.

It was raining when she landed. No surprise there. It always rained in Lapec. 

Dark. Depressing. Dingy. 

She could feel claustrophobia settling down on her and tried to shake it off. She missed Minty. She wished she could just board a plane straight back there. It was sunny in Minty. There was space to breathe. The clouds did not close up on you. 

Deep breaths.

It was going to be fine, she had to believe that. She knew she was supposed to watch out for her luggage in the conveyor belt but her eyes were unfocused. She would have almost let it pass her by, if the guy standing next to her hadn't bumped her whilst getting his. She pulled it out at the last second.

Focus Tressi.

Her plan had been to get to the institution straight away, but now that she had landed, the immediate prospect of facing her mother had her back tracking instantaneously. 

Freshening up's good. 

She'd check in. Wash the smell of the plane away and then... just get it over with. She only had two days. 

The hotel she was going to stay at, Lapec Point, was not fancy. In fact, nothing in the area of Lapec could be remotely related to fancy. Everything was old, frayed and in severe need of an update. Lapec Point was no different. The computer, the manager, the lobby decor, the lift—everything was hopelessly behind times. At least twenty years behind.

The only reason, Tressi supposed, that it had not gone out of business was because it had no competition. It was either this or seedy motels. No one else had bothered to build a decent hotel in the godforsaken town.

The room was small and the drapes had not been dusted for ages. A rusted kettle stood at the counter, which guaranteed electrocuting anyone who tried to plug it in. The bathtub was stained yellow, although evenly, so it was difficult to tell if the initial white had dulled to this colour or if this had been the original shade. Tressi was predisposed to think the former. Dust hung heavy in the air, suggesting no one had used the room in quite some time.

The bellboy brought up her luggage and was surprised when she tipped him, leading her to wonder if the concept of tipping was foreign to Lapec.

Tressi switched on the ancient water heater. The rooms still had individual water heaters.

How old is this place? 

As she waited for the water to heat up—which, going by the look and feel of the place, suggested twenty minutes conservatively—she settled into a chair and switched on the prehistoric TV, briefly wondering if it worked. To her surprise, it did. But the remote stuck, and she had to press down on the buttons till her fingernails protested to actually change the channel. She gave up after four tries, resigned to watch whatever came on with the pre-set volume.

A half hour later, the water was still only lukewarm; she decided to cut her losses and just shower. Once she was done, she took out her hairbrush and brushed out the tangles that had formed at the base of her skull. Though short, her hair did have the tendency to clump and bunch up together, curling at the nape and temples. 

The hairbrush pulling on her scalp was weirdly satisfying as her hair became smoother and easier to manage. She clipped it at the crown, hating how the dampness made the frizz prick at her back. She wiped her dewy skin across the base of the neck trying to get rid of the sensation, rubbing on it till it was raw from the heat of the shower and the friction. Her palms turned pink scraping across the scratchy hotel towel. She ran it under the cool tap water to soothe.

And then, her palms bled. 

Tressi rubbed her hands frantically trying to wash off the blood that gushed from her palms. 

Why doesn't it hurt? Why am I not screaming? It. Isn't. Real. 

She screwed her eyes shut as she smelt vanilla and citrus mixed with blood in the air. 

It. Isn't. Real.

She waited.

One. Two. Three. 

Deep breaths in and out. 

She opened her eyes to find the blood gone and her palms pink. The smell faded from the air and moist steam from the shower replaced it. 

Her lashes felt wet and tears dripped down from her jaw. She placed her hand under the stream letting the coolness calm her. As the water flowed, so did the memories of the woman that had raised her. The woman she would soon come face to face with after six years.

Looking up at the fogged mirror, Tressi saw fear reflected in the face that she struggled to recognise as her own.