Turning

CW: Themes of substance abuse, brief gore

The blinker clicked and Krystal turned the wheel to circle the block again.

“I don’t think you get it,” Britney repeated. “I have a problem.”

Krystal puffed her cheeks as she let out a long breath. She was trying to hold an inviting tone, but she hadn’t spearheaded this conversation before and uncertainty kept creeping in. She had already cataloged a few snarky comments to give Shari on their nightly call later, for coercing her into this situation in the first place.

“I understand better than you might think, but you’re not alone in this.” She winced to hear how hollow and corny her words sounded, but she’d have to carry on reciting stale sentiments until she conjured a better tactic.

“No, I don’t think you do understand,” Britney said nervously, fidgeting with her too-long sleeves. Curtains of faded dye guarded her thickly lined eyes as they flicked across the dashboard.

“I shouldn’t even be here right now.” Britney looked around from the passenger seat as they turned another corner through Krystal’s neighborhood.

“Is someone after you? Do you still owe money or something?” Krystal’s alertness sharpened—if so, that would be a ticking time bomb. Just a few months ago they had a guy relapse because his dealer tracked him down for money.

“No…no…” Britney trailed off and continued to look around, darting eyes wide and skittering. They were approaching Krystal’s house and she decided to pull in the driveway this time. Maybe Britney could focus better and tell her what was going on if she wasn’t distracted by motion.

The silver Civic inched up the gravel and came to rest under the rickety carport. The sun had set hours ago, and the streetlights were too shy to come as far as the crooked shelter. The added darkness felt more private, more anonymous, more welcoming to reluctant secrets.

Krystal rolled her window down a few inches and pulled out her Newports. She fumbled for a different approach to the conversation as she deftly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She held out the pack to Britney, but pulled back after a few seconds in which Britney didn’t so much as acknowledge the offer.

Now that’s odd, Krystal thought, stashing the pack back in the car’s console.

“We’ve all been there, and done things we’re not proud of,” Krystal started in again, internally cringing as she fell back on the dead horse. “You’re not alone anymore, and things sometimes feel more manageable when you let them out.” She inhaled from her cigarette, giving Britney a chance to respond. The silence was only disturbed by the soft shake of Vans bouncing on carpet and the distant whoosh of a car passing on the street behind them, so she carried on.

“In active addi—”

“That’s not what this is!” Britney burst out. She had turned in her seat and was directly facing Krystal now, wide-eyed and defensive. Or was that panicky? Krystal drew another breath from her cigarette.

“What would you call it then?” She was not surprised by the outburst, but felt awkward and unpracticed in handling it. She tried to remember being on the other side of this conversation and sifted memories for her next line. Britney looked back down towards her hands.

“I’m worried what will happen if we talk about it. I don’t want it to affect anyone else.” Britney’s voice had retreated. She bit the corner of her lip.

Now we’re getting somewhere, Krystal thought. “I’ve been doing this for a while, I’ve heard it all,” she said as she poked the butt of her cigarette through the opening in the window and let go. The ashy nub paused on the small ledge at the base of the window before rolling off onto the ground. “I don’t think you can shock me.” She rolled her window back up.

Britney was kneading her sleeve between her fingers again. “So no matter what, you won’t think I’m some kind of monster or something?”

Krystal smiled warmly, lightened to finally speak with true sincerity. ”No matter what.”

Britney took a deep breath and used her right hand to grab the left cuff of her hoodie. She slowly, performatively, pulled the sleeve back until the thick fabric was bunched up around her bicep. Krystal looked down.

The point of interest was indeed nestled in the crook of Britney’s arm, but it was not the telltale tracks Krystal had expected. Instead, there was a globular walnut-sized sphere glowing there. It looked to be embedded under Britney’s skin, but it was shining bright enough that she couldn’t be sure. Krystal couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen the light through the girl’s hoodie, but judging by Britney’s fresh grimace, Krystal wondered if it had intensified when exposed. Britney looked for her response, but she was lost for words. She continued to watch, and the thing pulsed. Was that in time with Britney’s heartbeat? It seemed to grow in size before her eyes.

“Britney, what...?” Krystal began to ask, but the pulsating appeared to quicken and intensify in response to her words. As she watched, mesmerized, the throbbing bluish light shone even brighter and cast the car’s interior in its inhuman fluorescent heartbeat. Britney started to shake with silent tears. Her body was now turned to the window, but her arm was still held out to Krystal in offering. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing, but the orb of light was growing at a rate that left no room to think.

Before Krystal’s eyes, Britney’s skin burst open and peeled back from the edges of the now grapefruit-sized sphere. Each strip of skin blossomed out and away from the brightness at the center, the veiny undersides now exposed and wetly dripping. Curling onto themselves as they extruded around the blinding orb, the ribbons of fleshy thickness gently thrashed as earthworms after a rain, showing off now that they could be seen at last. The seeping redness mercifully sizzled into the smell of hot tar, and a stale humidity thickened the air. The emanating light had grown to welding-torch intensity and burned at Krystal’s eyes. She could feel the tinny, echoing vibrations of a sound too high-pitched to hear. A long-forgotten headache made room and spread out behind Krystal’s ears. She reflexively squinted, and the pain responded with a step backward. She closed her eyes completely, and everything went dark.

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

Krystal opened her eyes. Her head was throbbing and her tongue felt glued to her teeth. She was still sitting in the driver’s seat of her Civic, but the light filtering through the carport was bright and sunny.

Tap tap tap.

“What the fuck, Mom,” a familiar voice yelled from outside, muffled by the car door. Krystal looked to her right but the passenger seat was empty. She swiveled to check the back seat, but found only crumpled Taco Bell bags and a neglected Amazon return. She was alone.

Krystal turned back to the tapping and saw her teenage daughter Megan leaning over the car window. With a backpack on one shoulder, she was knocking her ringed fingers against the glass directly in front of Krystal’s face.

“Unlock the door—if I miss chemistry again I’ll have to do extra pages on the next lab.” It registered with Krystal that it was time to drive Megan to school. Krystal fumbled the button to unlock the doors and looked back over at the empty passenger seat. Her mind flashed. The pulsing light, the peeling skin, you won’t think I’m some kind of monster? The passenger door opened and Megan huffed inside.

“So I guess I’ll tell Shari to get another white tag ready then, huh?” Megan challenged from the junction of sarcasm and righteousness. Krystal looked at her blankly—the afterimage of the pulsing orb dammed her explanation behind the pounding headache. Megan waited for a beat, eyes momentarily begging to be corrected, then snapped.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mom, what is wrong with you? Can’t you at least hold your shit together until I’m eighteen? That last home they sent me to was so nasty, and the neighbor boy was a total creep.” She slammed the door and jerked her upturned palm a few times between the dashboard and Krystal, a clear gesture that she should start the car.

Krystal reached for the key in the ignition and gently twisted the Civic to life. Bleary-eyed and confused, she carefully pulled the gearshift into reverse and started inching the car backward out of the driveway. Megan turned to face the window in silence, her jaw set against tears.

They were on the move.