“Janus facing east and west
End, beginning, both are blessed
Purple skies, Cold Moon’s fires
Manifests my hearts desires.”
Chapter One
January 4 Grael 9
HER hand went instinctively to her hazel eye that was already turning black as it began to puff. She stood in the dark, staring at the figure in the mirror before her. She didn’t need light to see that her eye was beginning to swell, framed by her wiry red hair that hung to her waist. Her hand shook as it rested on the swelling. She could smell him on her; the sour stench of whiskey and Newport intermingled in the spiral ringlets of her hair. Wiping away the silent tears that began to spill down her cheeks, she stared at the reflection of the room behind her.
Clothes scattered themselves haphazardly about the room. The floor, the bed, the chair next to the bookcase that served for reaching above the second shelf—were covered in clothes that had either been worn or tried on in the past two weeks since she’d done laundry. Various shades of lavender painted the room around her—a manic, artistic mood gone horribly wrong. The bookcase was a splatter paint disaster—a dark violet with every shade of lighter purple splattered in small and languid strokes of a dollar store paint brush. Her laptop, covered in purple stickers of fairies wearing corsets and thigh high boots, peeked out from underneath a large body pillow. Several pairs of boots of different lengths were jumbled about without their mates. Books that wouldn’t fit on the shelves were stacked up against the wall, various Shakespeare anthologies, an odd collection that somehow seemed to fit in the whirlwind of oddity that was her room.
The streetlight came in through the blinds, lighting up the floor to the point that she didn’t need a light. Fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, her hand shook, making it impossible to unbutton it. Without much effort, she gave up and crawled onto the mattress on the floor that was her bed. Without undressing, she curled up under the sheets she’d made of discount fabric and exhaled a choked sob. Feeling underneath the pillow for stray sleeping pills and finding nothing, she swung her head over the edge of the bed and felt around beside it. Lots of stray socks, but no pills. Getting up, she made her way, stepping on clothes, kicking aside boots, and dumped out the contents of her patchwork book bag. Among the pens and notebooks she found the opaque green bottle and shook it. It was half empty.
Emptying six into her hand, she looked around for something to wash it down with. She could chew them, but that was reserved for emergencies and usually made her vomit. Next to the bookcase was a long forgotten Pepsi One can. She shook it. There was about an inch left. Flat, forgotten soda washed down the little blue pills in her hand. Crawling back to bed, Adrienne Judianna Venet sobbed herself to sleep.
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