I see wrinkles I never imagined I would experience in my teen years. I see bags that I never thought wouldn't be in my hands. Yet, I don't see something that I always imagined I would have and that is Kam at my side. His infidelity flashes each time I blink or close my eyes to sleep. His arms wrapping around her like some long lost lover. I know what it felt like, his hands around her. The way he'd run his fingers up and down my own spine as our fronts were pressed together, a thin sheet protecting us from the cool breeze that would sweep through the window and across the floor. And the way his slow breathing would lift me ever so slightly up and down rhythmically. I know it all. And while those memories should bring me some comfort during these horrible weeks without him, they bring me nothing of the sort. They bring me nothing but a surging hatred for the man I once believed would be at my sides at all times.

Peter and Ren arguing downstairs snaps me out of it and I turn back to my daughter who sits on the floor next to me, playing with her toys. A big smile on her face. Giggling like the home around her hasn't started to crack. I envy her in more ways than one. She has no idea what's gone on. She doesn't care what's to come from all this. She doesn't understand and because of that, she struggles to feel betrayal or hatred or anything that burns me on the inside. What a life that would be.

When I was young, I don't remember my parents ever fighting. To me, they were the perfect couple. They were far from, I'm not blind, but they never struggled with drinking or addictions, or cheating or the law. They were pretty simple during my early years. Yet now, watching my daughter play, more preoccupied with how her stuffed animal can't bend its legs to side on the floor without tipping over, I start to wonder if I was just like her and how maybe there was a lot going on that I couldn't understand and shrugged off.

I pick her up and pull her in close, kissing her dearly on the side of the head.

It's an hour later that I get her in the stroller and holler to the boys to hurry up. I'm already down the steps of the porch and making my way to the sidewalk that I finally hear one of them slam the front door closed. They are still going at one another. Something about one breaking the other's controller for the video game system my parents bought them for Snowflake Day. Who's mad at whom--couldn't say. But they fight all the way from inside down the whole streetside.

The house turned to hell the moment I kicked Kam to the curb. I'd really hate to sound like the poor defenseless victim of this whole debacle, but Kam really got the easy side of things. He didn't have to explain to the children what happened and why daddy wouldn't be living with us anymore. He didn't have to console them or say things kindly regardless of how he treated me for the sake of his offspring. All he had to do is arrive and pick his things up at the side of the street where I had left it. Do this while I'm not at home and he's off the hook. I reminded him about my promise the last time we spoke: running him over with my car if he decided to come in my proximity. He seemed to have got the message. I left with the kids one day for groceries and when I got back his stuff was gone.

I see my parents once we make it to the train station a few minutes later. They give me a wave and I smile and wave back even if seconds later I whip around to the boys and tell them, quite aggressively too, to get over themselves and to deal with it.

"But Ren--" Peter tries to say and my glare seems to quiet him instantly.

"I don't care what Ren did. Accidents happen so move on."

"But--"

"No buts!" I may be speaking quietly so as not to create a scene, but I am as straight forward as I would be at full volume. "Now, put a smile on, say hi to Grandma and Grandpa and be good for them for the weekend, please. Do you understand me?"

Both boys, while reluctant, bow their heads and nod. As I gesture for them to go to the grandparents, who stand a few yards away, I can see Ren is happy he is off the hook, though Peter doesn't share it. He's been the most hurt by all of this. Probably because he's been exposed to the most and understands. Our eyes lock. Ren has already dashed for my parents and Peter stands there disapprovingly staring me down. Finally, he walks past me and I hear him say, "Dad's thing was an accident and I don't see you moving on."

I get the kids into my parents' hands, bid them good luck and thank them. My mother, who's always been a little distant with me, asks how I am doing and I just shrug it off. I know what she wants: to know what's all gone on. I just called her and asked if she would mind babysitting the kids so that I can have a breather. I haven't told her anything about Kam, but she knows. I know she knows. She's always been able to read my facial expressions and body language. And the only reason I know is because I have that same trait. I got it from her, however.

Once it is me and only me, I travel to the park. Yesterday was Love Day and now the spring festival is cleaning up the place. Seeing the remaining lovebirds venture around the park, hands in each other's pockets and lips touching one another's cheeks, I am brought back to the fall festival on Halloween and how much simpler everything was then. I had started to break away from my anxiety revolving my media presence and the people around town had shown they'd had my back.

"Why do I feel like I am such a failure now?" I mumble to myself.

My phone rings almost immediately afterwards and I answer it.

"Hey, it's Olive."

"Hi, Olive, how are you?"

"You sound terrible," she says.

"Well, I lost my husband--"

"You have got to stop this self-pitying, Chasity."

"I just lost my husband, I think I have reason to pity myself," I counter.

"Hey, I get it. Of all people, I get it, but Chasity, you need to step out of it. You two separated months ago and it's time for you to move on."

I have a sudden urge to tell her being with somebody for a few weeks like she and her late husband is very different than Kam and me. I don't say anything, though. That would hurt her and she's only trying to help out.

"I really hurt," I say instead. "I don't know what to do with myself. I'm lost. Every time I try to do something like write, all I can see is the two of them."

Olive sighs on the other end. "I guess it doesn't help to hear that they've moved in together, huh?"

I grunt, though I shouldn't be surprised. Kam moved into Rose's apartment when I kicked him out.

"I think you need to get out. A few friends of mine are having a small get together tonight. I think you should come."

"I don't know."

"You're coming. I'll text you the address."

I arrive a few hours later. As I pull up, I see Olive's car and the long winding stairs that lead up to the house. I make my way up and as I make it tot he landing, I realize that this small get together is far bigger than I imagined. I expected a couple of people, four or five max, but as I count the bodies that I have to wiggle through to make it to the front door, there are at least ten outside. How many are inside?

"Excuse me," somebody says behind me as I reach for the door handle. I turn back to see a young man with pale skin. He looks like a cross between Freddie Highmore and Anthony Perkins, and he puts a hand between me and the door to stop me from entering.

"Mother's asked that we not enter until she is ready."

"I'm sorry," I say as I pull back. "I was told the party started at 5pm." I check my watch. It's ten after.

"The party doesn't begin until Mother says." He looks me up and down slowly. It's as if I can actually feel him scrutinizing my every flaw. He tilts his head to the side to motion me towards the horde of other guests. "Soon... We'll be ready soon."

"Chasity Lennox!"

I spin around and see a woman with fire-engine red hair. "Nadia?" I say. I haven't seen her since the first time we met back at the park when she attacked the paparazzi that was harassing me with her guitar. "What are you doing here?"

"I was summoned, like you were," she says matter-of-factly.

"I was invited," I correct her. "Olive told me to come."

A look of epiphany blooms on her face. "Oh, you're the one!"

"I am?"

"Oh you are! I can't wait for you to meet her!"

My mind is swimming and for the life of me, it can't reach the shore. "Meet who?"

"Chasity!" It's Olive this time. She's just made it to my side. "I'm so glad you made it. I didn't know if you'd show."

"No, I said I'd come." I glance around. "A few friends, huh?"

"I know, I wasn't expecting so many people either. Ah wells, the more the merrier I suppose."

The doors to the house open feet from us and the young man from earlier has returned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the doors have opened and Mother has joined us. Shall we?" He then motions to the door for everybody to enter.

Olive starts toward the door and I follow suit, close to her side.

"So, how do you know these people?" I ask. We've made it into the house to the foyer. It's dark for the most part with soft purple lighting, candles, thick rugs and decor made of taxidermy.

"Friends of friends. Small town." Olive speaks softly, almost dreamlike. "Eventually, you learn everybody's name."

"How's the young man?"

"Morgan Yates. He's her son."

"Whose son?" Before Olive can answer, she's turned into a side room, a living room of sorts. Men and women make out on old, expensive loungers, others' exploring hands touching exposed legs, arms and necklines.

In the back, I notice a woman. I don't understand how somebody can look both kind and wicked at the same time. Skin the colour of snow, lips the colour of blood and eyes that looked almost as if they could be glowing. In one hand she holds a glass of red wine.

"Mother," Olive says as she puts an arm across her chest and bows her head.

Mother? I swallow hard. Something is up. I know for a fact this is not Olive's mother.

"This is the one I told you about," Olive continues.

The woman looks me up and down, much as Morgan did earlier. "I guess we shall see. Come, shall we?" She gets up to her feet and makes her way past me into the hall. In that moment, I catch a whiff of her. I've smelled it before. Back when I searched Olive's property. Its potent metallic scent holds onto me until it's followed the woman into the room across the hall.

"Come, everybody," Morgan says a few feet from where I stand. "Mother is ready."

Olive and I are one of the last to step inside. We've ended up in the dining room. Countless chairs sit around a dining table that runs the length of the room. The table seats twenty, each spot set for the designated guest via a name card over a perfectly white cloth. Olive spots mine right away. I'm at the head of the table. I don't believe it until I actually pick up the card and read it under my breath, "Chasity Lennox." Olive pulls the seat out for me and I sit down.

Everybody has taken their seats and are quiet for a long time. Men and women in decked out clothing pop in early and drop both a wine glass for each guest and another comes and fills it with red wine. Stinky red wine. I mean, I've always found red wine to hold a peculiar scent, but this isn't that. And soon the whole room smells like Olive's trash can at home. The woman, Mother as everybody calls her, is at the other end of the table now and looks down the line at me.

"You've all been asked to come this evening for a special purpose. Very rarely do we find the individuals who are mentally fit and free enough to accept what we have to offer. Today is different. Today we welcome a new member to our family."

I press my lips together and they form a straight line.

"Olive Spencer has brought it to my attention many months ago that we could use somebody like her friend."

I glance over at Olive, but she's staring straight at Mother. Something doesn't feel right.

"She told me," Mother goes on, "how similar she feels outside our community. She told me how easily she is prey for outsiders. How she doesn't fit inside a certain mould. That we could trust her." She raises her glass. "So, this is to you, Chasity Lennox. This ceremony is to you."

The men and women around the table all say "agree" together is one voice as they raise their own glass and then drink from it. Mother has gestured to my glass and I pick it up uncertainly.

"You have been chosen for this community's voice. For the rebirth of us all!" With one swoop of her hands, she pulls the cloth and in the table's inlay, I am looking at a man's body. He's naked except for a loincloth and his body is covered in fruits and vegetables. My heart lurches for a moment until something inside my brain tries to stabilize my fear. I've seen this before. It's nantaimori. It's a Japanese practice from the samurai period in Japan when warriors would celebrate a victorious battle. This isn't out of this world...

But it is not until I look into the face of the man who is being used as a serving platter that my fear heightens.

John Doe. The man that was put into my room those many months ago. While I thought it was because of the purple lighting, I can now see the blue of his lips and the frost on his eyelashes and hair.

The waiters from earlier have returned with plates, setting each spot with knives and forks. Some carry in dishes of sauces and other condiments, and one has a tray of jars with what looks like white gumballs inside. Looking closer I realize they aren't gumballs at all. They're human eyes.

Bile splashes the back of my throat and it takes all I have to swallow it back down. And in that instant, it hits me hard. That stench I smelled back at Olive's house, the one that reminded me of all those times playing with friends at school on the monkey bars... That metallic smell... What I caught a whiff of when Mother walked by me and now what the whole room smells like... It's not red wine in their glasses. It's blood.