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“About what?”

This time, he smiles slightly, “About you.”

“You’d be disappointed,” I spit out this while looking away. I don’t see him move, I only feel his fingers lightly tighten around mine before releasing them.

“Show me, and let me be disappointed then.” He looks at my hand rather than my face when he continues. “It doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t matter what’s wrong.” He pauses, as if searching for something simple to say. “Don’t hide it from me.”

I finally look up. “You say it like it’s easy.”

He shakes his head very slightly. “I didn’t ask easy.” He exhales a long breath. “I asked you.”

I freeze for a second too long. Then, he gently releases my fingers, and I feel myself recoiling despite the fact that my heart suffers from the lack of warmth his hand was giving me. But I still feel the ashes of the contact when he takes a half step back.

“Mister Caldwell,” I call before leaving.

He smiles softly, his hand mid-air where he stopped touching me and replies, “Yes, Miss Vitelli?”

“You were flirting with me,” I admit, confused about the way he softens whenever we’re alone.

He shakes his head twice, then looks at me. “No. It would be way too unprofessional.”

“Then what are you doing?” I ask, taking another step back.

“Losing control,” he breathes carefully. My breath catches and I don’t even have the time to reply before he adds, “Library, tonight." Then, after a pause, “And try not to disappear before then.”

“I won’t,” I murmur one last time before opening the door and leaving him once more alone.

I won’t disappear anymore.

53

Mireya

Past

Play - 5 More Minutes by Sydney Rose

Seven Minutes

My head…my head is messed up again.

Snow is falling against the windows now. Little white pieces disappearing into the dark. Everyone kept saying snow was beautiful today. That it was a happy day. So happy we should all celebrate. But Christmas has never been Christmas to me. It was just the day everyone else got to be happy while I remembered who wasn’t here anymore.

Happy birthday, mom.

Somewhere, people are receiving presents. Somewhere my mom should’ve been older. Somewhere I should’ve been okay. But I’m not. I’m fucking sick. I’m sick and I’m a mess.

I’m not replying to Hayzel, nor Ethan. I’m not smiling at Milo and I hate it. I hate the way his face closes up when mine isn’t pretending to be so bright anymore.

Edna is taking care of him today and dad isn’t at home. He never is when it’s her birthday.

I’m scared and tired. And I can’t keep doing this.

The bottle is empty already, the white powder is still all over the desk and my thoughts are nothing.

I hate it. I hate having to stay. Having to work and work and do things when all I can think of is leaving. These sick thoughts in my head keep coming back. If I go, Milo won’t be in danger, dad loves him. He hates me and only me.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.