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“Okay,” I replied, hanging up the phone.

The car starts and all I can do is hope I won’t be too late.

130

Mireya

Play - The Night We Met by Lord Huron & Phoebe Bridgers

My name is, Mireya Vitelli

I wake up again and I’m returning in pieces. My head is heavy and bloodied. I try to move, to say something but there's pain when I shift my face. I notice it, the wounds, the carved mine on my chest.

The room is still here. The projector is off, my hands don’t shake anymore. They’re still here. There’s a page sitting next to me. And a pen. But I can’t stand up. I can’t move.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

I hear him but I don’t hold the words properly. They don’t attach to anything. I try to think and something interrupts it immediately.

My name is⁠—

I stop and try again.

My name is⁠—

I know I know it. I can feel that I know it, but I can’t retrieve it. There’s this shadow, his hands… his hands are on my mouth, I can’t. I can’t say anything. I hear his voice again.

“Write.”

I blink and something changes inside my head. Blue eyes looking at me like I’m still something that can be held together. Like no matter what I am right now, that doesn’t change what I am to him. I blink again and the room is back.

Chair. Paper. Him.

I try to think of something else because thinking about this makes it worse. I reach for anything. The shell jar is waiting at home. I see it clearly. I don’t know why that matters right now but it does. Milo would love it. I remember that. I remember wanting him to see it. I remember the idea of giving it to him and him being happy.

My breathing stutters, but I don’t notice I’m crying again until my throat tightens.

My name is⁠—

I will try again.

My name is⁠—

I press my tongue against my teeth like that helps me stay here. I can’t come to the cliff yet…

“Write what you saw,” he says.

I hear it properly this time but it doesn’t fully enter me. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to describe that.

Fight. Fight. Again. Fight.

Why am I fighting when it’s too late?

Why am I fighting when it’s too late?

Why am I⁠—

No. I stop it. I don’t want that thought.