Page 139 of Coco and the Misfits

This girl. This sweet girl. What’s eating at her?

I text her that I’m here, expecting her to ignore me, to tell me to go away, but she buzzes me up.

I wasn’t prepared to find her crying. Her hair is knotted, her face blotched and streaked with tears, her lounging pants and blouse wrinkled. Her feet are bare, tiny toenails painted pink, and my heart gives a sweet throb at the sight.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” I ask as I enter, and she turns away, shuffling over to the sofa.

“I don’t know!” She cries harder. “I don’t know what is wrong.”

“I don’t believe you. Something happened.”

She shakes her head, pink hair flying as she slumps against the cushions.

“Did anyone hurt you? Should I go and string them up by the balls?”

“How do you know it’s a man?” She sniffles, giving me a tremulous smile. “It could be a girl.”

“Is it, though?” I ask, preparing to get my black heart broken. She has every right to fall for someone else.

“Yes!”

“Which girl?”

“Me.”

“Oh, Coco…” I sit down beside her. “What’s wrong with my girl?”

“I’m wrong. All wrong.”

“We all are, sugar. What’s your wound? Where is the crack? Tell me.”

I’m like a cat, pushing things off tables to see if they crash, but she has wings and can’t fall, fluttering right back up. A strong girl. A feisty omega. An amazing person.

“You said that before,” she whispers. “That time at Ink and Shadows. What did you mean when you said I have a crack in me?”

“We all have cracks. I told you about mine. What’s yours? What keeps you awake at night? What prevents you from meeting your friends or calling us to have dinner and talk? What’s bothering you, sweetheart? Tell me. I may not be able to fix it, but I’ll sure work my ass off to try.”

She almost smiles again, but her mouth trembles. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve been treading a tightrope for years, haven’t you? I told you, I see you. You’ve struggled to keep going, to be happy, but survival mode is draining you.”

“If you’re talking about those guys who kidnapped me?—”

“No. Something else has been eating at you. What is it? You’ve been surviving for years and telling yourself you’re fine, that it’s not important, that fight mode is normal. It’s not. You’re tired. Exhausted. Unmotivated. Sad. You’re confusing depression with fear.”

“Depression! I’m not depressed.”

“Aren’t you, Candy girl?”

51

COCO

Am I depressed?

“Are you feeling sad for no reason?” Ryder asks in his deep, soothing voice. “Don’t feel like getting up in the morning? Don’t feel like you belong in this world? Have nightmares and insomnia? Maybe you don’t want to go out and see people, you feel tired and can’t focus? You feel unworthy, guilty… gaslit?”

“But...”

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