Page 155 of When the Storm Breaks

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I’m getting sloppier. Some mornings, I fold them three times before I leave the house. My hands don’t work the same as they used to.

They shake more.

I don’t even know why I started. Maybe because Willow taught me. Maybe because I tried to teach Calla.

Maybe because butterflies mean something—freedom, hope, joy.

Everything she gave me. Everything I’m desperate to give back.

It’s stupid. A paper fucking prayer. But I leave it anyway. Because I don’t know what else to do.

I hover longer than I should. I always do. But I can’t help but wonder…

Does she know I’m here? Does she ever think about opening the door?

My hand floats above the wood.

I could knock.

Would she answer?

Would she look at me like she missed me?

Or worse—would she look at me like I’m something to be afraidof?

I lower my hand, turning to leave—

Then I freeze.

The hallway light flicks on inside her apartment. A thin strip of gold spills out beneath the door. Footsteps. A shadow.

My heart slams against my ribs.

What would I even say?

Calla, I’m sorry.

Calla, I love you.

I’ve always loved you.

Calla, please.

But none of it would be enough.

I hold my breath.

Please, Calla. Just open the door.

The shadow pauses—

Then moves away.

The light clicks off.

I stay there for a moment longer, something sharp pressing against my ribs. Like something inside me is shattering, and no one’s around to hear it.

One more second. Maybe two.

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