Page 141 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“It was okay.”

“Did you guys win?”

I hoist my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t actually watch the game,” I tell her. “I just take pictures.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired. I’m just going to go to bed.”

I’m still angry with her, but the emotion is muted.

Everything is numb.

Dragging myself to my room, I change out of my clothes and lie in bed as I stare out the window. The clouds glow silver, and I want so badly to believe there’s a lining out there for me. A glimmering thread I could grab on to, something to pull me out of this nightmare.

I know there isn’t.

I stopped looking for hope a while ago, but quietude has me contemplating that maybe I shouldn’t give up on the possibility that there’s something out there waiting for me, waiting to save me.

I watch the clouds drift across the sky; even in the stillness of the night, everything keeps moving.

Everything but me.

Picking up my phone, I realize how late it is and debate calling Sebastian. Instead, I pull up pictures of us on my phone—selfies we’ve taken since we’ve been home. When I land on the one I took of us at the beach, I stop. He’s leaning in from over my shoulder and playfully biting my ear. The memory makes me smile, and I catch it. I don’t want to let it go because I don’t know if it’ll ever return. There’s an urge to cling to it and keep it forever, to spread it wider just tofeel.

Without a second thought, I call him.

“Hey.”

“Can you come over?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I just really want you here.” Simple words that are pretty but empty and do nothing to stir the life I’m desperate to feel.

“I’m leaving now.”

As I wait for him, I go back to the photos and scroll through a few more. Ten minutes later, my phone goes off.

Sebastian: I’m here.

Me: Meet me by the back door.

And just as I did last night, I sneak him up to my room. As soon as the door closes, my desperation shatters, and I sling my arms around him, hugging him tightly, needing my heart to wake up.

“What’s going on?” he whispers in concern.

I want to tell him that I’m struggling to feel things, that I’m growing distant—too distant—and that I need him to help me, but I don’t know how to say all that, so I hold him tighter.

My malfunctioning heart struggles to beat right. I want to cry, but my eyes remain dry. It’s trapped for some reason, and I need to free it, free anything just to prove I’m still alive.

Sebastian slackens his arms and walks me over to the bed. As we slide under the covers, I need to know I’m not as lost as I think I am.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I shake my head. “Will you tell me?”

Grabbing on to his shirt, I tug him closer, confessing softly, “I feel really alone right now.”

“You aren’t alone.” He gathers me into his arms. “I’m here.”

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