Page 145 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

As he pushes off the bed, I stop him, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back. “Just another minute, okay?”

We sit and hold each other, and something inside me tugs. I wonder if it’s his thread unravelling.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, and I hate myself for it because it’s a lie.

I don’t feel right. I’m off and unbalanced.

Pulling on his neck, I press my lips to his, but again, just like last night, the magic of his kiss is gone. It’s meaningless even though I know it isn’t becauseheisn’t.

It’s me, I’m the vacant soul who can’t even feel.

Our lips part, and he presses his forehead to mine again before looking into my eyes.

He’s worried.

From the inside, I cry for help, but my body is a silent vault.

“Call me if you need me,” he says, and I nod before he stands and walks across my room. When he reaches the door, he turns around. “I’m serious, if you need anything, just call. I’ll be back later.”

The goodbye in my throat chokes me, so I nod again.

After he slips out of my room, I drop down to the pillow and hug it close. The smell of him saddens me because he’s gone and I don’t want to be alone.

I’m used to feeling empty, but this is more than that—it’s vacancy in the negatives. My hand covers my heart, and I’m shocked I can feel it beating.

Lying still, I close my eyes and use the cadence thumping into my palm to pass the time.

I’m not sure what I’m waiting for when there’s nothing to expect.

My breathing sounds louder in the silence of the room, a metronome I become hyper-focused on. As the gray sky brightens and the rain thickens beyond a gentle mist, my muscles slacken into a puddle of optical illusions. People stare down at me—a puzzle of misconception. They examine and dissect while I look hopelessly into their eyes, knowing all too well there’s nothing to be discovered.

If they were to cut into me, they wouldn’t find anything but an empty cavity, a chamber of depression, a crater of disenchantment.

There’s a knock on my door, and when I open my eyes, I force myself to sit up. “Come in.”

“Good morning,” my mom says as she walks over and takes a seat next to me. “I was hoping we could talk before I left for the flower shop.”

She typically doesn’t work on the weekends, but tonight’s the homecoming dance.

“Look ...” She pauses as if to collect her thoughts. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, and through her makeup, I can see the red around her eyes. She’s been crying, which makesmewant to cry because I’m the cause of her pain. “I know you think I’m against you, but I’m not.”

A tear drops from my chin; I didn’t even realize any had surfaced.

“You are my daughter, and the urge to do everything in my power to protect you is overwhelming at times,” she says. “And you’re getting older, which only makes me worry more.” There’s a smile that grows on her face, but it’s a somber one. “It isn’t easy watching you grow up and become independent. It’s hard for me to let you go.” Her last words crack, and she lets out a whimper as she takes my hand in hers. “I need to trust you more, I know that.”

But she’s wrong.

I’m the last person she should trust.

The one thing sheshouldbe trusting more isn’t me, but rather, her instincts. Because as much as I hate to admit it, she has every reason to worry. She probably cares about me more than what I care about myself. Whereas she runs toward me to help, I run away, I avoid and deny and accuse everyone else around me. I made this last stint at Hopewell her fault, but I was angry at her foreverything, when in actuality, I was angry at myself for being so screwed up. I’m still angry—I hate that I’m like this.

I’ve come to resolve that she did the right thing by sending me to Hopewell the first time, and she was right to send me this last time, and she would be right to send me back even now.

“I’m happy you’ve found a friend in Sebastian,” she tells me. “I guess, in a way, I’m a little jealous.”

“Why?”

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