𝙋𝙍𝙀𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙄𝙊𝙐𝙎

Witnessing the Outlook

* Aspen *

For the next couple of weeks, while Nieva slowly got back to herself and learned how to speak again, I helped Ms. Kerry move her things from her old home to the old woman's place.

I really got to know the woman who's life I saved, and I got closer to Nieva on a level I feel I've never experienced before. Yes, before we were best friends, but even then are relationship was strained. We were denying what we felt for each other, I was unsure about my identity and if I even liked girls.

With Nieva's talking being limited and her activities even more limited, I get to see a carefully thought-out side of her that I never really got to see. Yes, I love the goofy side of her that's infamous in our small town of Elverwood, but I also love this side of Nieva that nobody else knows.

Nobody else but me.

I lay a pillow down on her bed in her new bedroom. The walls are a bland cream color that's brought out by the posters I've put up in her room. Nieva will be home any day now, of course still under careful care, but at least I'll get to see her.

I've found it in my heart it forgive my parents for not taking her in after I listened to their reasoning. But it took a long time for me to see through my own wants and selfishness to recognize their way of thinking. Especially because that same night, I found out Nieva tried to take her own life.

I sigh, rubbing my hand over the wall as I look at the room I've put together for her. I was hoping for a better year, but so far it's really been a hell of one. I can't believe there's more left to go, and I don't even know how her and I will move forward from this.

It's like everyday is another small step towards a bigger goal to far away for either of us to witness.

I'm sad to say that I don't know whether I should be excited, disappointed, or afraid of this unseen goal.

But hopefully Nieva will remain by my side to find it.

* The End *

This is an excerpt from my book "Her Narcissist":

laja

Man, why niggas be buggin?" I mumble, slowly turning over in bed and picking up my cracked iPhone. "Damn phone blowing up. Fucking five o'clock in the morning. Nigga go get a job- a fucking occupation. Get some sleep. Get sumin to do. Get off my strap."

I peep who the messages are from and keep myself from being too loud as I cuss.

Ian tryna wake nobody up.

I call my mother, doing what I usually do when I can't handle the problems life has dealt me. She's usually up at this time anyways, still binge watching old reruns. I pause as the automated voice tells me her number has been disconnected.