The Girl Who Cried Wolf.

E

She's seen Friend on tv more and more this week.

What she didn't expect to see was her mother on the screen next to Friend.

Mother looked sick.

And pale.

She didn't look like the woman she's always been.

The torture isn't as painful anymore.

Sometimes she welcomes the cuts and abuse, but today, she's tired.

She's exhausted.

Her body feels weightless and heavy all at once.

She can barely lift her arm or go ten seconds without her eyes falling shut.

Maybe that's why Death brought them outside.

They're sitting on the artificial grass he laid on the roof. The sky is blue and light, matching the cool weather.

Clouds form little shapes in the sky, and she reminisces about the moments she and Friend used to roll in her grass, creating names for the clouds.

A smile worms its way to her lips for the first time in weeks.

"Breakfast. Sit up and eat."

Death dumps a bowl of honey loops in her lap. It's warm.

"It's going to rain tonight. Better hope the ceiling doesn't leak, or you're on cleaning duty."

Unwillingly, she shivers, feeling cold fingers run down her spine.

The ceiling always leaks when it rains, and Death makes her clean the floor shirtless. Then he throws darts at her back.

If he doesn't hit the mark he draws on her spine, she has to start again.

"No questions for me today?" He asks. He sits on his hunches, a spoon dangling between his thumb and forefinger.

"I've got a couple."

"You should find these damned answers yourself." He mutters.

"You asked."

He rolls his eyes. "I know. I know."

She sighs. It's absurd. She's fraternizing with her doom, but she can do nothing about it anyway.

She might as well say the things she's always been afraid to.

"You know, I struggle to show my emotions."

Death quirks a brow. "You show them just fine."

"Under normal circumstances," she grits.

"Whatever."

"I can cry when someone cries, or when I read a book or watch a movie, but when I feel sad and start to cry, the tears don't last long."

"That's weird."

"I know. The second it starts, I understand why I'm crying, emotionally and logically, but after a couple of seconds, the feeling goes away, and I suddenly feel so stupid because I can acknowledge the emotions that upset me, but emotionally, it doesn't make sense anymore."

Death chuckles.

"Half the time," she continues, "it happens with my other emotions. The second they start to rise, something squashes them so fast that I feel nothing again. It was as if I was detached from myself. It made me wonder if the emotions I felt from time to time were real."

"Maybe you just got better at controlling your emotions." Death says.

She lifts a shoulder, "Thought I was pretending. And it made everything worthless. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.  Sometimes I wondered if I'd dreamt something or if it happened in real life. I used to ask myself, 'Is this feeling mine?' Looking back at how I mirrored everyone's personality to interact with them, losing my way back to who I was, doing things to myself that I knew I didn't like but forcing myself to believe I did and hating myself when I couldn't please someone enough, I had no idea what I was doing. And I still don't."

She lifts the bowl off her lap and walks to the railing. After a couple of seconds, Death comes to stand next to her.

"I just wanted to breathe on my own, with no one telling me how to or what I've done wrong because even in a crowd of people telling me I'm doing good, I'll believe that one person who says I suck."

A breeze caresses her face and whips her greasy hair around them. She inhales deeply, feeling slightly rejuvenated from the open space.

"Do you know what it feels like?" She asks so quietly the wind steals her words the second they leave her lips.

After a long silence, Death dips his head once.

Her lungs expand, and she grips the railing tighter.

"How? How do you make yourself happy? What if nothing works? How'd you know you? How did you handle it? Does it come back? How do you control the feeling of wanting to hide away? Did you ever stop stressing over everything-"

"Woah, woah," Death chuckles. "Slow down, darling."

She gulps. Her heart pounds in her ears. Why didn't he say anything before?

"A lot goes on, and people deal with it however they can. At least you didn't turn into a serial killer like m-"

Plink!

She turns. What was that?

Plink!

Then a glare of light blinds her right eye. She winces, shielding the spot, and looks over from where the sound is coming from.

She freezes. Crippling fear seizes her like a snake strangling its prey.

Someone is standing on someone's roof with a polytene bag hanging from their wrist and large binoculars over their eyes.

But she can identify that natural shade of brown from anywhere.

It's Friend.

With her thoughts frazzled, she swivels back to Death, praying he hasn't seen the intruder, but he's already wrapping his arms around her.

The action is so sudden and unexpected that it isn't until she feels fiery discomfort in her abdomen that she realises he's stabbed her.

"Those were a bunch of questions you asked," he whispers in her ear, "but I'll answer all of them. How do I make myself happy? I don't because happiness doesn't exist. What if nothing works? Nothing has to work. You make it work."

"Death," she chokes, her breath stunting.

"Shh, I'm not done. How'd I know? It took a couple of kills to realize I wasn't sane. How did I handle it? I don't. Does it come back? Nothing ever comes back if it never left. How do I control wanting to hide away? I'm never on the run. I'm everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Did I ever stop stressing over everything?" He chuckles darkly. "I don't have to because I'm where everything and everyone goes to die, darling."