Miss, Do I Know You?

16 - Sunday, December 13

Sunday dawned with the reprieve of no school, lingering misunderstandings, and no pressing commitments. No Olivia, no Sophia. I felt as if I'd been through the wringer both emotionally and physically, body groaning with each footfall as I walked, mind protesting with every other thought.

There was a bittersweet feeling of separateness in the air that made everything seem just a little less vibrant and a little less real. I wasn't quite sure how to react to it. My brain was as cluttered as a hoarder's attic, filled with melancholy sentimentalities and strange resentment I didn't understand and didn't want to feel but couldn't push away; I didn't know whether I should pity myself, merely some casualty of circumstance, or whether I was the cause of this wedge driven between me and my friends, a casualty of my own stupidity. And I wanted to avoid it all for just a little while longer. The dichotomy of wanting to be understood and yet wanting to be so distanced from everyone was too overwhelming.

Cigarette smoke, the sharp bite of winter that numbed my fingers, and the undertow of my pills eventually managed to sweep away the chaotic muddle of feelings and the lingering tension, drawing my contemplative episode to a close and guiding my steps back to the apartment. I had entertained the thought of not returning, of just disappearing into my own shame, but the truth was that I had nowhere else to go.

When I quietly let myself back in, Alex was curled up on the couch where I'd slept, looking like she'd just woken up. Even her awareness of my presence went unspoken, only betrayed by the subtle upward curl of her lips. Her usually incisive eyes now held a mellowed luster as they wandered languidly over the book pages before her, a mug of coffee warming her other hand. Her messy and damp hair framed her face, slightly curlier than usual.

It was a simple scene, but there was something about it I found so endearing. Maybe it was the quiet comfort of being in someone's home when most of our time had been spent in crowded classrooms and the streets. Maybe it was the contrast to how I usually saw her—always put together, always in control. But here, she seemed completely relaxed and at ease. Or maybe it was the comfort and familiarity of it all. Seeing her in such a casual state after months of trying to rediscover that side of her felt like a small victory, despite the circumstances that had led me there.

One glance at the clock revealed our shared tendency for the early hours. The sky outside was only just beginning to lighten. "Morning," I broke the silence with a soft murmur, not really knowing what to do with myself as I lingered in the center of the living room.

Alex shifted on the couch, yawning. "I was starting to think you ran away," she rasped back, briefly glancing up with a lazy smile on her lips. "Let's not make this awkward. Just go pour a coffee or something. There's soy or oat milk in the fridge if you need it."

"Really? I was gonna check under the sink."

"Smart ass."

"Mind if I take a shower first? I feel gross."

Letting out another yawn, she bookmarked the page and gestured for me to follow to the bedroom. The carefully folded clothes on the dark mahogany dresser, the tidy bed, the candles and random knick-knacks sitting atop book-cluttered shelves, the slightly messy desk that hinted at a busy schedule, and another dog-eared book lying open on the single nightstand, those little things seemed to fit her. I couldn't help but be curious then, about what books she read, if she still listened to the same music as years ago, whether she had a favorite scented candle, about the stories behind the photos on the walls, what she was interested in. That curiosity made her softer. More human, in a sense.

And when I saw the stuffed bird toy peeking out of the blanket between the pillows, I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "That's cute. Wouldn't have picked you for someone to sleep with stuffed animals."