The Passover

Impulsive

The thought of the explosion plagues my mind at all moments of the day, causing me to break into cold sweats all the time. The stressful thoughts of being killed causes paranoia to fill my tendons and nerves. I catch myself clutching onto my pistol more than usual, like it is a soft, baby blue security blanket.

I find myself writing off of papers in an intense scribble and mixing Mandarin and English when I speak. I forget what I speak about, and my hands constantly shake. My colleagues worry. My family calls. Stevie speaks. I don't hear. I am numb.

But, I cannot afford to act like this. I'll ignore what happened and continue with my work. Though, I still can't hear. I am still numb.

Stevie grabs my shoulder. "Stop." I turn at his touch. "This has got to stop." he states.

I stare at him. "What."

Stevie gestures to me, uncomfortably. "This," he stutters, "your sulking. It's enough. It's got to stop."

"Stevie, I can't just change who I am." I argue unfairly. This is not me.

"This is not you." he argues back.

"I can't just get over the fact that I was attacked!" I scream.

"I don't want you to!" he yells back. "I want you to go after these goons, I want you to search for clues. I want you to search and be curious. I don't want you to become a shell of your past self. I want my Evie back."

"I can't let what happened to me control my life! I have work to complete, and I can't afford to think about what happened. It makes me too distracted."

Stevie looked at me with defeat. "Don't you see?" he asked weakly. "It is controlling your life."

I turn my head, being snub. "I'm the only one that controls my life. Not you, not my family and not this." I turn to our room. "I won't be eating tonight. Eat without me." I walk into my room and close the door. I hear clattering from the kitchen and hear the television turn on. I sneak out to get a peek of him and see him eating while watching the television. I glance to the window I broke, the cracks spreading out like broken ice and my resolve. Stevie and I had yet to argue about that. I head back into out room. The fading light casting grey shadows upon our bed and giving the whole room a cold, and forgotten look. I can turn on a lamp to bring in some warmth, but I want to feel empty. Before I go to lay on the bed, I see a crisp, square envelope, similar to the ones that hold fancy invitations. I pick it up, relishing in the sound of the crisp, cold crackle of the paper. I open it and read the note.

Beloved Ms. Storey,
Go to this address and all your questions will be answered: the message, the radio, the bomb, this invite, who we are and what our angle is. I look forward to meeting you. Visit me in the East Wing on the south end of the second story at St. Joseph's School in Kwun Tong. I can't wait to see you. There is so much to say.
-S

I stare at the card, pondering as to what to do. Of course, I am expected to not go. But, I will. I grab the card, my keys, my pistol, I put my hair up, and I climb out my window and down the fire escape.