Drifter

Tea

***

She lifts the tea cup to her lips, takes a scalding sip, and sets it onto the table. "How was your day, sweetheart?"

"It was okay," I reply.

"Did you talk to anyone?" Her black eyes remain blank, but I can see the anticipation swimming behind the facade.

"No," I say truthfully. I thought about it, rolled the decision between the walls of my brain like my mother rolled her cigarettes: too frequently, and with far too much care. But I stopped myself. "There was really no point."

"I see." Her long, white ears perk up, and her slender hands fold across the pleats in her pastel blue skirt. "Well, you know that it's for the best. Who knows how you would have embarrassed yourself?"

"Yes." I know all too well. I always know all too well, the dangers of interacting with people, the pressure of their words and unspoken judgement lacing themselves around my lungs like ribbons, telling me it's okay to stop breathing.

"Are you alright?"

My eyes graze the curtained window, and through a gap, I can see the tire swing outside and the sunset beyond that. I remember when I used to like that tire swing, a symbol of the happier times of my childhood.

"Yes, of course I am..." The words are barely a whisper. "I just..." feel so empty inside. Feel like I'm ready to collapse, like the world can swallow me up and I will let it with pleasure.

"Just what?" she interjects, impatient. Her hands reach out for the small, vintage tea cup, gripping the handle tightly. "Tell me."

"Will you be mad?"

"Of course not." Her voice is suddenly tender, and she reaches forward, her cold hands pressed against my arm. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"I'm just...so tired," I say. And as if on cue, my muscles, always like tightly wound coils, become slack. "Of being alone."

"But you're not alone." Her words are soft but firm. "You have me, and I will always be here for you. All we need is each other."

I draw in a trembling breath. "My friends have been trying to call me."

"I thought I was your friend," she says, her voice like brittle glass. "You told me you didn't speak to anyone."

"I didn't... I haven't, I promise."

She cocks her head to the side. "Darling, you know that other people aren't good for you. All they want to do is hurt you. Promise me you won't try to talk anyone?"

I feel myself fading into a pale, worthless imitation of who I used to be, again. "You're right. I won't, I promise."

She sips her tea again. "You know I'm just trying to protect you, right?"

"Yes...I know."

"Good."