23 Days

-1

[listen to the song tho srsly]

"Grey."

I grunted, rolling over to my side.

"Grey," the familiar voice whispered once again, this time dipping the bed as she sat down. She nudged my shoulder, "Wake up."

"Isla?" I murmured, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. Isla lifted her legs up to my bed just as I sat up, taking in the slightly blurry sight of her in front of me when clearly, the sky was still dark.

"Hello," she whispered. She had her blonde hair let down today, falling in golden waves down her shoulders. "You'll probably want to dress up with me here, so," she handed a folded gray t-shirt which she had obviously taken from my closet, "here you go."

"Thanks," I mumbled, trailing off to a yawn. Slipping on my t-shirt, I kicked my duvet off my legs. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I wanted to be the first to wish you," she sighed, pouting, "but I guessed your mother beat me to it."

I chuckled, "She's always the first one."

"The cake looks delicious though," she whispered as if telling a little secret, leaning over just a little bit closer. "Pity I can't eat it."

My eyebrows scrunched, "My grandmother ate all the time."

"No, it's not like I can't eat, like, at all," she explained, scooting over the right side of the bed to lean back on the headboard. "I can eat, but I can't taste anything. I'm never even hungry, and I actually can hold my breath for a really long time—more than twenty minutes, I tried—so I don't think that I even need to breathe," she said that all in one breath, admittedly quiet hard to keep up with, but I listened anyway, "basically the reason I'm still inhaling and exhaling is because I've been doing it all my life."

Somehow, seeing her still looking as happy as ever did nothing but make me feel bitter. Because if it were me in her position, I sure as hell would be pissed. "That's . . . weird."

"And such a bummer, honestly," she sighed, head turning up to look at me. I was a bit startled by the trivial move. "I had a pretty relentless sweet tooth back then."

I noticed that this was the first time she actually addressed herself in past tense. She didn't even hesitate on it.

"But let's not waste our time," she suddenly clapped her hands together, crawling over me on the bed to jump off the bed, standing up straight with her hand extended, "come on, get ready for school."

I narrowed my eyes. "It's still dark, what time is it?" But my phone wasn't on my nightstand when I reached to check.

"No phones today," she grinned, grabbing a hold of my hand, pulling me with her. "I don't want you checking the time every fifteen minutes."

"But—" I stopped myself. The look in her face was expectant, and the hold she had on my hands was scratching off the rational part of my mind. Before I could figure out what exactly it was that I wanted, I was already agreeing with a curt nod.

Her answering smile embarrassingly got my mouth twitching up into a small smile.

"Go shower first, I need to hide my present downstairs."

⌛️

"I thought we were heading to school," I craned my neck over my shoulder, just as we passed the turn to our high school. She kept on driving straight to the direction which I knew would only lead us to the lake.