Adelia

[3]

I looked at the clock, little hands zooming past the numbers so quickly that it almost made me dizzy. 

2:02 p.m.

2:03 p.m.

And so it went like that for a while, the time passing, making me aware, sparing me no remorse for the fact that I knew when I asked her: she wouldn't show up.

And when she finally did, she crept along the corner of the beige fence, peeking an eye in my direction. It was an hour later. Her shoes were scuffed and her hair was undone and I realized how the moonlight so mercifully clouded her flaws. They were clumsy, too. Gauzing and stratching and gnawing away at the little, pale figure that she was. She stood there, nimble fingers wrapped shakily around where the boards caved in. Showing a leg, and an arm, and a cheek, and an eye or two, but she was so terribly skiddish this afternoon. 

When I stood up, she nearly jumped two feet back, eyes cluttered with surprise. I pulled the snack that I had brought for her out of my jacket: an apple. It wasn't creative in any way and I kind of wondered if she would accept it. But It was red, and blushing, like her. And when she saw it, she eased onto the concrete of the patio, merging her legs together in a criss-cross position, lightly holding out her palms. I gently tossed the apple to her lap; she brought the crisom fruit to her mouth.

"I'm sorry that I'm late," She said, savouring another large bite of citrus between her teeth. She didn't look up, kept her beautiful gaze draped on her floor. 

"That's okay." I lowered my knees and clasped my legs to embrace the ground beside her, mirroring how she was sat. She smiled lazily, right side of her lips going up first and her whole face complimenting what she was trying to accomplish. 

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, mingling her floral breathes with the crunch of my heart. 

"Doing what?"

"Making me believe that I'm alive." She followed her words with a dry chuckle, as her shoulders shook with laughter, like it was some epic joke I couldn't understand, "thank you." She sobered, hovering her hand over mine, but never quite touching it. Never quite straying from her depressing path. Never quite falling in love with me.