Hear Me

Stephen asks me to tell him what happened.

He's in my room.

I tell him I won't.

I don't know how he got here.

He asks me if I remember what happened.

He's infecting all of my stuff with his germs.

I tell him that I, of course, remember.

Sometimes I remember everything, other times I remember nothing.

He asks me to tell him again.

This week, I can't remember.

I tell him I can't.

Last week, I remembered it perfectly.

He asks me if I can't or don't want to.

Both, actually,

I answer him with a sigh.

I can't trust him.

He then teasingly says that he knows I want to tell him.

And then just like that, I remember.

I remember every horrifying detail.