Nothing in the Light.
01.
“Hey Annalise.”
There’s something in his eyes. A waver of unsteadiness. As if speaking to me will transform him into the being that he used to be, like the wave of a wand. I admit that I would love to have that kind of power that he’s afraid I already have. I want to change him and bring him back into the beautiful boy he once was before he gave in to his selfishness and pride. When he believed perfection was a flaw and flaws made people perfect. When our secrets weren’t the secrets of others.
It was different.
“Hey,” I reply, keeping my face straight and trying to slip on my cloak of invisibility, so he’ll see right through me. And so I won’t suffer the consequences of his accusations that are hanging on moments of truth. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see our parents watching us. The owls of the night. They don’t know a thing. His parents are under the impression that he’s still the innocent boy they raised. The boy that didn’t give in to anything or anybody. Not to pressure, not to temptations. He knew better. At least, that’s what they thought.
“How have you been?” he asks, stepping towards me. I step back, as if he’s carrying a contagious infection. And he is, but not one that can be identified or named by any medical professional. I back into the kitchen. This moment is enough for both of our parents to notice that there’s something different in the air. They all stand up and make their ways towards me. In response, I shake my head and waltz to the basement. I need to think. Need to clear my mind. Need to pray. Need to find some light, some refuge.
Then the door creaks open.
And I don’t get a chance to let my faith and beliefs free.
There’s something in his eyes. A waver of unsteadiness. As if speaking to me will transform him into the being that he used to be, like the wave of a wand. I admit that I would love to have that kind of power that he’s afraid I already have. I want to change him and bring him back into the beautiful boy he once was before he gave in to his selfishness and pride. When he believed perfection was a flaw and flaws made people perfect. When our secrets weren’t the secrets of others.
It was different.
“Hey,” I reply, keeping my face straight and trying to slip on my cloak of invisibility, so he’ll see right through me. And so I won’t suffer the consequences of his accusations that are hanging on moments of truth. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see our parents watching us. The owls of the night. They don’t know a thing. His parents are under the impression that he’s still the innocent boy they raised. The boy that didn’t give in to anything or anybody. Not to pressure, not to temptations. He knew better. At least, that’s what they thought.
“How have you been?” he asks, stepping towards me. I step back, as if he’s carrying a contagious infection. And he is, but not one that can be identified or named by any medical professional. I back into the kitchen. This moment is enough for both of our parents to notice that there’s something different in the air. They all stand up and make their ways towards me. In response, I shake my head and waltz to the basement. I need to think. Need to clear my mind. Need to pray. Need to find some light, some refuge.
Then the door creaks open.
And I don’t get a chance to let my faith and beliefs free.