Pallid

"You ruined everything," she whimpers, jumping on me. It's not playful or sweet and she's not showering me with kisses (a rare event, but an event nonetheless). She hits my chest with a closed fist, hard. "Wake up, Rhys!" I open my eyes groggily and she narrows her eyes at me. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"To who?"

"Don't play stupid."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She scowls and I sit up, rubbing my eyes. She digs her knees into my hips, mouth curling down into a small frown and whimper as she hiccups, wiping at her eyes.

"Rita hates me all of a sudden and--and she won't talk to me or answer any of my messages or anything and--and Ulysses won't--he's mad and I don't know what I--what--" Celeste stops herself, chest moving up and down jerkily with her hiccups. I reach up to wipe her face and she swats my hand away angrily. "This is all your fault."

"How?"

"You did something, of course, because you're just jealous and petty and don't want me to be happy with and you don't understand that Ulysses and me have something special--"

"No, you don't," I say flatly. She looks almost hurt, biting her lip.

"Yeah, we do--"

"No, you don't, Celeste. He's using you. He doesn't love you."

"But he does, he--"

"Really? You think he loves you, Celeste? Is that what you call love, hm?" I rub an old bruise on her cheek. She hits my chest again, angry. She starts crying and whimpering and she sounds like she's been stabbed or hurt or wounded or something, so I guess in some kind of twisted way, I've upset her. I did it for her. Doesn't she see that? She climbs off of me and wraps herself in the blankets, turning away from me. "That's not love, baby."

"Oh, because you're such an expert," she mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head.

"I love you. I always have."

"Go to hell, Rhys."