Pallid

She's not gone for once, but she's asleep, which is kind of like her being gone because I can't even say I'm sorry or try to make it up to her or something, and I kind of want to, because I'm not completely heartless and I get that she's upset. Maybe I can make her see things my way?

She's got the air conditioner cranked up as high as it goes and is wrapped up in the blankets, again. I leave my things near the door and kick off my shoes, plodding across the floor in my socks, shivering a little. I grab a cup of yogurt--more of the food Celeste wants but for some reason won't eat (maybe it's a control thing, I don't know)--and a spoon from the drawer, then lean against the ridge, glancing out the window. It's still raining, and it makes me feel like thinking.

And stare at Celeste.

Eventually, she shifts and sighs, moving under the blankets with a yawn. I lick my spoon. She turns over on her back and sighs some more, sitting up. Celeste stares at me, sleepy, blinking slowly as she stretches her arms over her head.

"Want some?" I ask, holding out the cup to her. She shrugs, making a small face. I grab another spoon and made me way over to the bed, sitting down. She sits up and takes it from me, leaving me with a spoon. She crosses her legs crisscross-applesauce, staring at me pointedly as she licks her spoon.

"How was your day?"

She hasn't asked me that in months.

"It was fine. We sold some more paintings today. And yours?"

"Rita still won't talk to me."

"I'm sorry." She pulls out a big glop of the yogurt, thrusting the cup into my hand.

"No, you're not."

I'm actually not, not really, because Rita has every right to be mad at her (and Celeste isn't used to having people get upset with her because she looks so soft and sweet and tender with those big eyes and that pretty little smile that it almost seems like a crime to not let her get her way with you and like an even bigger crime to be angry with her). And I should be mad too, I should be furious and seething and just pissed, period, but I can't bring myself to me as mad at her as I am at Ulysses (because this whole thing had to have been his idea, so I'll let Rita be mad at Celeste for the both of us.

"I'm not sorry."

"See?" She licks the spoon, dragging her thumb along her lips. "I know you, Rhys." Her finger taps her temple. "You can't stand to see anybody happy when you're not."

"I'm happy when I'm with you."

"Even when I was with Ulysses?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet it kept you up at night, huh, thinking about us together. Were you happy when I came home and smelled like him? Or were you happy when you saw us together at a party? Bet you were really happy when I left to be with him, right?" I'm silent. "That's what I thought. You're so pathetic."

"Were you happy with him? I mean, I'm guessing you were just on cloud nine when he was with your sister, but I bet you were even happier when he was beating the living shit out of you just 'cause he could--"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, so just stop."

"'Cause you know I'm right."

"No, you're not, Rhys! We had something special--"

"No, you didn't."

"And he loves me--"

"No, he doesn't. I love you." She takes the cup from my hand and squeezes it over my head, making a face. She grabs her things off the floor.

The slam of the door echoes.