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When Doves Cry

"Maybe I'm just too demanding.

Maybe I'm just like my father."

- "When Doves Cry," Prince (1984)

Jordan

"Birdie?" I say quietly, not sure if she's asleep or otherwise.

"What?"

Her voice comes back almost instantly, surprising me. For all the times she's attempted to skip school to stay in her bed, I would have assumed she needs all the rest she can get. I can't see her face—she's curled up in the bend of my body, her short back pressing against my chest. It's never conscious, but we always end up like this somehow. It's freezing outside, the first snow of the year drifting down silently, and when Lily wants warmth she tends to find it wherever she can.

Slowly, I rest my arm over her shoulder to give it some air.

"Do your parents know where you are? That you're with me?"

"Who cares?" she murmurs. "My mom's side of the family got here this afternoon—God knows they're gonna be fighting all night. I don't want to be around to hear it."

I lay all the way down again, wrapping my arms around her torso and paying attention to the TV again. Today hasn't exactly been the most picturesque Christmas Eve—we've spent the entire day watching Lily's stupid polar bear documentaries alone in my apartment. But we always, always spend them together, and the current...weirdness of things won't change that. I thought having me and just me would cheer her up a little, but she's still in her funk.

She's always been a little raincloud: an old soul probably thinking about things that she shouldn't, but lately she's been even more blue than usual. I can't fix her, just like I've never been able to fix Alex. It's a helpless feeling, watching the people you care about wither away in front of your eyes.

I can't say I blame her for feeling down—the past year has been somewhat of a nosedive in her usually calm life. Her brother (who doubles as her best friend and consequently hates my guts) is off to college in South Carolina, and her parent's marriage has turned sour and taken her with it. While I'm plenty used to the cold encounters, affairs, and throw-down screaming matches that have characterized my parents' marriage for as long as I can remember, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett have always been such lovebirds—even with age. Just recently have they started disagreeing over...over God knows what. If only they knew how much it's destroying their precious little girl.

I push her long, straight hair behind her ear, then burying my face in her neck and kissing it gently. I know she's upset, but I'm better at this than I am talking about it.

"S—stop," she moans through gritted teeth. "Or I'll go home."

I pull away, pushing my hair back in confusion. Sure, she always stops me before things go too far, but it's not like it's anything we haven't done before.

"What's wrong with you?" I finally say, sitting up so I can see her face. "God, I worry about you sometimes."

She's right here beside me, but it feels like the Lily I know died months ago. When she looks up at me, into my eyes, it's not her in there anymore.

"Why?"

Because I love you, I think, but I don't say it. I couldn't possibly. My father has always told me that love, appreciation—they're signs of weakness. I can never let people know that I need them, because it gives them the power to push me around and get away with it. And I know that it's true, because it's exactly why I've been so comfortable with stringing Lily along for years—she needs me, and I know it.