Ciao, Esmé ✓

i. vermillion cities

❝ you have me. until every last star in the galaxy dies. you have me. ❞

When I met you at that one time, your back was turned to me, your hair caught my attention; it was trimmed, again. A decent military cut, which left your raven black hair to grace your head like soft grass. Your laugh was exhilarating and I wanted to hear more. I became an addict, I listened, but never heard. I opened my eyes but never looked. But with you there, your grey hands on your hips and the edge of your tongue poking out of your mouth, I knew I was a diseased and hopeless girl.

I got lost inside you because you'd returned from the hospital and you looked fine, as fine as the boy I had grown used to, but still I saw your cracks, your long, bony fingers, your missing hair, and your smile. You laughed that day, but you never once smiled and I could read you even with your back turned to me. Something inside me lifted its head, I could feel it thrumming inside my legs, my stiff thighs, and even my wheelchair. I caught myself smiling then, a slow smile that hurt my cheeks. I was thinking about you yet you didn't know and I didn't expect you to.

My heartbeat screamed for you to turn around and notice me, I asked myself to roll my petty wheelchair towards you. My heart ached to see your eyes, I wanted to know if you were really fine, if you were ever going for the hospital again, if you at least remembered my name. 

But you never turned around and I was left alone, a pathetic girl in a wheelchair, all alone. 

* * *

Whatever happened that night made Jane spit at my feet, right next to my basketball reserved trainers. 

I roll the wheels of my wagon and steer away from Jane, indicating that I don't want to argue with her, not today, not when I have a lot on my plate.

I run my fingers thought the wheel but Jane beats me to it just as I glide past her on the sofa, her hand gripping the handle of my wheel, lurching me to a halt.

"You stay here, bitch" Jane snarls, spit making the corners of her lips frothy. "Tell me what they said at school?"

Like she actually wanted to hear my first day of school in a wheelchair. It isn't like she cared or bothered to even pack my lunch when I got up in the morning. She just wanted to know if people asked me about her. Is Jane holding up? Poor Jane, she's gotta work extra hard. Jane, poor widow, how she might be struggling...

That was it. Everybody wanted to hear about Jane and how she was catching up with her widow life, they wanted nothing to do with me. I was just a lucky survivor, not a victim of wheel bound-ness.

"My friends asked me if you were fine and I said positive. Teachers were pretty not bothered" I reply, my back to her, Jane's long bony fingers still clutching my handle. I hear her nails scrape against the metal and I grit my teeth.

"That's it? Did you talk to your principal?" Jane grumbles and burps, while pushing my wheelchair away with  disgrace.

I wheel myself fast, away from Jane and her bad day, away from everything. I wish I could run, run faster.