Instinct

3. Moving On

“No, mom,” he sighed, his cell phone pressed to his ear, trapped between his shoulder and his head as he typed, eyes flickering across the screen restlessly. “Yes, I’ll be home after school gets out for Christmas.”

The door at the front of the dorm clicked open down the hallway, spilling light across the threshold of his bedroom. Daniel leaned back in his chair, glancing out the archway to see a familiar form drop keys on the side and smile.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, detaching himself from his laptop. “Listen,” he broke in. “Diana’s home, I have to go- yeah, I love you too. See you when I get back.”

Diana flicked her hair out of her face, strolling into the room and sitting cross legged on his bed. When he motioned to her with one finger, I’ll just be one second; she just shook her head, a grin nearly splitting her face in half. She knew more than anyone that Miranda would not get off the phone a moment sooner than she was ready.

“Alright, yes,” he replied, again. “Say hi to Lily for me- no, no, that’s fine, I’ll have plenty of time to talk to her when I come home this weekend. I really have to go now. Yeah, mom. Okay, okay, bye.”

Not sparing a moment, he ended the call, letting out an audible breath of relief.

“That’s cute, you know,” Diana mused, still smirking like a Cheshire cat. “How she’s the only one who can get that many words out of you at once.”

Daniel frowned. “I talk.”

She shook her head, pushing away from the bed in exasperation. Settling herself on his lap, straddling him with her arms around his neck, Diana tilted her head. “Right,” she said. “And I’m in line for America’s Next Top Model.”

He only shook his head and then touched his forehead to hers. “That sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“Oh right,” she said. “I forgot that you own that defense mechanism.”

“You’ve been talking to your therapist again?”

He pulled back to look at her in the uncertain light: the soft waves of her black as night hair, the rueful twist of her lips, the smoothness of her skin cooled by the frigid night outside, and caught the small nod she offered as an answer.

“Yeah,” she replied, offhanded. “Same old bullshit really.”

Daniel had to stifle a sigh at that. It seemed like, no matter how far they came, that night hung above them all, a silent reminder of what they had all gone through and lost. And even though Daniel had stopped blaming himself, and had come to terms with his father’s passing, it affected everything he did. He saw loss wherever he went- in the slump of someone’s shoulders, in the bitter twist of Diana’s lips, in the unspoken words hanging in the quiet of a library. Sometimes he got lost in it, distracted.

He would see someone and wonder what their story was, wonder who they had loved, who had left them, how they had come to be the person they were. It was difficult to settle into the lull of normality when he couldn’t stop thinking about what was left unsaid, what was dangerous to do or think in society. People could sense that kind of perception, that intense, thoughtful stare he broke into during a conversation, a certain phrase or tone shattering the façade of just living life so that he was back to square one.

Inquisitive, some may have called it. A gift. But also a curse.

Because though Daniel may have moved on, and may not give a name to what he was looking for in the people he watched- the slope in posture, the snapshot of a facial expression, the thoughtful quiet in a full room- he knew. He knew. He’d see Stephanie in everything. That rebellious light, overshadowed by uncertainty and wariness, the defiant stance, the haunted eyes, the quick-witted tongue and fiery temper, the intelligence, the fear, the instinct- Stephanie had been the embodiment of human reflection. So tentative and brash all at once, not understanding how truly wonderful she really was, she wore her heart on her sleeve and damned the consequences. Maybe Daniel should have learned from that.