Honestly, you’re even worse than I am. 

The color is returning to his face…

I am not.

You so are. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you washed your hair, you little tease…

Bit by bit, the warmth under the black curtain of his hair peeks through the wilted rose-gold and candy brown…

I just didn’t want you razzing me if I showed up looking dowdy.

I gave up complaining about that ages ago - around the same time I stopped being able to make you take showers. It’s like your favorite pastime is being dirty-

-Don’t phrase it like that…

-In the literal sense. You’re the one taking it some kind of way.

*

It’s almost sunset when I drop Kattar off at his apartment, and stand spinning my keys in the small space between him and the front door, pretending I want to go home. 

It’s late…

But what…

It's too late, and he already looks tired.

We’re not fifteen anymore and I…

In the micro-silence that feels like hours, he studies the palm of his hand like he can read the future.

The caregivers will be here soon, but for the first time since the accident, he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

Some of the paleness that had been setting up camp like it was planning to become permanent has faded - just slightly-

I want to make him go outside.

I want to make the color come into his face - not - I mean that toasty shade like summer - not the scarlet-

I want that one too.

But I’ll bug him another time.

I fidget with the keys and the clinking metal rings in my ears like a far–away bell.

“Hey, um…” he looks up quickly as the words start from between my lips, quieter than anything, “I’m sorry about earlier, Kat. I shouldn’t have fussed at you like that...during dinner…”

“It’s okay-” he starts to say, and even as he smiles I see the color - faint, but it’s there - beneath the delicate…

“It’s not,” I say firmly, and that seems to catch him off guard. “I shouldn’t have…”

“I’d much rather you say what you’re thinking, whatever it is,” he smiles in my direction, but his eyes look like they’re seeing something else - “…even if it is a reality check…”

For a second there’s silence, and I wonder if I've worn him out, or if that medication - which he may or may not have taken - is doing something off - when he unaccountably starts to laugh.

“Do you remember when we were teens?” his voice glitters as he covers the slight smile with one hand “You used to fuss at me day in and day out. ‘For heaven’s sake did you take out your brain and fill the cavity with petrol and fake leather…?’” 

He imitates my voice with such a thick accent you would think he was mimicking his mom. I groan and cringe at the same time.

“...Does your neck ever get tired from carrying that ego around…? Do you have nightmares about losing your silver spoon? Do you call that a head or just a ballast to keep the rest of you from blowing away? ”

“I was a brat…” I start to say…but he doesn’t seem to hear me, laughing at the carpet.

“And that real zinger, ‘It’s a wonder you’ve not gone deaf from those girls screaming about you all the time.’”

He looks up at me now, and that fragile flush burns beneath the ebony veil pouring over his face and shoulders. There’s something in his eyes that begs, even as he says softly “You used to bellyache about the way everybody always told me I was so pretty - I was so handsome…but you’d never…”

There’s a brief silence as his color becomes agitated and embarrassed. He looks at the floor.

“...Never told me you thought so, before today.”

Curse my own brain-I-

Clapping my hands over my mouth it dawns on me for the first time exactly what I said during my insanity tantrum. 

My brain tries to think of some excuse to make - but that was two hours ago - and even if I could take it back…

Kattar smiles up at me with such transparent, unaffected ecstasy that I can’t…

 “I’ve gotta start making you mad more often...” he smiles shyly.

“Please no…” I moan, shaking my head as my face turns a mortified shade of cinnamon and blood. “I'll…”

Do better.

It’s only fair.

Knowing how much time I’ve spent waiting to hear those words.

Livid at never hearing those words.

And yet I did the exact same thing - justifying my petty selfishness with his petty pride, and we made a pretty little- never-ending circle of misery, the two of us.

Let’s make something prettier this time…

Don’t think-

As I close my own front door - flop onto my own soft blankets - forever disheveled with the floral sheets and pillows falling out of bed and having fever dreams as they hit the floor knocking themselves insensible, my head spins with excitement and soft misery.

I am such a mess…

Kattar’s pristine linen is burned into my mind’s eye as I cloak myself in my own…

When was the last time I washed these…?

I know even chair-bound he’s keeping his sheets changed twice a week.

And he’s right.

My hair wraps itself around my face and neck and pools on the cold pillow, the tresses softer than they have been for ages thanks to that much needed…washing…

I allow myself one heartfelt groan, covering my glowing face with both hands, the dark curls making their way through the crevices in my shaking fingers.

I see 12 years ago. Our junior year…

One of those few moments…

I knew…

Or maybe I only thought I did- thought it might be true-

No, I always knew - and just spent the years trying desperately not to.

In the silence, it hurts less to play pretend than to admit…

Your heart is bleeding, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

I remember laying on his bedroom floor, playing solitaire on his-our cell phone as he came into the room - his then-short hair damp from taking a shower in the middle of the day like a crazy person.

He thought I couldn’t see the look in his eyes - the embers of carmine smoldering his cheeks - just because I was staring at the cell, but I saw…held on to it - though it didn’t hurt at the time - like keeping a knife in the grisly wound just so I could prove…

I had every right to be angry that he never…

Getting down on the floor like a man-sized breed of black cat he crawled over to where I stared zombie-fied at the small screen and laid down so close to me that our shoulders touched.

“Hey, go take a shower.”

“I will when I get home.”

I can still feel him pushing my shoulder with that half-playful but dead serious air - “Yeah, not a chance. I don’t want you being nasty in my room. We’ve been outside all day in humid, 90-degree weather. You’re not about to wait until you go home to be clean.”

“What do you want me to do? I don’t have anything to change into. I’m not about to steal your mother’s clothes again.”

“Just wear something of mine.”

“Right, cuz that makes sense,” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s the miracle of drawstrings. En serio. Go wash.” 

The same gentle nudge follows the command, even as I resist with a will, trying to keep him from snatching the phone back.

“No! This is my protective layer. Defense against the creepers when I walk home alone.”

 “Look, I will drive you home and back thirteen times if I have to. So go take a shower. You smell like sweat.” 

“There are so many worse things I could smell like.” 

“But that doesn’t make it good though!” 

“If it bothers you so much then keep your distance.”

As if.

I pushed him over with both hands - feeling his dark eyes laughing at the wall. They’d squinted into those shining black lines, as he rolled back again, quickly, grabbing me by the shoulders so we were resting face to face.

“Not happening. So ve a lavarte before I blockade you in the bathroom.”

Getting out of bed I wander absentmindedly down to the living room.

I want something to read. I want to be able to see words and think of nothing. I have a 10,000-pound four-hundred-page collection of plays lying around here somewhere, but I don’t care to go searching every nook and cranny of my messy disorganized apartment to find it. At this point, the whole place is such a rainbow that nearly anything could camouflage. 

Gingerly sliding my copy of “Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day,” off the coffee table, I knock a piece of paper to the floor.

My landlord’s letter.

The sigh escapes like steam without seeming to have any feeling behind it. I throw myself onto the couch, my brain speeding in a thousand directions as I hug the unopened book against my stomach.

I could just buy the house flat out. It wouldn’t be that big a deal…

And the moment that thought registers it’s like setting fire to my brain.

The whole thing roars and shouts - blindingly loud.

Buy the house? Flat out? 

The idea is insane.

And it’s even crazier to know I could without making a dent in my savings…

When did it happen…? 

And I didn’t even realize…

I’ve never…

I never even dreamed of being this rich when I was a kid.

I dreamed about never having to worry about the rent, about my next meal, about being able to buy new clothes and clothes that fit me- and shoes without holes in the soles - but I never…

And I don’t feel rich.

Some people, like Mrs. Moon and all her pretty friends, LOOK rich, but I certainly don’t, though Kattar would just say it’s because my house is a mess.

OWNING this house would be a bigger responsibility than I know I’m ready to take on when caring for my own body is too much to manage most days-

If this was my house I would probably note that I should really take better care of it. Of all my stuff…

It might be a sort of self-care, to be honest.

We have this weird thing we mortals…where we’re willing to do for others…even for things…the things we won’t do for ourselves…

Memories try to fade in like a grainy Polaroid - those pictures I couldn’t get far enough away from-

Andrew I…

I need to tell Andrew.

My phone is only two feet away but that feels like an ocean - feels like the distance I need to try to cover - bridge this gap to tie him to my reality - tie him back to me.

But isn’t it better if he’s happy?

Not knowing.

Even if it means being a little less a part of me and all it means to be part of my world.

We’ve always hated it - and it’s always been better…probably.

But a part of me knows it would be so much worse not to say something…since he’ll have to know anyway…

And a part of me wonders if Kat would be upset if I told Drew, but it’s not like we can keep it a secret.

Not like other things…

Picking up my phone I send the text quickly before I can make myself take it back.

And it feels like a bombshell on fairyland. But there’s no way to unmake it what it is.

“Andrew, before we meet up I have to tell you, Kattar’s not going to…look the same as he did the last time you saw him…”

He just replies with a question mark, but I know he already feels the tug on that string I’d tried to let fray…

“We were in a car accident.”

The phone explodes in my hand.