“Do you…want to finish that movie?” I suggest a little hesitantly, not knowing exactly why I feel so much more awkward than usual…

“You hate the movie,” he kind of scoffs, rolling his eyes like he’s searching for something he wrote on his brain. “You fell asleep on purpose.”

“I promise I’ll stay awake this time,” I smile mildly, trying not to look as obvious as I feel - trying to make sense of his expressions.

He’s not on anything today. His cheeks are practically burning - the medicated tiredness replaced by a semi-normal, semi-feverish tiredness - and irritable exhaustion - that’s somehow a relief after the last few times…

“Let’s just watch something else,” his eyebrows furrow by a hair’s breadth, as he tries to wipe the dark mood off his pretty face with one thin hand.

“Fine…” 

It’s not like I really cared anyway, but I try to joke - because maybe laughing would relieve this tension in my chest-

“I know that just means you finished it without me.”

He scowls playfully, looking at me sideways.

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“You did though.”

“I did not,” he frowns a little more, almost pouting, “I got bored of it like five minutes after you dozed off.”

I don’t say anything in response to that, but I’m sure he knows that my face means I don’t believe him, so he stops trying to argue his case, rolling his eyes again with a defensive, exasperated sigh.

I think…

I dare to scooch a little closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder as he re-opens his laptop.

He glances at me with an unreadable expression and untucks my hair gently from between my head and his neck, letting the heavy mass drape behind us - my dark brown curls mingling with his ebony tresses like an ocean of colored fingers holding hands.

I don’t even want to watch a movie... Can we just stay like this?

But there aren’t a lot of other excuses I can make when he’s always so careful of keeping me outside his little bubble.

He hesitates for a minute with his hands hovering above the laptop keys like he’s trying to remember what he was getting on the little robot to do…

…Or maybe he’s just debating how to keep me from noticing his password. Whether he’ll even trust me that much.

In his defense, he knows if I ever did, I’d have a little reign of terror - switching around his screensaver the first chance I get to a picture of a right whale or some strange marine slug.

He also knows I’ll delete the annoying picture he has set as his screensaver right now - that selfie of me in the black dress I told him to delete days ago- 

“You got rid of the picture from the botanical garden,” I can’t help but mention.

But in my defense, why does he have to defend himself from me, when I’ve always let him…?

He glances at me again, this time a little suspiciously - probably unsure how or when I had been looking at his computer. 

There’s a hint of a frown…of disapproval…

But then he just sighs slightly, shaking his head with a gentle exhaustion that says all the things the sigh won’t.

“Yeah.” 

This time the sigh is audible and seems to shiver through both of us, like a mild seizure.

“I deleted it accidentally while I was clearing up storage on my computer. I was so angry about it.”

“I can send it to you again.”

“I like this one better,” he smirks a little teasingly, but then -

The light and the shadows seem to switch places - the sun runs past the clouds and the light is gone again that quickly-

A sudden grayness seems to wash over him without warning, and he turns back to the screen resettling himself fretfully on the cushion, his left hand anxiously swimming about his face, like he’s unsure why he has it, or what to do with it.

Am I supposed to say something…?

Probably.

But what exactly do you say in moments like this that wouldn’t just make everything worse?

Is it selfish to pretend there’s nothing wrong just so he won’t get upset with me?

Maybe I should ask anyway…but-

I’m not sure when the movie - ‘Iron Man’ something or another - starts, but I know I’m barely computing or comprehending anything.

Blah blah blah. Metal and CGI. Celebrities I can’t remember the names of.

I spend 80% of the film studying Kattar’s face - glowing uneasily with every range of colors that flashes across the screen - his eyes staying locked on - or locked in - the story.

I’m not really sure he’s seeing it either.

Something in his expression is almost too intent- but I don’t think it’s on the words that they’re saying but something he’s hearing - soundbite-ing from meaningless superhero blabber-

I glance back at the screen and try to zone out - go zombiebrained - brush off my own anxiety- but it just seems to mount - spreading like a contagion from his body to mine.

I’m suddenly horribly cold.

We’re in the part where ‘our hero’ receives a message from his late dad when I notice the-

Shift- 

It feels like all the lights have been turned out - and I remember-

How much I - really really don’t care for the dark-

I glance back up at my-

“Kat?” 

I pause the movie quickly as he flinches - looking down with lightning-like rapidity, and putting one hand to his head. 

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, sorry,” he stammers - quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand like moving fast enough could reverse time to the seconds before he let the tears slip-

He doesn’t want…

Please Kat…

 “I just…”

H-

He-

“...Things got a little scary on the inside all of a sudden.”

.

It…

Rattles me more than it should-

He smiles like it’s a joke, even as he looks at me with an expression I want to pretend I don’t recognize - in his eyes - 

From my eyes-

From her-

I stare back at him dumbstruck and-

Useless-

“I’m alright. Don’t worry about it.”

...Not knowing what to say to the misery - no - to my sweetheart- my boyfriend-

I can say that word now but I can’t find the words to say the words he needs to hear-

He readjusts in his spot for the twentieth time - and there’s a micro flinch that feels like stabbing- in him -

And in me-

“Did you forget to take your painkillers?” I ask a little slowly, knowing good and well that’s not the ‘inside’ he’s afraid of.

“No,” he replies too quickly.

And it could be a lie…

Or it’s just because he wasn’t even trying to take them in the first place. 

I bite my tongue.

But I…

Really really just want to - need to know-

“Kat,” I ask a little shyly, as he keeps watching my face…waiting for me to be convinced it’s ‘okay’ so he can stop panicking that I can see through - 

But I have to…

“Do you remember that old X-Men show we used to watch when we were younger, where there was that chick who could steal people’s powers and memories, and she always did it by kissing them for no reason?”

Breathe.

“Yeah.”

I can’t tell if…

“We’re going to play a little game,” it’s almost a whisper, and he looks at me with a nerve-wracking-ly impassive expression - almost impassive - but in his eyes, I can see that slight light and coquettish curiosity-

“If I kiss you, I steal your memories, and you have to answer one question for me.”

He smiles a little in spite of himself, a slight color coming into his face as he leans back against the sofa arm, shading his doubtful smirk with one hand, squinting suspiciously -

“You wouldn’t…”

Shaking my head with a sort of half laugh before I can psyche myself out, I kiss him on the cheek just by his ear.

Somehow he manages to smile and frown at the same time - his eyes laughing.

“I don’t think that should count...”

“It counts.”

He looks at me, eyes dancing with glittering sarcasm, but he doesn’t try to push the argument - rolling his eyes.

“Fine fine. What did you want to know then?” 

But even as he says it, it’s like I can feel the anxiety gently soaking into his chest, his expression growing a little…

“How did you aggravate the injury on your back?”

That catches him off guard I’m sure. 

There’s a hazy mixture of confusion and relief in his face, as he props himself up against the arm of the couch again, slightly, slowly…

“I had this weird sort of muscle spasm…” The thought seems to be infinitely longer than the sentence, but it’s stretched too thin and too far back into that mind he keeps locked away like a treasure chest - or a pandora’s box - for me to follow it. 

His tongue almost matches the snail's pace of his body, and the words are laced lightly with his confusion like he mistrusts my decision to pick that of all questions.

“I’ve had them a few times but I don’t know why, or why that one was so much worse than the rest. One of the nurses says they can be caused by emotional agitation but I’m not sure I believe…”

“Why were you agitated?” I ask before the word is even finished.

“Shouldn’t that count as another question?” He frowns coquettishly and I can’t tell if he’s flirting or stalling. Maybe a lot of both-

“It’s part of the same question,” I frown back, and he looks for his brain again, sighing slightly-

I watch his eyes darken 6 shades. 

“After Sunset” to ‘Midnight” to “The Deepest Abyss.”

His hand moves slowly through his hair like he’s searching for a memory I know couldn’t be as far away as he’s making it seem. His eyes are studying the couch and my small hands folded tight-

“I was crying…” the voice whispers.

He looks up at me now, and the tears in his eyes seem to catch rainbows - making the darkness change colors like a mood ring.

“It was stupid but…I was clearing out some files on my computer to make more space and I found a picture I had of this old…cat mech-toy I used to have when I was a kid at my mom’s old house-”

He covers his mouth suddenly like he’s said a dirty word, and for a minute he doesn’t even seem to be breathing. 

I listen to the echoes in the back of his throat - and I can’t tell if he’s swallowing or choking -

 -Start to wonder if his voice could disappear -

For good - ?

Are we cursed?

I think we’re cursed. All of us - every last one of us -

Me, Kat and all the versions we’ve been before - still living inside us - all the lost pieces losing themselves in the silence one by one -

Like some kind of witch is stealing our voices - 

But why would anyone…?

*

Maybe…

…she wants the prince…?

*