Chapter Text
Lila fell ill on the first rain of July. She gets sick a lot, usually it’s due to blowback. Dream work blowback is arguably worse than death work blowback. Sure, limbs rot away but that's quick and painless; it’s a second of nothing. However, the excessive lack of such an essential need strains a life into not living accordingly.
I stood leaching over her bed as if I were paying my respects to a corpse. I might well have been for how dead she looked. The oversized indie band t-shirt barely fit her, the stretchiness rivalled the intricately patterned blanket which was scattered messily across half of her body because it was either too hot or too cold to appease her.
I mirrored her pitiful expression— her drooping eyes, bruised from the under eye, studied me as my eyes took in the exhaustion etched across her face from those insomniac sleepless nights. She didn’t need to ask why I was here, she already knew why. Any time spent with her was my everything, but to her it was something to accede to. My lower-half nestled on the edge of the bed causing her to smear aside. Her curled-up frenzy intensified to the notion.
The hitch in my breath poured down to my throat, breaking the silence. I’m a terrible person, I know I am. I knew I shouldn’t have found such a depressing sight so beautiful, but I do.
“So..”
My voice trailed off as I fiddled with the non-existent loose skin that became a tangible itch, running up and down my overheated gloved hand. Lila's groan was muffled by the cushion of the pillow she had been hugging. Once calmed down, her body tousled itself to face the cherry wood vanity behind me. Her lips smacked as her gaze fell love again with the delicate fairytale book she still reads.
“You’re not working for Zacharov–” her violent nudge cut me off and transitioned me into a thoughtless correction.
“You’re not yet working for Zacharov, who are you working?”
We’re still kids— she doesn't need to con anyone out of anything; especially if it ends unwell, and especially since she’s Zacharov’s daughter.
Her response was unpronounced, still, it drove me crazy; exception was a prominent theme in my life— yet not with Lila. What made this blowback worth so much that I wasn’t allowed to in on the con? I really wanted to know, no one ever lets me know.
The distorted rain, though incoherent, metaphorically followed Lila’s groans of pain– rough when it splattered and non-stop — setting an uncertainty of emotions for me. I’m bothered because she won’t tell me, but she’s my best friend and she’s hurting.
Her fragile arms pulled me - now I’m lying next to her on the twin-sized bed, too close for comfort if I allowed boundaries between us. I love her even when she treats me like an accessory, maybe even more.
“You should pierce your ears Cassel.” She said narrowly with a nasty hitch in her throat.
It’s too sensational; her hot breath poured down my ear, numbing my fingertips and bracing my legs as my arms quiver. I have no response.
I could never produce as much as a rebuttal for her; something like that was impossible. My body could never be able to handle it, let alone my mouth.
I let out a pathetic rasp. She, a perky smile.
She stood up, nearly stumbling, as she gazed out at the window of her grandma’s house. It was misted and fogged with rain, yet still beautiful. We watched the rain in silence until she finally spoke.
“It’s worth it.” She said breathlessly with a smile that made me think I fell in love with a hopeless romantic. I mean I did, but she'd never admit it.
Still though, I don’t know who or why she’s working this mark but I’m jealous.