I let it stay, neither flinching nor grasping, and we sat like that for a long time, listening to the wind try to tear the world apart.
The sky overhead bled from iron gray to navy, and the streetlights flickered awake, casting cones of sickly gold onto the crumbling sidewalk.
The world shrunk down to the bench, two bodies pressed close but separated by an ocean of silence.
I thought of all the times I’d watched other girls orbit each other, arms slung over shoulders, mirroring steps, swapping secrets like friendship bracelets. Their laughter was a language I’d never learned. I wore this isolation like a badge.
Dante’s jacket weighed on me, a tangible reminder of kindness I could neither accept nor repay.
My fists balled up in the warped sleeves, skin itching, and I let myself picture what it would be like to lean into him, to rest my head on his shoulder, to cry until the ache hollowing out my chest spilled onto his shirt and left a stain.
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know how to start.
My teeth ached with the effort of holding myself together. I didn’t realize I was rocking, just a little, until Dante’s hand landed gentle and steady on my knee.
“Hey,” he murmured. Warmth, simple and unassuming, radiated from his palm. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
I managed a nod, small and jerky. I was afraid if I tried to speak, I’d scream.
“I know you think nobody sees you,” he said, eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of his boots. “But I do.”
My throat tightened.
His words should have comforted me, but instead they scraped at some rawplace inside.
People always left. They got tired of the mess, or bored, or just forgot. You could count on that as surely as sunset.
The swings squealed mournfully. The sky overhead pressed down, bruised and swollen with the promise of rain.
I wanted to believe him, but all I could see was the way I flinched from loud voices, how easily I cried, how I let people trample my boundaries until nothing was left but a muddy doormat.
“I should go,” I said finally, hating the way my voice trembled.
I peeled off the jacket, holding it out to him like an apology, but Dante shook his head. “Keep it. I’ve got others.”
He said it like he believed I’d be cold again, like I’d need it.
I bundled the jacket close, wrapping myself in its borrowed armor, and walked home through the blue dusk. Every footstep sounded too loud.
I wanted to evaporate, just drift up through the clouds and never come back.
Inside, our house was dark except for the jaundiced glow of the kitchen. I stood in the doorway, invisible, while my mother scrubbed at a wine stain on her shirt.
Lillian crouched on the floor, gathering shards of glass into her palm, not bothering with a dustpan.
Nobody looked up when I closed the door. It was like I wasn’t even there.
I drifted to my room.
I laid on my back and tried to name the shapes on my ceiling, to convince myself the shadows were just dust and not monsters with outstretched arms.
The world outside darkened by degrees, one streetlamp at a time. I let my mind drift, searching for a safe place, but everything ended up looping back to the moment at the wall, to Caiden’s hands and the taste of his hate on my tongue.
THE PAST
AMELIA’S BREAKING POINT
Today, we were taking a field trip for history class. The same class that Caiden and I shared.
