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"You’re my favorite person ever, Reya."

Hayzel, Hayzel you can’t see me but you’re mine too.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

I repeat it again in my head because it’s easier than everything else.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

Blue eyes come back for half a second and I lose them again.

No, please stay. Please.

Shell jar. Little brother. The keys. The Keys to Damien’s home are still in my pocket.

Home.

I hold onto those names like they are the only things that don’t change shape when I look at them. My name is…

"It’s Mireya," the little girl on the cliff says, "come on, I’m still waiting for you."

He moves closer. A hand near my face. I can’t pull away fast enough. My body doesn’t respond in time. He crouches in front of me, undoing the restraints around my wrists like he has nothing left to fear from me. My hands fall useless into my lap.

My body is heavy. He put something into my blood and now…now I can’t do anything.

He knows I can barely keep my eyes open.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

His voice is low again when he speaks, “You’re going to live,” he says. I stare at him through the haze, but it’s all dark. His voice, his face, his words… everything is blurry. “You’ll leave, and you’ll wonder.” His fingers brush over the scar on my chest before he lets it down. “You’ll look over your shoulder in every place. You’ll wonder if I’m here, if I’m watching from across the street, from somewhere you can’t see.”

I think he’s smiling.

Fight, fight, fight.

“And every time you think you’ve finally gotten rid of me, I’ll come back,” he whispers. “I promise.”

He stands, but before leaving, he puts the blank sheet of paper on the floor and sets a pair of scissors on top of it. Then he looks down at me.

“Do me a favor, Raven hair,” he says. “Make me a star like you did for him. So I can make a wish myself.”

The door closes behind him.

And I stay there. Minutes. Hours. Maybe seconds.

My fingers move to the floor, grabbing the paper, then the scissors. And I press down too hard and my fingers feel stiff.

"I’m with you." Fold again. “Thank you for being the best mom-sissy.”

The edges don’t line up properly. I fix it without thinking and then forget I fixed it and fix it again and again.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

I keep losing the order of things if I don’t say it in my head.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

Something in me keeps switching.