My Record Store Romance

Black Coffee

When I finally realized that she was standing there, I couldn't speak, couldn't respond- I couldn't even tell if she was actually real. I was waiting for my mind to picture her as a pile of ashes, or for the whole room to look as though it were on fire, or for my body to rip itself apart.

But when she hadn't changed or moved or morphed into something I couldn't recognize, I could tell that this wasn't a hallucination- it wasn't a nightmare that I should be afraid of- it was my sister.

"A-Ally, go back to bed."

This was all I could muster. I couldn't think of an excuse, a lie, an explanation- there was nothing I could say that would justify what I was going through, why I was shaking and crying and throwing up. There was nothing I could say that included the reasons of why it felt like I was dying.

Sadly, she saw the situation for what it was. I think that's what hurt the most- the fact that Ally, who wasn't even six years old, could see right through me. Despite everything I had done since the accident to pretend as though my problems didn't exist, they were always finding a way to surface.

"Are you scared?" she asked, "Are you seeing things?"

Silence. There was only silence. You could hear the chattering of my teeth. Then she sighed, her gaze falling to the floor, "It's okay if you are, Drew. I get scared sometimes too."

And then, ignoring my instructions, she took a seat beside me, grabbed my hand, and waited with me until it was over. Afterwards, I made her promise not to tell anyone, and she said that she never would, and that made me want to collapse all over again because she understood disaster better than any of us, and now in her eyes, I would be nothing more than that.

Forever a hurricane, a calamity, a miserable tragedy- the boy branded in ash, built from embers, devoured by the past and broken by the future.

Now that I think about it, I'd probably been that all along.

"Drew?"

Her voice pulls me back to reality. At first, it's a shaky transition, a whirlwind of conflicts, a mesh of fractured memory, struggling to overcome one another and fill the gaps of time. But once seconds have slipped by and the kitchen comes back into view, I am able to assess the situation for what it is.

I don't know how long I've been standing here, or how long Hailey has been standing in front of me, but from what I can tell, it hasn't been too long.

The kitchen is now fully immersed in the light of the morning; countertops shining, tile warming, the sun high in the sky. The area reflects an aura of purity and fluorescence, and here I am, the stain, the darkness- the obscurity that absorbs the entire room.

Hailey's words, for once, don't echo through my bones or find their way to my heart. Her voice, for once, doesn't cease the trembling of my lips or make the suffering dissipate. So when she asks, "Where were you just now?" I am nothing but afraid.

Because for the first time in a long time, I don't have an answer.

"I don't really know." I say, my words twisted with empty meaning, fabricated in strength and forged in stability.

Afterwards, I smile- an attempt of reassurance for the both of us. And then, I force normalities amongst my crippling facade. My stance is straightened, my shoulders held high, my hands pressed against my sides to still their constant shivering. Luckily, Hailey is probably too tired to notice.

Her eyes are dull and drained, the vibrant green they once obtained now hidden below the droop of heavy eyelids, unfocused and weary. Her cheeks are rosy, completely hollow, compressed with slight patterns of my bedspread and accompanied by a small nose, tinted softly with pink. Her lips are stretched between the consistent attack of yawns, her hair straight on one side and wavy on the next.

It is in that exact moment, looking at her, that I decide sleepy Hailey is my favorite kind of Hailey, because even despite the way I feel right now, mornings are made the best only when she's around. She feels it too, because after rubbing her eyes she makes her way over to me. Shuffling through the vast, insurmountable emotions that come along with drowsiness and the hypnotic ways of dawn, she smiles at me before enclosing her arms around my waist. Seconds hardly pass before I find myself responding to her touch, molding around her frame and holding her in my arms. "Good morning," I laugh, placing a kiss to the top of her head, gentle and quiet, letting my lips linger and my heart grow heavy.

"You left me upstairs," she mumbles into my shirt, a small whine materializing in her throat and slipping from her insides, "It was cold."

All I can do is laugh, my chest rising and falling against her, "I'm sorry," I say, reaching down to push strands of hair away from her face when she looks up at me, still holding me close. I want nothing more than to keep her in my arms forever, so I nestle my face against her neck after pressing another kiss to the edge of her chin and take a deep breath before whispering, "I'll make it up to you."

"Good." She smiles, pulling away from my grasp but reaching for my hands, intertwining ours together, "You can start by making me breakfast."

And so, as the morning falls through our fingertips, grains of sand in rocky waters, I make Hailey breakfast. Or, in the least, I try to.

Soggy bread burns in the skillet on the stove, bacon grease spills all over the floor, berries are crushed in sloppy palms with clumsy coordination, and by the end, the kitchen is a whole new level of hell and Hailey makes herself and Ally, who appeared at the bottom of the stairs after I dropped a pan on the floor, peanut butter toast while I sulk in the corner with a cup of coffee.

Hailey, who thought the entire scene was hilarious, could no longer hold in her laughter. "Hey, I'm sure Gordon Ramsay wasn't a good cook in the beginning either."

Ally grins, peanut butter smeared across her lips as she sits at the table, "Gordon Ramsay would have never ruined all the blueberries."

I sigh, pouting and throwing my concoctions into the trash, a task that feels never ending considering the situation at hand. "I couldn't even be a Rachael Ray with the way I made that french toast." Another round of laughs fill the room.

"Oh, that reminds me-" Hailey says, her voice sharp and her entire body stopping mid-motion, "I have something to ask you."

___

End of chapter 36! I know I've been taking forever to update, but junior year is kinda kicking my butt. Anyone else taking AP calculus right now? Definitely not one of my favorite classes.

Anyway, remember to comment, vote, comment, vote or comment! Also, remember to return for the next chapter of MRSR.

The question for this chapter is: What do you think Hailey is going to ask Drew?

P.S. I'm going to the Melanie Martinez concert this month on the 25th. Will any of you guys be there too?

Thanks again!

-Elizabeth