She Breathes the Stars

Chapter Eighteen

Twist, tuck, turn, fold, press...

Twist, tuck, turn, fold, press...

Wash, rinse, repeat...

Wash, rinse, repeat...

Don't be weary of the burning sensation in your palm.

Twist, tuck, turn, fold, press...

Don't look at the bed; if you sleep now you may never want to wake up.

Wash, rinse, repeat...

Don't look at the door either; if you hold him close you may never want to let go.

Twist, tuck, turn...

Remain in the garden.

But how can I remain when he won't leave?

It's been three, no, four days since Nite has announced that he's in love with someone who isn't me. Four days since I told him to leave. Four days since I have shut myself up in my room to make hundreds of paper stars, not uttering a single word to the boy who sits outside my door.

But still he remains.

Every so often I will hear him stand up to go get food or go use the restroom, but he always returns to the same spot. With every arrival I hear his back slide down the wood of the door until he rests comfortably on the floor again. He's never gone for more than an hour, and I've become aware that he's sleeping out there as well; shivering on the cold wooden planks as he drifts off.

He calls my name sometimes, but I never answer.

I remain at my desk, making the paper stars until my fingers go numb and my skin stings from all the paper cuts. I don't count how many I've made this time, but rather I make them for my own enjoyment. Well, distraction, really. They distract me from the boy outside.

Sometimes, after giving into the strong temptation of the blankets, I take a nap to rest my aching muscles. Every time I do, I give into Nite's pleads and unlock my door before I drift off into slumber. I don't open it, knowing that if I did he'd immediately take it as an invitation to embrace me, but I do leave it unlocked for him. And when I wake up hours later, there's always a plate of food waiting for me on the bedside table and a fresh set of clothes.

I never change clothes, but I do take the food quite gratefully.

Once I'm done with my meal I slide the platter under the door, letting him know that I've ate my fill and am not depressed enough not to eat. If anything, the food gives me a distraction from all my wrecked thoughts. He always hums contentedly when the plate hits his back, and after locking the door again, I shuffle back to my desk.

Twist, tuck, turn, fold, press...

Twist, tuck, turn, fold, press...

Widget constantly remains in my bedroom with me, but from the fat, happy purrs she continuously lets out on my lap, I'm assuming that Nite must be feeding her as well as me.

Sometimes, after an especially cold night when the heater isn't working as well as it should, I hear little whimpers coming from behind my door as Nite sleeps. I know that he must be out there without a proper blanket or pillow to keep him warm, but I can't bring myself to do anything about it. I feel guilty for all the trouble that I'm putting him through and all the things that he's done for me, but I keep myself in my bedroom by reminding myself that I told him to leave. His being out there on the cold floor is his decision.

On the fourth night, I hear him whisper my name in his sleep.

It takes all that I have not to run out there to him and warm him with my arms secured around his shivering body. The sound of my name on his tongue just sounds so vulnerable and exposed against the soft chattering of his teeth.