Rose
My twentieth birthday is a month away. I think of the promise I made myself after spending days in solitary.
But that was before Abel.
It doesn’t matter.
It isn’t like Abel can save me from this place. He will survive in spite of his stay and I will become every type of monster they can think of before I die here. Alone.
And he will forget about me.
I’ll be stuck here. I will die alone, and no one will visit my grave because I will not have had a life filled with people who want to celebrate me once I’ve gone.
These thoughts pound on in my head as I head toward the rec room, anxious to see Abel. I don’t think about these things around him and it’s so wonderful to get out of my head sometimes.
The genius eats me alive some days.
When I look up, I see him just inside, and I take advantage of the fact that he hasn’t seen me yet.
He’s looking down at his fingers, picking at a hangnail or something, but I notice the way his lips are settled. They aren’t in their typical relaxed state; they tip down even a fraction and I’m wondering why. He still doesn’t see me, so I just stand there and stare. He’s done with his fingernails and moves on to his uniform, picking at the small pieces of fuzz and dirt that he’s somehow managed to pick up.
I wonder how we will greet each other today. Will he still make me smile? Will he meet my violence? Will I destroy our friendship?
I’m asking myself these questions when he looks up at me. And then the questions are silenced as he smiles slowly and waves. I swear, each smile is better than its predecessor. How is that possible?
In my world, people are flat and lifeless and only ever entertaining when they’re reacting to pain until they are quite literally lifeless.
And then I met Abel and he made me question myself.
More than that, he makes me want to believe in something. Destiny and fate are for the weak, ideas I’ve never subscribed to. I don’t want to believe that there’s a path for every person because I’d have to face the idea of not being on mine. I’ve veered off somewhere and I don’t know that I can ever get back on.
But if I did believe in these frivolities, I’d likely believe that Abel has a sprinkle of that magic in him. That he exists, excites me. That he smiles, sweetens me. And that he calls me, calms me.
I head toward him, and his smile is still in place.
“You were looking awful thoughtful over there, ,” he greets me, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
“One could say the same about you, Mr. Cartagena,” I quip as I near.
He pinches his chin and I sit beside him. “Your full name,” he starts. “What is it?”
Strange that I feel like I’ve known him for a long time, but he doesn’t even know my full name. I spend so much time asking him questions. “Rosamunde Montgomery. But I prefer .”
“Not Rosa?” he asks with a playful grin.
I shake my head. “Just .”
“Well, Just , should we talk about the shit we hate about this place instead of our usual positive bullshit?”
I watch as his hands slide against the table top until they’re a few inches from my crossed arms. He spreads his ornate fingers and I smile. “Is that how you’re feeling, today? We’ll be here forever.”
“Fuck it, I’ll start.” He pulls his hands back toward himself and crosses his arms as well. “I hate that I have to wear these tiny ass tighty whities they gave me. My junk isn’t exactly loving the fact that they’re a little too fucking small.”
I giggle, and it feels as foreign as it sounds. Strange enough that the already quiet room has turned silent. I glance around and the nurses’ eyes are all wide with shock. “I hate that people always stare ,” I say loudly enough so they can hear me.
Abel just smiles and sits up. “I hate that I can’t listen to music. I miss blasting my bachata music, maybe a little reggeaton while I cruise around in my shitty ass car.”
I nod in agreement, though I’ve never heard the music he references. Still, anything is better than the silence and the screams. “I hate that I’ve spent three birthdays here. And I hate that I never want to spend another here.”
“That was two. Don’t get greedy, .” He shakes his finger at me with a smirk that makes my belly do an odd little flip. He runs his hands through his hair before speaking again. “Think you’ll be out by your next birthday?”
I shake my head and hold his stare. “It’s next month.”
His lips part as he stares at me, like he’s trying to understand how that must feel for me. Even if I could transfer emotions, I wouldn’t do it to him. Not to someone I thoroughly enjoy.
“One day you’ll be able to spend your birthday with the rest of the world. And I’ll be right next to you, helping you get fucking wasted.” He smile is so sincere that I want to believe him, even as I stare at the stubble that’s covering his cheeks and chin.
He talks about it like it can happen for me and I love that more than anything I can think of. Even more than envisioning the way I’d kill everyone on my mental hit list.
“I hate that it took you so long to get here,” I whisper. The words are clear but quietly so, thanks to my practice in speaking in hushed tones with him.
“I hate that I never knew you were here, waiting.”
One of his hands slides toward the middle up the table, palm up. I stare at it for a moment. “I hate that this is it for me. For any curiosity I have when it comes to you.” Dead on arrival.
“I hate that you think that,” he counters, and as he looks around, I eye the ink on his neck.
I never noticed before but the words stick out to me now: death is certain.
How utterly macabre. The irony of my observation isn’t lost on me as I take a deep breath before responding to him.
“I love that you think there could be… more .” I want to cover my eyes because the way I feel, I’m sure they’re full of emotions I can’t quite understand. And Abel might be fluent in me.
But I hardly blink, let alone look away.
“I hate that I’m scared to think of a future where you and I aren’t a possibility.” So much, so soon. That’s what loneliness does to you; it makes you gobble up human connection, treating it like some sort of lifeline. I feel far more human than I have in years. Abel is the first taste of hope I’ve had in so long and I want to hold him on my tongue and savor the flavor of it.
My lips twitch. With sadness at his words or happiness at the emotions behind them? “I hate solitary. I hate that I count just so I have something to focus on. I hate that they know how much I hate it and they use it against me. Once I stop counting, it’s like they win because I start to lose myself.”
I press my palms together. I don’t pray. Any higher power surely curses my existence. And, because I have nothing to pray to, I continue to share my secrets with Abel.
“I hate that I promised I’d kill myself before I spend another birthday here. I hate that I still want to do it.”
I can’t look at him after uttering such powerful words.
His next exhale is shaky, and he moves his other hand toward me before squeezing them into fists and pressing them into the table top. “I hate that I can’t hug you.” It’s the quietest his words have ever been.
I move to press the heels of my palms into my thighs, not really sure how to respond. It isn’t a terrible feeling, being rendered speechless. There’s something to be said for it, under the right circumstances. The words that hang between us are decorated with those unrecognizable emotions.
He makes it so easy to forget that I’m in captivity. We’re both in our own cages only he’s reaching for me like we can somehow live like this.
Abel is the only true friend I have.
But he won’t always be here.
And once he’s gone…
The girl who loves being left alone is now afraid of the idea of it.
It only took the right person, a few hundred questions, and a couple of weeks for it to happen.