7- Silence becomes suffocating

The silence becomes suffocating and irritating, and I don't think I can handle another cry from her. I decide to calm a doubt that arises when I hear her sob. This way, I prevent myself from despairing. I won't be able to comfort her again.

"Why were you so casual on the bus?" I inquire.

Now she seeks to slow down her breathing, filling her lungs with air, and then exhaling it. My impatience is knocking at the door, and oh, I want to let it in.

"You brought back memories," she finally says, bringing the back of her hand to her face while a bittersweet smile tinges her expression. "I saw you both composing in the practice room more than once, and… thinking about your happy smile when she accompanied you encourages me to smile too."

"You're a fucking dependent and stalker."

"Are you any better than me?" she emphasizes the question, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't have an answer to that."

Don't judge in advance without knowing the context. Don't dare to accuse a third party if you're going to ignore what lies beyond your reflection in the mirror; that which is hidden within the glass, in your soul.

Like a slap in the face, another one of Faven's phrases suddenly makes sense this time.

Why is everything starting to become clear now?

Out of nowhere, as my mind wanders, Dakota drops down next to me on the stretcher. She then lifts her legs so they rest on the mattress and turns her back to me. Then she stretches her arm, which reaches a bag thrown on the floor, and takes out a blanket from it.

Oh, no, no.

"Hey, get out of here."

"Shh," she hisses, sitting up and spreading the blanket wide enough to cover both of us. "Shut up and let me sleep. I'm tired and I've lost precious sleep here."

"And why should I care? Go to your house and sleep there. I never wanted you to invade my space."

She slides until her body is almost completely hidden behind the fabric. The incoming light from a lamppost illuminates part of her dark mane, which moves along with her head as she looks at me with a certain grace dancing in her eyes.

"I don't have a home, Eron Montjoy," she says, lowering her eyelids.

"What do you mean you don't…?"

But her steady breathing interrupts me. I know she hasn't fallen asleep because it's technically impossible to do so that quickly, however, she looks so undisturbed and normal in this way that I prefer to stop here and save myself possible tantrums from her.

The dark shading under her eyes is very noticeable thanks to the artificial light that hits the window of the place. Her lips part slightly as she delves into her journey through dreams, or sweet dreams?

Tomorrow, I will finally leave this piece of shit. It makes me uncomfortable to sleep with a technically disabled arm. I can't wait for this shitty day to end.

August 25, 2016.

Same world: World I.

I don't understand why Dakota brought me to one of the many orphanages in South Dakota, let alone how I agreed to accompany him. What I do know is that we are inside a somewhat average building not too far from the city, and Dakota knows these people as if they were close friends. He even spoke informally to the older lady at the door when she opened it.

I usually ignore the bullshit formalities with older people, but it's obvious that she doesn't.

She announces my company and I nod my head out of courtesy and also to avoid possible assassination by my escort. The man, not very old, smiles at me in a way… I can't describe it, but it gives me chills. I can even hear children laughing nearby, which does nothing good for my nerves.

"I need to find the rest of my things," Dakota also curves his lips into a smile.

Don't tell me he's going to smile at him too?

But… it's not as genuine of a smile as it was with the lady.

"Dakotita, I'm so sorry about the situation," the man extends one of his arms and, in an act I don't understand, she quickly entwines her hand with mine. "We will miss you around here. When birds fly towards the horizon, they do it regardless of adversity. You are our little chick, little Dakota."

The pressure she's putting on my hand gets stronger; so much so that I can't let go. I don't try either because it's not normal for her to act so anxiously, and besides, the man in front of us gives me a bad feeling. He seems strange, and I know I haven't known her for long, but she is impulsive; nerves don't go hand in hand with her personality. It's concerning.

It's not like you're twice my age either," Her throat emits a joyless laughter. Please, let it not be what I'm thinking.

Sure, but you've never stopped being the same little girl, curious, tender… vulnerable," It disturbs me that she continues to smile. "We had to protect you and now we can't anymore. I don't trust his kindness.

Rod," I realize something when I hear her repeat that name, and I involuntarily let go of her hand and instead wrap my arm around her shoulder. She falls silent for half a second before speaking again, "I stopped being vulnerable. I can take care of myself.

I can help with that too," I assure her. The smile on that person's face wavers when my eyes meet his. Despite the turmoil in my mind upon encountering the familiarity of that name, I do not change my calm expression. This damn idiot talks about protecting someone he himself has victimized. I am grateful for the first time that Faven told me about other people's lives, as I cannot stand the hypocrisy coming from bastards who justify themselves with "I want her all to myself" or "I want to protect you" in order to possess women with the intention of hearing them say, "Only you can hurt me." That attitude is more foolish than those parents who say, "If they bother you, it's because they like you." Those are the kind of comments that lay the foundations of future unhealthy relationships. Guys like that are nothing more than damn sick and obsessive assholes. Period. Rod Hart is one of them."