

### THE ARRANGEMENT

Sasha McCallum

Copyright © 2018 Sasha McCallum

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Connect with Sasha McCallum

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1

On Monday night I got a call from my mother. It was after ten, which in my book was an unreasonable time to phone. But I'd always imposed restrictions on other people's interference with my life, restrictions they often didn't understand and considered stupid. I rarely slept before midnight but did not like to remain open for contact after ten, it was my code and screw whoever didn't like it.

I was therefore pissed off when my mother's number started flashing at close to eleven while I was watching The Mick with a mudpack on my face. I ignored the first call but my hopes were dashed when she called a second time and I answered.

"Hi, Mum," I said, both irritated and glum.

" _Elise, I have a favour to ask._ " The good thing about my mother was that she didn't beat around the bush, but this was a new one, a late night phone call to ask for a favour? Troubling thoughts tripped around my imagination.

"Is something wrong? What do you need?"

" _Yes, something is most definitely wrong._ " The thoughts multiplied and dispersed.

"Is it Dad?" I asked her tensely. "Is he...?"

She grunted with scorn. " _Don't be ridiculous. Your father will outlive us all._ "

"What is it, Mum?" I asked, losing patience.

" _You've seen all these sob stories on the news showing families living in their cars, on the streets?_ "

"Yes, it's largely due to the h..." I began but she cut me off promptly.

" _My cousin Mary's daughter needs a place to stay for a while. You've got that big flat all to yourself, she'll take your spare room._ " She said it as if it was set in stone already and I almost laughed.

"You can't be serious," I said, never having had a demand like this before and doubting its legitimacy.

" _She's at AU, so you're perfect_ ," she said and her voice was firm, slicing.

"What?" I began to panic. "No. Mum, this is bang out of order. I can't do it. I'm shocked that you would even ask."

" _You_ can _do it and you will. I don't ask much from you, the family doesn't ask much from you. And considering what you've put us through over the years it's about time you stepped up._ "

"But I..." I stuttered. "I need my space. I like living alone."

" _I know you do_ ," her voice softened substantially, " _but just this once, I'm asking you to put your own feelings aside. It's important, you'd agree if you could see what I could; Micah needs help._ "

"This is emotional blackmail," I said, feeling a great well of despair rise in my chest. She would get her way, when she turned soft on me like that it was not a subject she would back down on. I was in for it.

" _It is nothing of the sort_ ," her voice became clipped again. " _It is simple coercion_."

"Jesus Chr..."

" _Don't blaspheme!_ " she yelled and I winced. " _Look, she's smart like you, you'll get along fine._ "

"I can hear in your voice even you don't believe that."

" _Regardless, you'll make do. If you can manage not to kill each other._ "

"Micah?" I asked, frowning into the phone. "Have I ever even met her?"

" _I don't know. Maybe when you were younger, at one of the weddings or funerals._ "

"How old is she?"

" _19, 20. You can ask her all that yourself. Right now she's living in a motel, that's why this whole thing is urgent. I'll text you the details and you'll go meet her tomorrow. If you don't, she'll be homeless._ "

I shut my eyes and rubbed at the spot between my eyebrows, ignoring the muck on my fingers.

"Why do you care what happens to this girl? Isn't Mary the one you hate?"

" _Call it guilt_."

"Guilt for what?"

" _That's not your concern. You have indiscretions of your own you need to make up for. Your concern is to do what I say and allow Micah to stay with you. She's not doing so well at the moment and her problems are right up your alley._ "

"I don't know what that means," I said cautiously. Was the girl dangerous?

" _You cracked up when you were a teenager, I had to live through it - we all did. For years, I might add. I honestly never thought you were going to get past it, I thought you would be dead by now._ "

"Gee, thanks, _mother_."

" _My point is, you've hit rock bottom and clawed your way out of it. Maybe you'll be able to understand Micah, maybe you'll be able to get through to her. Pay it forward._ "

"I'm not a fucking psychologist!"

" _Language! She doesn't need a psychologist, she needs a place to stay and maybe a kick in the ass every now and then._ "

"Why does it have to be me?" I asked miserably.

" _You're close to where she studies and her parents have kicked her out. She can't afford any accommodations nearby. It's a matter of convenience as much as anything._ "

"Why did her parents kick her out?"

" _They're not as resilient as your family was._ "

"Mum just spit it out. If she's going to stay here then I need to know what I'm dealing with."

" _Bruce and Mary are not the most supportive people. They believe that her presence in the house is adversely affecting their own relationship. They say she treats them like aliens not parents._ "

"It sounds like they're the ones with the problem, not her."

" _Good, so she'll stay with you. It's settled._ "

"No. No, it's not. You haven't told me anything!"

" _You can handle it, she's a nice girl._ "

"A nice girl?" Incredulous, I couldn't believe my mother's gall.

" _Compared to what you used to be, she's an angel. She needs some stability, that's all._ "

*

I was told to be at the Inn early Tuesday evening so I went straight after work, keen to get it out of the way. I arrived just before seven; it had been a long, hot day, the tarmac burned and getting out of the air-conditioned car was an unattractive prospect even for a few minutes. I needed to be inside, or swimming - anything but this.

It was a cheap, ugly motel on the A6 just outside Brooklyn Park. I tried not to think about what I might find when I knocked on the door to number 13 and what would happen when I got the cousin home. I felt honest hatred for my mother; how could she have pushed this on me? Approaching the reception, I studied the map of rooms on the wall outside. It was big for a motel, they must get a lot of business, especially in summer, being so close to both the airport and the beach.

"Hello," a curious and sultry voice said to my right and I turned to see a very pretty, dark-haired girl leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette and staring at me sideways. "You don't look like you belong here," she said then let out of peel of sublimely evil laughter.

"That is funny?" I asked, trying not to betray my interest, and she shrugged. "Do you work here?"

"Nope," she said slowly with great emphasis on the P. "I'm just waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"The world to catch up with me." Her smile was tempting and her words both captivated and worried me at once.

"Are you Micah?" I asked, thinking - please no.

As soon as the question was out of my mouth her entire demeanour changed. She began to curve in on herself, her otherwise haughty posture slackened and her expression blackened. There would be no more laughs now; this saddened me in a way I didn't expect.

"Elise?" she said, her voice transformed - tense and guarded.

I approached her and pulled my sunglasses onto the top of my head. I wanted the girl from before back, but that would not happen, so I tried to move forward with what we had.

"I suppose I am the world catching up to you," I said with a wan smile. I held out my hand to her and after several awkward beats of hesitation, she shook it limply. "Mum said we might have met when we were children, but I don't remember you at all."

She gestured despondently and pushed her own sunglasses back down in front of her chocolate brown eyes, she peered around the buildings and the car park as if they were of greater interest than me. Defensive, I thought, and more scared of me than I am of her.

"I wasn't really expecting you to show up," she drawled and lifted her back off the wall reluctantly. "Come on."

I followed her down aisles of prefabricated rooms interwoven with car parks and grassy pathways. The walk was tense and silent but I was glad; she was being neither overly friendly nor unnecessarily hostile. As soon as she unlocked the door and I stepped behind her into the sun-baked, un-air-conditioned room I was assaulted with the sound of a bed banging on the wall next door and aggressively faked sex sounds. I cringed and looked to Micah in exasperation.

"Why do you think I hang around outside?" she said and I saw the suggestion of a smile play at her mouth again. It would become my mission in the coming months to learn what caused these and get as many as I could. I smashed a fisted hand on the wall in disgust but there was no pause in the repetitive noise.

"I think she might be a prostitute," Micah said, bored. I looked around the room; it was a sorry state of affairs but it was tidy, bed made with little indication of being lived in. She was not messy, that was good.

"How long have you been here?"

"Six weeks."

"Couldn't your parents cough up for something a bit nicer?" I asked foolishly and she narrowed her eyes at me and snorted.

"I've been paying for it," she said. "That is, up until a week ago, then your mother helped me."

" _You_?! But..." I wasn't sure where to start with all the things I found wrong with this information.

"I had a part time job for a while," she explained, "but I couldn't keep up with it and ran out of money fast."

"Alright. Grab your stuff, we're leaving." I stepped over to where two large gym bags sat and picked one up. It was heavy. "What do you have in here?"

"Textbooks mostly." She looked undecided. "Um... Shouldn't we get to know each other a bit?"

"I'm not picking you up for a date. You're going to be living with me for a while, it's non-negotiable. No cousin of mine is staying here with that..." I waved at the offending wall.

She mumbled something under her breath; probably to do with me being a stuck-up bitch so I did not ask her to repeat it. I had no illusions about this being easy, I only questioned whether it was going to be possible and if so, for how long. My mother had played it perfectly. As much as I liked my space, I could not deal with the idea of Micah staying in this sleaze-hole a second longer, let alone being homeless altogether. I would make it work, at least until other arrangements could be made.

"What I mean is," I said, softening my tone when I saw the look on her face. "Do you want to come stay with me for a while? I live close to AU city campus."

"What street?"

"Pharasyn."

"That's a pretty built-up area. Apartment?"

"Twelfth floor."

She nodded slowly and picked up her other bag, she didn't speak but I took it as a sign of agreement. She dropped her key into the reception and followed me to my car.

She relaxed once we were on the road, her head back and eyes closed, obviously relishing the cool air blowing from the vents. It was a quiet journey and I wasn't going to break it, I believed in being honest from the get go, establishing that I wasn't interested in putting on an act for her or anyone. To my enormous relief, she didn't seem to be either.

I quickly showed her around the apartment when I got her home then brought her bag into the spare bedroom and dropped it on the floor. She stared and looked dumbfounded.

"What is it? It's not okay?"

"Are you kidding?" She looked around the room again. "I figured I'd be crashing on your couch. I didn't expect to have my own room. It's nice, thank you."

I leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms, afraid of leaving her to her own devices.

"You're welcome," I said to fill the silence.

"I know you were guilt tripped into letting me stay. I know how the family operates."

"Ah, there it is, the attitude I was told about." It helped to see some evidence she wasn't all pretence. "You're stuck with me as much as I'm stuck with you. We should try to make it work."

"I will. I don't want to cause trouble."

"I'm not great with people outside of work, you should know that. I'm used to living on my own so this is going to be weird for me."

"I won't be here long, I'll do what I can to get a job and find my own place."

I looked at her, she was not what I had expected. Soft-spoken and clearly ashamed of her situation, she provoked a sense of pathos in me.

"You're at University full time," I said by way of apology for my bluntness. "There's no need to push yourself. As long you respect my privacy you're welcome to stay." I wasn't used to being so polite to family members.

"Is that all you want? For me to respect your privacy?"

"What else would I want?"

"Haven't you been instructed to spy on me? To keep me in line?"

"I've barely been told anything about you and I don't follow orders."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because you're my cousin. As long as you allow me my space, I'll give you yours." I didn't want to have an argument this early. "Just to get a few things out of the way though, I'd like to ask you some questions."

"Okay..." she said suspiciously.

"Are you a thief?"

"No."

"Are you addicted to any drugs?"

"No."

"Do you have a habit of bringing visitors home?"

"No. I hate people."

"Oh..." I studied her, narrow-eyed. "No boyfriend?"

"I'm asexual and I spend all my time studying," she said blandly.

It was enough for now, I would soon find out if she was lying about any of these things. I knew liars and Micah didn't strike me as one. Depressed, lonely, dark, difficult, yes, but not intentionally deceitful or cruel.

"I'd rather you didn't smoke inside. The balcony is comfortable but remember to lock the door every time you come back in. It might seem stupid, us being so high but..."

"It's not stupid. I'm glad you're concerned about safety."

"Okay. Key's," I said, handing her a chain. "The card's for the front of the building."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Unless you have any questions for me."

"Do you have a printer I can use?" she asked and I almost laughed. I began to like her simplicity.

"In the study. The broadband details are on the desk, it's unlimited. You can use anything that's not in my bedroom, which I don't want you going into at all."

"Is that where you hide the bodies?"

"Yes. And they are perfectly preserved, they don't need interference."

"I'm not going to touch your bodies."

"Alright then," I hesitated and poked an index finger flaccidly toward her. "Just... Be careful." I had no idea what I meant and was embarrassed by the looseness of the warning; it was a good time to excuse myself. I turned and shut the door behind me. It was imperative that we learn to cohabit with the right balance of distance and communication - a daunting prospect for someone who had lived alone for three years and liked it that way.

The next two days were relatively uneventful. We circled around each other, speaking little and I found myself peculiarly frustrated by this. While I might normally have been happier with the least possible communication, I was curious about Micah and felt inclined to interact more not less.

Her habits were likable; she was quiet, spent long hours at university and when she was home, studied silently in her room for the most part. She had a class at eight while I generally started work at nine; she was out of the bathroom by the time I needed it and she left few signs of having been there - no wet towels on the floor, no toothpaste smeared in the sink, all things I had been unhappily expecting. She left an ashtray on the balcony but disposed of her butts. I checked the door compulsively and it was always securely locked. She seemed not to use the kitchen at all except to make tea, which she drank a lot of. She made pots of it, extremely strong English Breakfast, which I discovered in the morning after she'd left. Still fresh and hot, there was always at least one serving in the pot, as if she left it as an offering to me. An offering I accepted; it was stronger than what I'd ever drunk before but I fast discovered I preferred it to any alternative. She always rinsed her cup.

Had a treated her too harshly? Perhaps I should have been gentler when she arrived, but I had not anticipated that she would be so easy, so compliant. I was aware of her presence, but she was a very absentee flatmate; in more ways than the physical - her immersion in her textbooks when she was home removed her psychically from our situation together and although this was reassuring it also served to increase my desire to get to know her better. I was driven to bring her back to the real world, to talk to her. This was the selfish, controlling side of me and I was making a fair attempt not to yield to it.

2

I was home early on Friday night after work drinks. I had considered taking up an offer to carry the night on at Thera but declined. It had been a long week and I knew I would wake up with a hangover if I went. I preferred the idea of a free day spent not draped over the toilet bowl.

The flat was mercifully dark and quiet when I got in at 11.30. Micah's door was shut and I thought maybe she had stayed out for the night. She didn't strike me as the type to have a raging social life but at 19 it was something you couldn't successfully avoid all the time. I showered and lay in bed checking Facebook and Twitter feeds and by the time I turned out the light it was after one. Happy to have disengaged from a drunken all-nighter I lay drifting, thinking about how I could spend my day tomorrow.

I was pulled back into the darkness of the room by a sound coming from the lounge. It roused but didn't panic me at first. I lay listening, sure I had mistaken it for something elsewhere in the building. But the apartment was well sound-proofed and I often didn't hear anything for days at a time from upstairs or through the walls. The noise kept on though, a sort of jiggling, scratching sound I couldn't place, repetitive -neither gaining nor losing momentum. Like a giant rat making a nest in the ceiling, I thought, eyes widening at the image.

I padded cautiously down the hallway toward the noise without noticing that Micah's bedroom door now lay open in the darkness. When I saw the dark figure standing at the door to the balcony I felt a deluge of dread inside my chest - an intruder, I thought, how the fuck had they managed to get up here? It took only a few seconds for me to rationalise that the figure was Micah, in her t-shirt and shorts and she was inside the room, not outside trying to get in.

Confusion spilled out to replace fear as I walked over to her; she was jiggling the doorknob over and over, obviously trying to get out - but not trying hard since it was clearly still locked.

"What are you doing?" I asked and weirdly she didn't respond, she didn't even stop the jiggling. "Micah?" I said, more decisively this time. Still nothing. Some of the panic seeped back around the edges of uncertainty and I was reminded of an old horror movie I'd seen once; that's what she seemed like, a zombie. I couldn't see her face, her dark hair was falling over it. I flicked the light switch on and she still didn't respond. A little freaked, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder, I gripped it firmly and shook it, tried to get her to turn around.

She did, her head jerked up quickly and, letting go of the door handle, she finally spun around; I almost had a heart attack when she let out the most piercing scream I've ever heard. My blood curdled - it took a few seconds for me to register that it was real and that I had to shut her up. I slapped her; it might have shocked me more than it shocked her, I had never in my life slapped anyone. But she did stop screaming. The strength went out of her knees, they buckled beneath her and she sank onto the carpet. I crouched down next to her, ready to apologise profusely for the slap.

"I didn't mean to do that, Micah. I'm so sorry, it's just that this is a..." I stopped when I saw the expression on her face. She wasn't looking at me, her eyes were screwed shut and she was shaking so badly it was not surprising she couldn't stand up. I was alarmed by her state and had little clue how to deal with it. Instinct took over and I sat down next to her on the carpet and cradled her loosely in my arms. She responded, she gripped me like I was a lifeline and I said a silent prayer. I rocked her a bit the way my mother used to do and stroked her head.

She didn't speak, I didn't try to get her to speak. I waited for her trembling to calm down, we must have stayed like that for at least 20 minutes. What does this to a person, I asked myself. What messed up shit does this girl dream about? It was apparent that she was not quite as stable as she had previously presented to be. We couldn't stay like this for much longer, it was neither warm nor comfortable sitting on the floor. Eventually I managed to coax her to her feet and into her room. I sat her down on her bed but she was still shaking and clinging to me. The idea of pushing her away and leaving her alone did not resonate as a viable option right then. She wasn't calm; what if the same thing happened again? So I did what felt right, I settled her under her blankets and sat next to her, upright against the soft bedhead. She lay with her head against me and her arm around my waist, her eyes shut. Finally her breathing slowed down and her tremor stopped. She was asleep; relieved, I was still unsure whether I should extricate myself and leave her. I was wide awake, I kept the night lamp on and observed the room in its stillness.

Textbooks, folders and stapled papers were scattered around the room. Cell & Developmental Biology, S1 Chemical Data, Genes & Genomes. Not what I would call messy but _busy_ , functional. On the sideboard beside me a hardcover journal lay open beside trays of pills labelled Mirtazepine - which were a mystery to me at that point but I investigated later. Without thinking I picked up the journal and read the tiny handwritten print inside the left hand page.

Like a candle flickering in the shadows I'm vulnerable to any whisper of wind.

It will turn my mind to nothingness, broken pieces hanging, lost memories

There's too much fear inside, I can feel myself shattering.

In the daytime it turns into anger.

Building, flaring, flames rising higher

Until they catch on to my protective walls burning whatever lies within reach

So when night returns I'm vulnerable again, an eternal cycle of despair

Everyone, everything is gone and I lie hurt and alone

Smouldering in the darkness.

Death and decay. I can see them, and they can see me.

There are too many tomorrows that go on forever, too many yesterdays to think about today.

And I'm too tired to search for the dreams that hold time together.

Sometimes I feel like the stars are getting closer, closing in on me...

I stopped abruptly and stared into the room. I shut the journal and placed it back on the nightstand feeling horribly guilty for reading my young cousins private stream of consciousness. It was then that I looked at her wrist draped over me and noticed for the first time the neat row of tiny scars lining the outside of her left arm. My reaction was one of sympathy and shock; the darkness inside Micah ran deep, she may even be disturbed. It was of small comfort that none of the marks looked fresh - perhaps she had started on a different area of her body. What would I do? I would stay with her tonight. My eyes went misty as I lay there, overwhelmed by the almost nonsensical bleakness of her words, watching her breathing - her eyes not moving under their lids. She was so lovely, so peaceful now; her hold over me found its grip that night, tightened like the way she had gripped me on the floor. I knew that from then on I would offer this girl everything I could. I was strong enough to absorb what I could of her pain.

I was up early the next morning, having slept in Micah's bed without lying down properly. My neck and back were stiff and I was keen to put the previous night behind me. I showered and made tea the way Micah liked it. I expected her to sleep late after the night she'd had and since it was the weekend but she came into the kitchen not long after I did. I hesitated; I didn't know how to do this, was scared of overstepping any marks by asking her to talk about personal issues. She spoke first.

"Are you going to kick me out?" Her voice was reserved as she poured her tea.

"Why would I do that?" I asked, surprised by her apparent fear.

"Last night... The noise, the fuss..."

"It's not a big deal, you scared the shit out of me that's all. You should have told me you sleepwalk."

"Thank you for helping me. I'm really sorry." She looked so downcast and my empathy sharpened.

"Hey," I tempered my voice. "Everyone has nightmares, I'd never kick you out for that. We'll deal with it." She did not look convinced but I was, I would just have to be careful of the noise disturbing any neighbours.

"I don't have them often, it must be the new environment," she said awkwardly.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't know." She was embarrassed.

"You shook for like two hours afterward, you must know what you were afraid of."

"Things feel wrong after I wake up. Everything is just wrong and I don't know why. I really am sorry."

"It's okay." I badly needed to reassure her. "It's not your fault."

"Sometimes I know when they're going to happen. Things feel wrong before I even fall asleep."

"That's useful actually," I nodded, "maybe you could tell me next time? I can help."

"I'll try," she said, drained her tea and went into the shower without speaking again. Did she ever eat? She was so terribly thin. Maybe I should take her out for breakfast. Would she even accept breakfast from me? My cell rang.

"Hey, Nat."

" _That was quick, I was ringing to wake you._ " We met at the gym every Saturday.

"I'm up, I'm up."

" _Another early night? You bore_."

"I'll meet you outside at ten, yeah?"

" _Uh huh._ "

Nat's voice reminded me of something while I sat finishing my toast, deep in thought.

Despite my comment to Micah, I didn't really have nightmares myself, not anymore. My worst dreams were centred at work. I was very good at my job but deep down I knew it was all an act and if people could see what went on in my mind underneath the professionalism I would likely end up jobless. My big fear was that one day I would no longer be able to keep up the charade. So I had dreams occasionally in which I was meeting an important client and I was unable to smile or to say what they wanted to hear; no matter how hard I tried, what came naturally while I was awake was impossible. I had no control. The dreams may have been rooted in anxiety but they were what I labelled 'shame' dreams. The basic embarrassment I felt in them would sometimes blossom into full-fledged anxiety because it would result in me losing my reputation, my livelihood, my job.

I'd had bad dreams when I was a child, but it was like looking at them through a screen or from a great distance, they weren't real, I couldn't feel them.

I knew other people suffered nightmares. Nat, who was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend, had told me about a recurring dream she had in which she was standing on the edge of a sky scraper that was about to topple over. It was strange for me to hear about this kind of thing, to see the look in people's eyes when they described these experiences, but before that first night with Micah I had no proper sense of the fear involved and the impact it had. I resolved to do some research on nightmares and sleepwalking. Things had begun to change now, an irreversible chain of events had been set in motion which, like my shame dreams, I had little control over.

*

I made some lazy visits after the gym and did not speak to anyone about Micah but she was on my mind. I had an idea; I would get a recipe off my mother and cook something that night. Mum had been trying to convince me to learn my way around a kitchen for years but I had never been inspired enough. I knew I could do it - what could possibly be difficult about following written instructions? And the idea of feeding Micah without making her feel guilty about me paying at a restaurant appealed to me. She'd left the flat fairly early in the morning, heading to the library to do some assignment or another and I considered the possibility she wouldn't be home. I would make a lot and complain about having too many leftovers.

What would I make? For the first time in my life I began to look forward to doing something with food in my kitchen. It was one of the more conclusive signs that I was wrapping myself willingly around Micah's finger, though I didn't recognise it as such yet.

I took some recipes from my mother but refused to discuss it with her when I saw the smug look on her face. My confidence in myself was pretty high as I looked over the instructions, made a decision and went to various stores buying components. My only real concern was that Micah may have allergies or that she was an overly fussy eater. Since I had yet to witness her eat at all I was stuck in this regard and just had to wing it. At least I would learn something about her if she couldn't eat my offering.

Things went south quickly when I got into the kitchen. The ingredients and utensils were not bending to my will as expected. I realised I had grossly underestimated the skill required for food preparation. My issue was, the more difficult a task presented itself to be the more tenacious I became; it was war and by God I was going to win if it took me all night. Calling my mother for advice was out of the question. My sights fixated, I forgot about Micah and my initial goal, I forgot about everything. I wrestled with pots and pans and flung parsley and flour over the floor and counters. I burned myself four times and cut myself twice. I ruined seven ling fillets and congratulated myself on having the wisdom to buy far too many. I was in the process of wrecking my third batch of parsley sauce when I heard someone giggling at me.

"Wow, you really suck at the stove," Micah said and I turned to her, both furious at the insult and pleased to hear her laugh.

"I'd like to see you do much better, it's really hard," I barked. She had distracted me from the sauce and I was shocked when she stalked toward me, took the wooden spoon from my motionless hand and assumed stirring it.

"Um..."

"You have to stir continually or it won't thicken consistently. Haven't you ever made this before?"

"No. How do you know what it is?" She looked at me like I was a mad woman. "I'm new to food," I said defensively.

"Maybe you should start with basics, like boiling an egg," she taunted.

"Vicious little... I can handle it, it's a process."

"Hmm." She sneered accusingly at my plastered fingers and dropped the spoon. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait! If you're so smart maybe you can help me?" I swallowed my pride and remembered my original plan which was to get Micah to eat. " _Do_ you know how to do this stuff?"

She smiled and took over with the sauce again. She did know how to do 'this stuff' and I felt like a fool for challenging her. She demonstrated things to me and with patience and skill we (mostly her) finished the meal. While she cooked she scooted about the kitchen cleaning things up as she went and ordering me to do this and that, like a professional; it was impressive and quite entertaining to watch. She was in her element.

"Why do you keep so many bottles of tap water?" she asked, peering into one of the lower cupboards.

"I don't know if you've noticed but there have been a lot of cases of water contamination around the country lately. It will happen here, it's only a question of when."

"Very shrewd. Are you having people over?"

"No. Why?"

"You've made enough for four people."

"Er ...yes. Like I said, I'm new at this. You will help me eat it of course." I took it for granted and didn't give her the opportunity to decline. If she had a problem with any of the foods involved I would soon find out. She appeared not to, she helped me put the meal together on plates and sat down to eat with me.

She accepted a glass of wine and I felt a mixture of delight and disgust at the way she shovelled food into her mouth. Was she in a hurry?

"It is tasty, but you eat like a pig, Micah."

"Sorry, I just haven't had food like this in a really long time."

"Food like this?"

"Real food. Fresh stuff cooked from scratch, food with nutritional value. I don't think I've eaten meat in months. I'm a poor student."

"Hmm," I nodded studying her thin frame. "You haven't touched any of the food in the fridge or cupboards."

"It's not mine," she said and I was appalled.

"I thought you had an eating disorder or something. Don't your parents give you money to eat at least?"

"They've effectively cut me off." She paused looking uncomfortable. "I need to ask a favour."

"Yes?"

"Don't tell any family about the nightmares."

"It's none of their business but is there a particular reason you need to keep it hushed?"

"I don't want to draw their attention. Mary looks for any excuse to jump down my throat."

"Could the sleepwalking be caused by the pills you take?"

"No. I've done it since I was little. It used to be much worse."

"How did your parents deal with it?"

"They had me committed."

"For sleepwalking?" I shook my head. "Jerks. Why did they kick you out?"

"They believe I'm sick and didn't want to see me self-destruct."

Unthinking, I glanced down at her arms and she pulled her sleeve self-consciously further down on her wrist.

" _Are_ you sick?"

"We're all a little sick," she said.

"So fucking true," I nodded. "But you don't want to talk to a psychologist?"

"I was deconstructed enough when I was an inpatient. I'm better off without them. They don't know how to cope with me being so different."

"Different?"

"The depression," she shrugged, "the nightmares, the way I talk. They hate that I called myself asexual, that I don't have friends; that I don't fit into social norms. It sounds ridiculous when I say it like that but it all just built up over the years to the point where we can't stand each other anymore."

I was happy she was talking. It wasn't the wine, she'd only taken three sips.

"And their solution was to throw you to the streets?"

"They believe in tough love."

"Do they believe in no love?"

"They expected me to come crawling back and submit to their wishes. Your mother took pity on me. I don't know why, I heard she's normally pretty cold as well."

"I think there might be some history between her and Mary, I have no idea what it is but with my mother there is usually an ulterior motive. What exactly do you mean by asexual? You self-fertilize?"

She laughed suddenly and unexpectedly; it was delightful.

"You know something about biology," she said then sobered. "It means I'm not a sexual person."

"Have you ever had sex?"

"Getting a bit personal, aren't you?" she asked but she looked amused not uncomfortable. "No one would want sex from me," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Had I misheard her?

"I've never wanted to before," she said, raising her voice.

"No sex drive at all, huh. That's a new one," I noted. "Why do you wear so much make-up if you're not trying to impress anyone?"

"I don't want to scare people into an early heart attack. I'm not a killer."

I studied her. Did she really have such low self-esteem or was it an act?

"You could go a bit lighter on the eye-liner. You look better without make-up, I've seen you."

"I thought you were supposed to be respecting my privacy."

"You really don't see it?"

"See what?"

"You are so pretty, Micah."

She burped shamelessly and shoved another forkful of fillet into her already full mouth - it wasn't an act. She couldn't care less about what impression she made.

"How did you turn into someone with such a distorted self-image? Where did you learn it from?"

"I was born with it," she said loftily.

So she was willing to admit her self-image was distorted. Curious. I decided I'd grilled her enough about her private matters, from the way it was going it looked like I'd end up embarrassing myself before figuring her out in any way.

"Anyway, I'm glad Mum did it, convinced me to take you," I said.

"Why?" Her expression showed real confusion.

"You're interesting. A fucking train-wreck but interesting. Besides, you can cook. Where did you learn how to cook like this anyway?"

"Masterchef."

"You can't learn that from television."

"I did. And experimenting in the kitchen. Mary hated it, I'd make a shocking mess and she'd nut out at me."

"It must piss her off that you don't call her Mum."

"Not really," she shrugged. "She's not my mother. Like you're not my cousin."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"It's true. Bruce and Mary can't have children. They adopted me."

"It's the first I've heard of it."

"You don't get involved in things, you mind your own business."

"I still think of you as family though." It was partially true.

"Whatever," she shrugged again. "What do you live on if you're such a hopeless cook?"

"Son of a... You've got a mean streak." It added a provocative element to her bizarre combination of characteristics. "Cheese, crackers, toast, fruit, yogurt. I get take-out or make an excuse to visit someone when I want a proper meal."

"Helen tells me you work in a bank?"

"AMP financial advisor. It pays well but it's dull as dish water."

"What did you study to get a job like that so young?"

"I'm 25," I said, shocked that a teenager had the audacity to call me young.

"Yeah, young," she repeated without hesitation.

"Hmm... Commerce. I majored in Accounting. I got the job easy because I happen to be very good at smiling and giving people what they want. A talent I generally reserve for work."

"You haven't had any visitors since I've been here. Are you avoiding having people around because of me?"

"No," I said and she gave me a critical look.

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it. I just don't want you disrupting your life, you're doing enough already. Guests won't bother me."

"You always think the world revolves around you like this?" I asked with a smile.

"No..." She blushed deeply. Living with Bruce and Mary really had fucked her up.

"I don't have many close friends and I like my space," I explained.

"Okay. But don't you even have a boyfriend?"

"I don't sleep with men," I said plainly.

"Oh..." She looked startled by this which amused me. "Girlfriend then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Contrary to popular belief, we sexual people can be choosy."

"Does your mother know? That you're gay?"

"I'm not sure. I don't make a talk show out of it. It's never really come up."

She nodded and I studied her as we ate.

"I want you to help yourself from the cupboards and fridge from now on. Half of the food I buy ends up expiring and getting thrown out anyway. If there's anything wrong with you it's that you're underweight. You can't live on tea and processed snacks."

"Yes, Mum," She said it lightly but I knew it would take more than that. She would have to be lulled into feeling comfortable and confident about taking food. I would demand cooking lessons from her - that would contribute to her feeling like she deserved it.

"I might try lobster rolls tomorrow night, I looked at the recipe."

"Lobster rolls?" She raised her eyebrows. "You sure you don't want to do an egg?"

"I assume it's easier to walk once you know how to run. But... Will you help me? If you're home."

"I don't know." She was suspicious, she wasn't stupid.

I stayed silent, chewing. She was too smart to manipulate and I found myself not wanting to anyway. I didn't like the idea of tricking her, nor the idea that she could be tricked.

But it didn't take much, all I had to do was bide my time till the following evening, bang some pots again angrily and she emerged, hungry and eager to teach me what she knew.

She was proficient in the kitchen, with flavour, with texture and I found myself gazing at her as she tried to demonstrate things to me in such a methodical, scientific manner. I imagined her being the same during her laboratory classes, prim and practical in her coat and trying to make everyone understand things she found so easy, with them gazing at her like I did. Was I becoming infatuated? No doubt I found her adorable in her own efficient and clueless way. She was the epitome of unrefined charm - utterly oblivious to her own charisma. I found expectation off-putting in people, did not want to meet it, and Micah expected nothing - _less_ than nothing. She was impoverished, body and soul. Call it sick, but I wanted to fill all those non-existent expectations.

Would my attraction disappear if she reciprocated it? At that point I thought - probably, it usually did.

*

We got closer over the next two weeks. She helped me with dinner when I was home in time; I got better quickly under her tutelage and I was happy to see her eating well. She looked less like a ghost, her smiles occurred more frequently. She stayed out sitting in the lounge or dining room at night, sometimes with her textbooks and notes, sometimes not. I began to look forward to the end of my work day more. One Wednesday night she seemed particularly reluctant to go to bed. I sensed the shadows looming in her. I stayed up with her until after one and tried to turn her mind to happier things but decided to change tactic eventually.

I repositioned myself on the sofa wrong way up, head hanging over the edge and legs propped up against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked me as I observed her upside down face.

"Spending a few minutes like this helps alleviate back pain," I informed her. "For someone who spends all day sitting in an office chair, however 'ergonomic' it's supposed to be, this can make a big difference."

"I think you just like showing off your legs," she said with the slight smile I had been going for.

"Made an impression, have they? Excellent. Now that we are both comfortable and relaxed, do you want to tell me why you seem intent on staying up all night tonight?"

It was rather difficult to judge her expression from this position but she was definitely not smiling anymore.

"You know you can trust me," I pressed. "Are you going to have a nightmare?"

"I don't want the same thing to happen as last time," she said awkwardly. "It's better if I just don't sleep. I'll probably be okay tomorrow night."

"You shouldn't deprive yourself of sleep like that," I said, the blood was starting to rush to my head. "It's not as if you can help it."

"Sometimes when I walk, I'm aware that I'm doing it. But I can't stop it because I'm not in a normal state. Normal," she snorted bitterly. "What does that even mean? I don't know which state is real, the fear or the non-fear. The fear is definitely more powerful."

"Have you heard of hypnagogia?" I asked and she looked at me sharply.

"Threshold consciousness. Yeah, the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep."

"They say a person can get caught in it and a lot of weird phenomena can happen there."

"I've read a bit about it," she said thoughtfully. "Thought processes can differ radically during a half-dream state. But I don't remember having thoughts at all, just feelings. An overwhelming sense of danger and fear, not logical."

"What did you used to do when you were in this altered state?"

"I ran. I'd run around the property in my bare feet at night. I remember sometimes telling our cat or dog to run too, that something was coming. But if I heard Bruce or Mary get up, saw any evidence that I'd woken them, I would hide - I'd creep back to bed and lie trembling under the covers, pretending to be asleep. I was aware enough to know I didn't want them to find out I'd been walking."

"Did you talk to the psychologist on the ward about these terrors?"

"A little. I didn't try very hard because I can't explain it. No one who hasn't experienced it could possibly understand and there might have been a bit of denial happening... I didn't want to think about it unless I had to. I wanted to put it out of my head when it wasn't there, do you see?"

"Yes, I do. Why would you want something like that to have any more of an impact on your life than it already has?" I swung my legs back onto the floor and straightened up before I passed out. I studied her, she was still so thin. "I won't ask you to talk about it again. You say you need to run and when I found you that first night you were trying to get out onto the balcony, I don't know what might have happened if you'd actually got the door open. I don't want you hurt, I want to help. Will you promise to tell me if you get scared?"

She nodded but looked reticent.

"I need to go to sleep," I said. "You should take the left side of my bed. Even if you don't sleep you'll be a lot more comfortable in there and you won't be alone."

"What about your bodies?" she asked and I smiled. Better already.

"I rented a storage facility and had them moved so you're in the clear."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. You can put the TV on, I have no problem sleeping with background noise, don't worry. And I fucking hate the idea of ghosts or aliens or anything so if something is coming to get us I'd prefer to be woken and warned as well. Deal?"

I wasn't sure it would work at first, but it seemed preferable to having the neighbours calling the police from her screams or finding her dead below the balcony and the arrangement turned out well. It became an unspoken agreement when she was scared - she was mostly fine to sleep in her own room and only twice had I woken to find her shaking beside me. I did my best to comfort her and she relaxed faster now she knew I wasn't going to judge.

I understood what she meant by keeping the nightmares as confined as necessary. I reckoned it was likely people had concentrated too much on Micah's darkness and, as such, inadvertently fortified it. She could be so happy and bright during daylight hours and on the nights when she was calm; my inclination was to encourage this, to inject normalcy into as much of her life as possible without criticising her. She deserved love and laughter not obscurity and fear.

3

I had another call from my mother on the Tuesday three weeks after she moved in. I was at work but was just about to break for lunch so took the call. I was relieved that she had only felt the need to exchange a couple of brief text messages up until now, I'd been expecting a long conversation in which I'd have to be sketchy with detail.

"Mum, hi," I answered.

" _Hi, darling. Are you free to talk for a minute_?"

"I wouldn't have answered if I wasn't."

" _How is everything with Micah?_ "

"Of course you wouldn't be calling to ask how _I_ am."

" _Don't be petulant, I know you're okay... Alright, how are things with you?_ "

"Things are going good with Micah, she's fine. And you were right, she's a nice girl."

" _Oh?_ " She sounded doubtful. " _You're not covering anything up, are you?_ "

"No. If you don't believe me, ask her yourself."

" _Actually, that's the reason I'm calling. Would you be able to bring her to dinner on Thursday night?_ "

"Is that necessary? Why don't you just call her?"

" _It's not about me. Her parents want to see her, they'll be there. They won't be satisfied with a simple phone call, they were quite insistent. Mary wanted to do it at her house but it's too far out of town and I doubt Micah would agree to that so I offered to do it here. What do you think?_ "

I shrugged then remembered I was on the phone. "What do I think about what?"

" _Will you be able to get her to come?_ " she said impatiently. " _At least here she won't be alone with them, everyone will be here._ "

"Why didn't you tell me she was adopted?"

" _What difference does that make?_ "

"How old was she when she was adopted?" I asked, trying my hardest to sound casual.

" _They got her when she was two or three I think. Why does it matter? She's still family._ "

"Of course she is, I was curious that's all and it took me by surprise. Do you know anything about the parents?"

" _Of course not, as far as I'm concerned Mary and Bruce are her parents. Really, Elise, I would have expected you to show more compassion._ "

Typical of my mother to assume I meant it as an insult. I couldn't disclose the real reason I was happy to find out she wasn't blood; as if it would make it any more acceptable in their eyes that I found her cute anyway. Nor could I reveal any suspicions I had about a traumatic past.

I saw Jeffrey signalling to me from the door of his office.

"I have to go, Mum."

" _One second, you haven't given me an answer..._ "

"Oh, right. Yes, I'll mention it to her. I'm sure it will be okay, she likes her food."

" _Good, do your best to swing it, she's going to have to see them eventually. Have a good day, love._ "

I arrived home just after six that night. We'd talked about a braised pork dish - Micah liked to challenge herself I discovered, and so I bought some things.

I found her lying on the sofa on her back, hands linked over her chest. Her eyes were closed and I could hear music blasting through the speaker phones but couldn't tell what it was. I pulled them from her head and saw her eyes open and widen at me before I closed them over my ears.

"Metallica?" I said in amusement. "Really?"

"It's mathematically flawless," she informed me, slightly miffed and took her headphones back.

"I wasn't criticising, I just thought you would be too young."

"I'm young, not stupid."

"Sorry, soldier."

"The best music transcends every generation. Anyway, there's not much difference between us, how do you know their stuff so easily?"

"No Leaf Clover's the shit. But I like Chief Keef as well and I know nothing about the math, I just like how it sounds."

"You're a financer, I expect you know a few things about math."

"Hm. I don't have a musical bone in my body."

"Chief Keef? Little Aussie white girl has seriously fucked up taste in _sounds_."

"Speak for yourself. Anyway, from what I understand, we're amongst the toughest little white bitches on earth."

"From what I understand adding 'amongst the' or 'one of the' to the beginning of a stat turns all of them into absolute bullshit."

"Ah," I laughed. "Can't fool you, can we?" I collapsed on the sofa next to her as she straightened up. "What's all this?" I asked, picking up her notebook and staring at the intricate, annotated diagrams drawn there.

"Notes for a lab write-up. We're looking at normal and mutant conditions to study the relationship between genes, enzymes, biochemical pathways and phenotypes ...that is _characteristics_."

"Wiseass. And what are you experimenting with?"

"Drosophila flies, yeast, corn and phage lambda, a bacterial virus."

"You don't mess around with notes, do you? I remember taking as few as possible when I was at Uni. Mind you, I never took summer semester courses like you are either."

"The more notes I take the easier it is to do the write-up, it's practically all done and just needs to be set out correctly."

I dug around in my bag and pulled out my own notebook, opened it and held it out for Micah to see.

"This is one of the clients I met with today." It was a caricature of a stocky, full-bosomed woman with a severe grey bun and an exaggerated wart above her left temple. She had a speech bubble coming from her puckered lips and overbite saying ' _The partial package will satisfy me_ '. Micah's face broke into a wide grin.

"What the fuck?" She flicked back through some of the earlier pages and multitudes of cartoon effigies. "These are good. You drew them?"

"I have to keep the book well hidden at work, if anyone saw them I'd never be thought of as professional again."

"This almost makes banking work look appealing."

"It isn't," I laughed.

"Why do you do it? If you hate your job so much?"

"I don't," I said, shocked at the directness of the question. "I don't _hate_ it per se, I just feel the need to supplement it to entertain myself. It makes my days worthwhile, I enjoy meeting new customers so I can analyse them, criticise them and plan for a cartoon later as I'm explaining interest rates and fixed term loan requirements. I don't have to pretend to be interested, I actually am. My job is easy if I have this."

She giggled and I drank it in, stored it up.

"Shouldn't you try to do something with your creativity?"

"Oh please, I hold out a small hope of buying my own house one day. If I did something with my creativity that would spontaneously abort in situ. Therein lies the dilemma." I paused. "I took art when I was 15, my teacher told me I was terrible, she wanted us to draw flowers."

"You don't strike me as the type to allow that to put you off."

"I was a different person back then."

"I like university more than I liked school, the people are more my kind, smart and non-judgemental. And I like what I'm learning about, but I do question whether it's the right path for me or not."

"Everyone does. Why did you choose biology?"

"I was good at it and I was told by student advisors that science was the way to go, I would always be needed in the area and I could achieve things. I liked that, being told I was needed. Sad," she shook her head.

"What would you have done if you had total freedom to be successful in any area?"

"I don't like that word - successful. I just wanted to be useful and to know I was assured of a job." I watched her, waited, and she looked thoughtful then went on. "I might have gone into psychology. Like every head-case, I have an interest in the human mind. Very banal."

"You could dabble in that on the side."

She giggled again. "I try," she told me. "You're quite an interesting case."

"You're not so bad yourself." I peered closer at her face. "You've eased up on the mascara, haven't you?"

"Yeah," she looked embarrassed. "Your make-up is perfect, I took your advice."

I laughed, pleased and touched her chin briefly.

"You look much better. Do you have time for food? I bought ingredients."

"Yes! What did you get?" She got so excited about cooking, it was charming.

She seemed very relaxed after dinner so I broached the delicate issue.

"By the way, we've been asked to dinner at Mum and Dads on Friday. Are you in? We're both expected."

She clammed up abruptly, shoulders hunched, face tense.

"Will my parents be there?"

"Yes. It's official, they're worried about you." I didn't want to make her face it. What I wanted was to tell her we could blow it off but I suspected Mum was right - it was better for her to confront them now, while she was in an okay head-space. I miscalculated her strength and I was selfishly interested in seeing how it would be between them. Knowing so little about their section of the family was overriding my protective sensibilities.

"My brothers and sister will be there and I'm sure Mum will have your back so you don't have to worry about being alone with them; that might make it easier. I think you should come but it's up to you."

"Okay," she agreed, but it was mechanical and she had visibly shut herself off. I focused on the television with an infernal frown. Was she always going to be so sensitive? Would I ever bring her out of her shell? Patience, Elise.

She went out to the balcony to smoke.

"Oh hey, I forgot, I got you a present," I said when she came back in. I pointed to the dining table and, looking worried she went and poked at the bag.

"A vaporizer? Really?"

"I thought you might want to try it, there are a few different flavours and strengths. It would be easier if you didn't have to go outside every time you wanted a puff. You don't have to..."

"No. It's great, thanks. You shouldn't spend your money on me though."

"It will save you a hell of a lot in the long run if you don't need to buy cigarettes. You could spend it on clothes which I know you need and won't let me help you with."

She looked embarrassed again so I shut my big mouth.

"Shouldn't you be discouraging my addiction?"

"You've got way worse options."

Her phone rang out from her pocket and she went to take it. When she came back in she said, "That was Mary." She looked shell-shocked.

"Did she have a go at you?"

"Not exactly. She wants me to come home." That caught my attention.

"What turned her around?"

"She's stressed that I'm staying with you. She doesn't like it."

"What did I ever do to her?! I don't think we've exchanged a word my whole life." I was dismayed that my past was still lurking despite how much I had changed. My dislike of Micah's mother hardened to an unnatural degree. I looked at her sideways, guarded as she sat down close on the sofa and faced me.

"Elise, I don't want to go back there."

"I'm not surprised. Your mother is a total slut cake."

"Slut cake?" It drew an unexpected smile across her previously worried face.

"Grade A bitch?" I offered, sure she thought the same and it wouldn't offend her.

"I want to stay here," she told me solemnly. "I know you think I'm a train-wreck but you didn't know me a few months back. I've been peaceful here by comparison. I don't know what it is but ...please don't ask me to go."

"Hey," I took a hold of her thin shoulders and drew her into a hug. "I wouldn't do that. You and me get along okay, don't we? Fuck Mary, I don't even know what her problem is. No wonder you're screwed in the head with her on your case all the time."

She laughed and I pulled back to see the happy event. She leaned heavily into the cushions of the couch and sighed.

"It's nice not having to spend so much time on the train and...I feel safe here," she said, sounding surprised about it. "I've never felt so safe."

"The dreams are still bothering you though," I couldn't help but point out.

"I suppose they always will." She played idly with a loose stitch on her coat. "I don't want to get personal but..." The smile again. "What did you do that makes everyone think so badly of you? You seem to have things pretty together to me."

" _Everyone_ thinks badly of me?"

"I'm not an idiot. Whatever it is couldn't have reached Mary unless it was common knowledge."

"I had some problems when I was a teenager too," I shrugged. "I went off the rails for a while there."

"Problems like mine?"

"Not exactly, no. I was an agitator, I got in trouble a lot."

"Oh come on, why does Mary think that you'll be such a horrible influence on me?"

"There was one big thing that the whole family knows about. They tend to remember it and ignore everything after."

"And that would be?"

"Umm...." I looked at her, stalling and hoping she wouldn't see me differently. What if she didn't feel safe here if I told her? I knew she would find out somehow anyway. "I set our beach house on fire one summer, when I was 16. No one got hurt and it wasn't really supposed to be as bad as it was, but... No one's ever going to forget it."

"Lise!"

"Yeah, I know. It's bad. I had no impulse control, I've come a long way since then."

"Of course you have," she said softly and leaned against my shoulder.

"You're not afraid?"

"Not of you. I've done stupid things too."

Would she talk more if I told her more? Would she open up?

"Sometimes I'm glad it happened. My state was deteriorating quite bad back then, the fire was a zenith. My parents never had me charged, they protected me. But they did ask me to see a psychiatrist and after the fire, I realised they were right, I agreed and I started to try to change."

"It helped? Seeing a psychiatrist?"

"Hmm." I thought about this. "Not in a direct or easy way. I saw quite a few and they put me on different medications and diagnosed me with different things - it became comical after a while. It was trial and error, I got good at judging what kind of doctor each of them were and why they were treating me this way and whether it was worth continuing to see them or not. It turned into a game, a game they made me feel like I was better at than they were, at which point I knew I'd come as far as I could and stopped with the doctors. It seems unbelievably stupid we live in a world where a person should have to train for seven years to become a human mirror but that's what it felt like. I suddenly just didn't want to be that person anymore. I changed my behaviour and my way of thinking and I didn't need the antipsychotics. I think group therapy and meeting other screw-ups like me helped more than any psychiatrist ever did though."

"So you turned into someone beautiful," she said. "I can understand you better now."

"I guess I had it a lot easier with my parents than you do with yours."

"Sometimes... Sometimes I think they never loved me like they would have if I was their real kid."

"Maybe. Or maybe they're just shitty parents. People get treated that way by biological family too."

"Your mother dislikes Mary, doesn't she? That's why she took pity on me, that's why she got you involved."

"Maybe she wanted to throw it back in Mary's face. I don't know what happened between them and I'm not sure I want to. Mum isn't the nicest person either but at least she's loyal. She takes care of her own and whatever the reasons, she considers you one of us."

"You look like a young version of your mother."

"Thanks," I said, incredibly offended.

"It's a compliment. Helen is a very beautiful woman."

God, she was strange. Who says things like that? I found myself fascinated by her strangeness, her almost childlike naivety. I mused over whether she had been bullied at school. I was never one of them but the prevalence of bullying in my schools was awful, as it was all over Australia. And although I knew it happened, I don't remember ever seeing it, or trying to stop it. Which made me just as culpable, didn't it? It was an interesting point, was I attracted to her out of guilt?

Based on her looks she should have been one of the popular girls but she didn't have the right personality, I imagined the things she said would have been leapt upon and torn to shreds like freshly discovered carrion. Was that where her problems stemmed from? Or was it just another link in the disastrous chain of events of her sad life? I pondered these things but did not ask her - I didn't want to reopen old wounds, or create new ones by suggesting the presence of a difficult past.

I didn't want her to reinvent herself, I wanted her to love what she was and find the strength to fight for it. Fuck all those fake, silly bitches who might have picked on her, they were nothing and she was perfect. I held her in high esteem, perhaps my imagination was turning her into something other than what she was. I had always been overactive in that area and with my tedious job, I suspected my brain was creating a persona quite different from the real one.

"You've been using my cherry shower cream, haven't you?" I asked leaning close.

"Sorry. Just a tiny bit, it smells so good."

"Use as much as you want." She _did_ smell good.

The following night Micah's phone rang while we were in the kitchen - Mary again. I could tell from her expression when she looked at it, the way she answered and the way she spoke.

"She wants to talk to you," she said after few nondescript responses and questioned me with her eyes. I reached for the phone, curious as to what she could possibly have to say to me.

I was surprised to find she didn't bother with the irritating small-talk - it wasn't as if she and I had ever spoken before. Nevertheless, Mary got right down to it.

" _Micah is very impressionable. I want you to be careful what kind of things you expose her to._ "

"Okay." Annoyed by her distrust and overbearing nature, I didn't want to respond in a way that might embarrass Micah. I kept my answers short, not even trying to be polite. But she was pushy.

" _She won't tell me anything. Is she alright?_ " she asked.

"Well... She's shaved her head, and I don't mind telling you I'm very worried about her hygiene habits." I winked at Micah whose face broke out in amusement.

" _This situation is not a joke to me, Elise. Can I expect to see you both at your parents' tomorrow?_ "

"We'll be there with bells on."

" _I suspect you realise that Micah isn't..._ "

"We're a bit busy cooking," I cut her off. "I have to go, Mary. Bye." I hung up before she had the chance to ask for Micah back. "Where does she get off concerning herself in your wellbeing after she left you to fend for yourself?" I wondered out loud and was happy to see she had the sense not to call again.

*

Micah was waiting for me outside work when I left Thursday afternoon. Rachel walked out with me and I was seriously thankful to see her so I didn't have to make up another lie if asked to go out that night. Or worse, feel pressured into simply going. I smiled big when I saw her leaning against the bank logo and walked straight over.

"I see you've discovered my hide-out."

"Wasn't hard, there are only two branches in the CBD."

"Who's this, Elise?" Rachel was still hovering with a look on her face that said she thought we were together.

"My cousin. Rachel, Micah."

" _Second_ cousin."

"Hi." Rachel reached for her hand and I was surprised to see Micah take it affably. "Looks run in the family. I guess you two have plans so I'll leave you to it. Nice to meet you, and I'll see you tomorrow, Elise." She touched my arm with a smile and finally left.

"She likes you," Micah teased and poked me in the side with her elbow.

" _She's_ practically my boss."

"Kinky!" Micah laughed. "She's pretty. If you like older."

"What do you know about it, Miss No Sexuality? What are you doing here? Come to hustle a ride home?"

"Hey, if you want me to leave you alone so you can catch up to _Rachel_ then I'll just be on my way."

She turned and I grabbed her arm, shaking my head.

"She's a pain in the ass, I'm glad you're here. You saved me."

"Aw, poor Elise. Must be tough being so popular."

"It is. It's incredible the amount of invitations I have to turn down so I can hang out with you. Look at them all swarming, we should take cover."

"It's that skirt, you really need to hide your legs."

"Let's go shopping. Ingredients and clothes."

"How many ways can one person hint that my wardrobe sucks?" Micah pointed at me accusatorily.

"I don't think it sucks. It's just...limited."

"Did you forget we have to go to dinner tonight?"

"My parents," I groaned. "I would have remembered. We're not due till seven thirty."

"Good. Time to psych myself up. Can we leave it till the last possible moment?"

"Naturally."

She got quieter and quieter as the hour of arrival approached and I sensed the tension building in her. It was unsettling but I figured it was simple nerves and all would be well once the evening was underway and she could look forward to relegating it to the archives.

When we eventually arrived at my parents' she somehow managed to avoid her confrontation until we sat down to eat. Bruce and Mary were chatting in the living room and Micah stayed in the kitchen helping my mother. I knew she was using the cooking as an excuse to stay away from the others so I tried to remain involved in my father's pitiful attempt at conversing with the distanced couple. They were not quite as I pictured them; Mary was much older than my mother, perfectly preened and so stiff in her posture it looked like her brittle back might snap if a finger was pushed too hard against her forehead. Bruce was clearly Mary's backup, only offering a word or two when no one else bothered to respond to her colourless remarks. I almost felt sorry for her, she was a fish out of water and there were no lifeguards on duty. I couldn't feel genuine pity because she was saying so little of interest she might as well have been asleep or zonked out on benzo's. When we sat down to dinner she resuscitated though.

The tension at the table was claustrophobic, there were too many people present for my tastes and too many conflicting opinions. I'd had issues with family dinners since I was a child; they generally did not turn out well, giving birth to and resurrecting disagreements, feuds and on occasion even physical altercations. This one was worse because it was not just immediate family. It was the first time Micah had seen her parents since they had thrown her out in what must be a nasty memory for her, and I knew my mother did not get along with them. Worse still, Mary was lecturing Micah in front of everyone and being too barefaced about private matters. I could almost see the malaise oozing from Micah, and I was certain everyone else could as well. Except Mary.

"Are you just going to sit there in silence all night?" she said harshly.

"Mi," Bruce spoke. "We didn't come all this way for you to ignore your mother."

"Are you at least going to look at me? Tell me how you're doing?"

"I'm doing good."

"Just good? What happened to that dictionary you swallowed?"

I watched as Micah stayed silent, poking at her beans with her knife. It wasn't like her not to eat, Mary was messing with her appetite. My mother and sister whispered together at the other end of the table, they hadn't caught up with the tension at this end yet. Mary sighed and shook her head in dissatisfaction.

"Have you been taking your pills?" Micah nodded. "What about the rest? You haven't been doing anything stupid? Hurting yourself?"

"Mary..." my mother finally cottoned on to the conversation, but her warning was weak.

"I need assurance that my daughter is alright," Mary said in malevolent undertone. "It's the only reason I came here tonight. I haven't seen her in months and who knows when she'll show her face again?"

"I'm sure she's just fine at Elise's. A lot better than where she was before."

"Well?" she asked, turning to me. "Are you looking after her?"

Her words were icy, challenging. Why was she talking as if Micah wasn't there? I sliced into a piece of Yorkshire pudding and looked at Micah again. My heart went out to her and I spoke up.

"Your daughter is the sweetest girl I've ever met and she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She cooks like a chef, cleans up after herself, never misses her classes. She's getting top grades in her papers - nice of you to ask about that, by the way." The words were loaded with innuendo but I kept emotion out of them, speaking in monotone. Mary scoffed with antipathy and I poked a forkful of roast potato into my mouth and listened to the silence that fell over the table for a few moments.

"There you have it. The prognosis from someone who truly knows mental," said my youngest brother Adrian, attempting to break the tension with a uselessly flippant remark.

"You are plainly still not eating enough," Mary observed inaccurately, ignoring Adrian.

"She eats fine when she's in decent company." I concentrated on Mary who, incredibly, continued to glare at Micah's unresponsive, bowed head. "Do you know anything about RFLP-based genetic mapping, Mary? What about resistance gene expression or shotgun cloning? Micah does. She knows how to introduce foreign DNA into a cell using bacterial transformation." I wanted to tell her about the good things, how amazing her daughter really was but she refocused her gaze on me like I was mad.

"You think because you've got a fancy job now it qualifies you to give advice a mentally unstable teenager? Micah is my child, not yours."

I thought, _what the fuck!?_ My mother started to say something but I drowned her out. Mary was mine now.

"Haven't you noticed she's not a child anymore? And you cut her off, making her absolutely none of your business. Do you know you left her to live on instant noodles and stale bread so she could prioritise paying for textbooks? But since you'd like to hear about the positive stuff so much - she's smart and she's doing something with her life. Maybe your strategy for dealing with her 'problems' was not so wonderful after all?"

"By all means, criticize, Elise. Have you seen the scars on her arms? Have you ever found her in the bathroom with a razor blade held against her pulsing vein?"

I looked at Micah, her head down she was trying to hide behind her hair; I deeply regretted pushing her to come here. Screw this, I got up, went to her and took her hand.

"Listening to this shit would turn anyone suicidal. Let's go." She didn't protest, she pushed her chair back with a loud scraping sound, picked up her coat and almost ran out the front door to the car. "Sorry mother," I called as I followed her and heard the voices start behind me.

"I'm sorry," I told Micah when we were finally on the road. "I shouldn't have said those things, I shouldn't have provoked her." I could feel her looking at me.

"You stuck up for me. You called her out."

"She had it coming. It's a shame people like her never listen. Bitch," I hissed. I was so angry, it was instinctual. Micah had to deal with that _all_ her life? It was hard to think about.

"Are you okay?" she said, eyes still on me.

"Yes." I forced myself to breath calmly; she was worried about me. "Are you?"

"I am now."

I turned to her with a small, apologetic smile. "Should we get a drink?"

"Yesss!" she said enthusiastically. "But can we do it at home? I don't want to go to a bar."

"Absolutely, we'll stop at the bottle store. Home, alcohol and ...food. We didn't eat." I glanced at her. "And Micah? Don't take any notice of what she says, she's a nutcase. She's got MSBP or something."

"You don't know how good it feels someone actually agrees."

"Everyone at that table tonight agreed with you. They all saw it."

"But you were the only one who said anything."

"I meant every word. As far as I can see, your problems are minimal compared to hers."

We cooked, ate, drank sangria and watched some episodes of Family Guy and her tension gradually dropped out of sight.

"Thank you for getting me out of there tonight," she told me later.

"I shouldn't have asked you to go in the first place. I didn't know she was that bad. Clearly you're better off staying away from them. Hasn't she ever cared about all the things you have going for you?"

"I don't think she understands how her treatment affects me. She believes she's doing what's best."

"At that level, stupidity becomes a crime."

"How did you know about shotgun cloning and RFLP probes?"

"You left your textbook open on the table the other night, I had a gander."

She looked at me and her half-smile turned serious.

"I'm not suicidal," she told me. "I've never made a serious attempt."

"Yeah, I'm sorry I said that."

"I started cutting when I was twelve. It made me feel better in a way I can't explain."

"You don't need to. Most people practise some form of self-harm at some point. Yours is just more obvious than most." I paused. "Do you still do it?"

"Not in over a year. I stopped because I wanted to be well rid of my parents and never have to go back to hospital. For a long time it was hard, it took a degree of discipline I wasn't used to. But since I've been here I haven't been tempted at all."

"Good," I said, smiled and took her wrist and kissed it. "You deserve to feel nice things not bad ones." I leaned heavily back into the sofa and puffed out. "I wonder what they gossiped about when we left the table."

She looked at me in silence, then she leaned over and kissed me; clumsy and slightly off target but she corrected herself quickly, pushing her mouth hard against mine and opening her lips. It was a desperate and passionate kiss but it did not last long. No more than a few seconds before she pulled back, rose quickly from her position and literally ran a few steps away. She looked down at the carpet as I watched, sitting up and fully alert now.

"I should go to bed, I have a six hour lab session tomorrow and I need to be up early to prep for it. Thank you for tonight," she said in a rush and then scooted down the hallway and disappeared into her room.

I sat alone and stared at the TV screen. She had kissed me and now she was upset. She wasn't drunk, I knew that; she had sipped slowly and only consumed two glasses over the space of two hours. I wondered if I should try to talk to her, make sure she was alright; given what we were talking about I was worried. But she had _kissed_ me. She seemed just as surprised by it as I was, she would want some space \- time to think and collect herself. I didn't want to pull a Mary and be overbearing. Micah would figure it out in her own time. I needed to trust her.

4

She had already left by the time I got up the next morning which she hadn't done since the first few days she had been here. She was avoiding me which was not a nice feeling. I concentrated on other things and didn't dwell on it.

When I got home that night she was in the lounge with her textbooks. I threw my bag down and sat at the other end of the sofa, stared out the window.

"What's up, cuz?"

"Nothing. How was your day?"

"Are you okay?" she asked cautiously.

"I don't know. I'm wondering what's happening with you."

"Me? I'm fine."

I didn't want to disrupt her study or upset her but I did feel a need to make her confront certain issues; not for my sake, but for hers. Ignoring things didn't come naturally to me.

"You kissed me," I blurted out, still concentrating on the view out the windows. "You kissed me like you wanted me. People don't kiss like that unless they feel attraction."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Her switch to defensive mode was rapid and extreme.

"I know that you have a habit of denying the depth of your feelings in most areas of your life so why not about sex too?"

"Don't be disgusting, you're my cousin."

"Not by blood. But okay, I'm disgusting. Me and you together? That would be disgusting." I studied her face for a few moments. I had done wrong. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She was braced and wouldn't look at me. More than anything else I needed her to be safe.

"There's food in the fridge, please eat."

I turned and left her, I would go out, visit Nat and have a whinge about work. It was a shame I couldn't talk to anyone about Micah, but whatever was happening between us was a sacred subject. It was ours alone, to mention it out loud to someone other than her would feel like a betrayal.

Had she noticed that I hadn't pushed her away? That I had responded to the kiss in what little time she'd given me? Did she hate herself that much? Did she hate _me_?

I trusted that she had more than enough brain capacity to figure things out for herself, it was only a question of whether she had the emotional rigidity.

The following night was the worst. When I sat down on the sofa next to her after dinner she actually moved to the armchair.

"You shouldn't come too close to me," she said when I looked at her with an expression of hurt. Surely she didn't feel unsafe with me; we'd slept together often enough and she had never expressed this level of worry before.

"It doesn't have to be like this, I'm not trying to hit on you or something," I tried to tell her. "Do I really still disgust you?"

"I never meant that. I'm sorry, it's me that's disgusting. I just need some space, please don't be insulted."

I stayed silent and watched TV, I didn't want to fight tonight.

*

Days passed and I became depressed about the situation at home, about the way Micah had been lately. The last few nights after the kiss had been tense; she clearly needed to put distance between us. I agreed to have drinks with Jeffrey and the others one evening after work but was apparently more affected by my mood than I had admitted to myself. I drank too many margaritas and spoke too openly about things I had absolutely no interest in. It appeared I had given out entirely the wrong impression because midnight rolled around and I was left alone with Rachel in the bar. When I realised that everyone else had left and Rachel was eyeing me with a predatory look I glanced at my phone suggestively and told her I wanted to wrap the night up. We left and she walked me to the taxi stand, I was tipsy and couldn't for the life of me remember how many drinks I had consumed.

When I reached for the door to the nearest car she grabbed my other hand and pulled me back. She put her hands on my waist and pressed her lips to mine. I didn't exactly respond to the kiss but I didn't push her away straight away either, I was too zoned out and a vacillation lurked in my thoughts. Maybe I should give in to this, maybe it would take my mind off things at least.

"Come back to my place," she mumbled into my lips. I came to my senses and pulled away. Distraction was not a good enough reason. The fact of it was that I felt no spark with Rachel and was never going to.

"No. I'm going home... Alone."

"Why? We've been dancing around each other for months. What is your problem? I know it's not because you're straight, you've rejected every male we work with."

"I don't sleep with co-workers," I told her flatly, hoping she would just let it go. She narrowed her eyes at the subtext and finally let go of my waist. "I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," she gave up with an expression of confusion. "Sure. Tomorrow."

She let me leave without further protest. Maybe it would make things awkward at work but at that point I really didn't give a shit. I kept thinking, _I have a problem just because I don't want to fuck her?_ The thought made me shudder with displeasure and fully congratulate myself on having the sense to turn her away. Damn work, I needed sleep.

Micah was out cold on the sofa when I got in, positioned awkwardly and with her lap top, a giant text book and her journal strewn over the carpet beside her. I resisted the urge to look at the journal; once was enough to see the blackness that existed within this girl's soul and I still felt ashamed for seeing that page.

I crouched next to her and put my hand on her arm, she jarred awake and drew her arm away from me quickly.

"It's just me," I said and to my relief she relaxed back, shut her eyes again. "You shouldn't sleep on the sofa, you'll get a sore back."

"What time is it?"

"It's just past one," I said and she cringed.

"I couldn't fall sleep earlier." At least she was talking to me.

"Do you feel like you're going to have a nightmare?" She stayed silent, eyes closed. "You should go to bed."

"Can I sleep with you?" she asked tensely and I envisioned the darkness building inside her. I helped her to her feet.

"Yeah. Come on." I settled her under my duvet and went into the shower, I was tired and still slightly drunk. I needed sleep desperately but probably not as bad as Micah, who had grey circles around her big eyes. I was only relieved she didn't still feel the need to keep her distance from me. Whatever happened I wanted her to find the support I believed she needed here. My regret over staying out so late expanded along with the troubling sensation that I was in too deep with this girl; that she was the real reason I couldn't bring myself to touch Rachel.

I couldn't say how long I lay awake that night, staring out the window at the rain outside, not thinking about anything in particular, not feeling anything in particular - just waiting for sleep to fall on me.

When I felt Micah moving at my back and her arm falling over my side, I assumed she was still asleep and did not react. But she kept moving closer, until I could feel her nuzzling into my hair and the weight of her arm around me became more deliberate, more gripping.

"Why were you so late tonight?" she asked, her voice low and a bit menacing. The weird thing about Micah was, even after such a pointed question, I still couldn't be certain she was fully conscious.

"I had some drinks after work."

Her previously over-the-covers arm slid beneath them and reaffirmed its grip on my waist. This had the potential to push me over an edge; I thought about moving but didn't - I didn't want to upset her and it wasn't like there was anywhere I could move to.

"You're avoiding _me_ now," she accused.

"You haven't exactly been comfortable around me lately," I said defensively.

"I was worried. Why didn't you text me?" She was angry, like a jealous partner or parent and it almost made me laugh.

"I was drinking, it didn't occur to me."

Her hand started rubbing my hips, slid lower to caress my legs, sliding their entire length as I lay on my side, knees bent. Whoa, I thought, what _is_ she doing? I guess she didn't find me disgusting anymore; she had never touched me like this.

"You're lying," she said hoarsely. "You were out fucking someone, weren't you?"

"No," I said. I almost said I might have if it wasn't for her and searched the darkness of the room for an answer to this strange situation. Her hand slid up to my waist again, higher to the curve of my breast. I felt paralysed; how had she managed so completely to pigeon-hole my actions by fear of her own reactions? The query flitted through by mind briefly.

Before I could do anything she slung her leg hastily over mine and she was rubbing herself against my thigh vigorously. It only went on for a couple of seconds before she let out a muted gasp, jerked against me, slid back behind me and then went still.

I think I was actually holding my breath at that point.

There was a moment of silence with me stunned into shock, and then she pressed her face against my back and began sobbing uncontrollably. It didn't register with me straight away as it should have - that I had just been dry-humped without consent by my teenage cousin. She was upset now and my faculties kicked in finally. I turned over and held her face against my chest, stroked her head; I didn't have time to react to what came before, but this I could deal with.

She wept herself to sleep that night without running away like she had before. Quickly and quietly, I slept also, baffled but too exhausted for wakeful worry. I still wondered if she had even been properly awake. Maybe I should have reacted quicker; but I fell asleep that night clear in the knowledge that I probably would not have stopped it if I'd had the chance. I wasn't big on deluding myself, I liked to be honest about my feelings - something I'd learned was of unreserved gravity years ago when my behaviour modifications started. Other people could lie to themselves and to me all they wanted, but I would not lie to myself; it was one of the few things I could control absolutely.

Sleeping no more than five hours, I was up early the following day, drinking tea at the kitchen table when Micah came in and poured herself a cup in silence.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?" I asked foolishly.

She left the kitchen immediately so I guessed not. It also told me she had been fully awake and that she remembered everything.

_Asexual my ass_ , I thought to myself. But this was going to be trickier than any previous difficulties we'd had. I wondered if she might be so freaked out by it that she would leave. I wondered if she cared that I had feelings as well, that I was human. I decided not to push the issue, what would happen would happen and as usual she was in complete control of the situation. As usual, my feelings did not count.

My own sexual experiences may not have been particularly wide-ranging or numerous but none had ever been so raw, so primitive. In a way, the innocence of it stirred me, but I could not allow it to happen in such a manner again.

She could use a pillow next time; she didn't seem to need anything more for what she wanted.

*

We were living together, it was important for us to maintain some level of normalcy and comfort with each other. I couldn't handle another week of her treating me the same as she did after the kiss and her last exploit had the potential to make things far more awkward. She hadn't reacted well to me being direct so I tried something different and simply pretended that it hadn't happened. I cooked dinner with her like we were friends again. It wasn't my style of doing things but it seemed to be the only way with Micah given our circumstances and close quarters; and whatever the case she responded well and we sat comfortably together in the lounge two nights later.

"You're using the vaporizer," I observed with a smile.

"Yeah, it's really good. I like the vanilla-custard flavour."

"Sweet tooth. Good to know."

She looked at me strangely, something in her eyes I hadn't seen before, I couldn't place it.

"What's with the look?"

"Why did you let me do it?" she asked. "And why aren't you all freaked out and demanding things from me?" Reverse psychology or not she was responding so well she was keen to talk about it now she knew I wasn't going to push her.

"Oh, you mean your fumble in the dark? I didn't want to scare you off. It's not a big deal, I know you were tired."

"I don't understand you at all."

"I don't understand you either."

"I'm not..." She stumbled and got lost grappling for words.

"Maybe you should consider the possibility you are not asexual?" I said cautiously, offering her the demand she had been waiting for.

"You're my cousin," she said hopelessly, screwing her face up. She was processing and she was talking openly and that was a good thing. I would do my best to allay her fears.

"We're not blood related. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I've never felt like that before. It's not right."

"You had an orgasm, that's all."

"You don't think that it's wrong?" She looked so nervous and I wished I could ease her mind.

"Not really. Why should I?"

"How can you be so blasé about this? It was a big deal for me, it changes everything."

"Okay," I said calmly, trying to cushion her tension. "If you want to leave, I understand."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," I denied quickly. "I want..."

"Yes?"

"I like having you here. I just wish that you were more comfortable with yourself. That you'd start confronting the real issues you have, asking yourself bigger questions. But I'm not going to push you into it, I couldn't."

"It's not..." She sobbed unexpectedly, I didn't realise she had been that close to tears. I wanted to go to her, hold her, but it seemed inappropriate given the context of our discussion. I sat staring at my hands and listening to the TV in the background. Waiting. But she didn't speak again. Fifteen minutes later she got up, came and kissed my head softly. She whispered, "I'm so sorry," and then she shuffled down the hallway and I heard the door to her room close.

I sat alone. I started to tremble because I didn't know what she meant. She was going to leave me was all I could think, I had said the wrong thing and made things worse and now she was going to leave. That was it - an apology and in the morning her bags would be packed and that bitch Mary would show up in her Lexus to take her away with a smirk.

I took too many sleeping pills that night. It was the only way to shut myself down.

5

But she didn't pack her bags. In fact, the following morning she looked like she'd slept a hell of a lot better than I had and she seemed relaxed, chewing on her toast in the kitchen. My relief she wasn't leaving was irrefutable; I had driven myself into a frenzy for absolutely no reason and I wanted to put it behind me.

"I have to be at work early this morning, I've got a deadline to meet by midday. Do you want me to drop you off?"

"Thanks, that'd be awesome," she said, finishing her toast and jam.

When I pulled over to drop her off she grasped her backpack heavy with books onto her lap but didn't move to open the door.

"I'm going to be 20 in March," she said, staring at the people hurrying past.

"What date? We should celebrate."

"The fifth. I'd rather spend it with you than my parents." The remark seemed offhanded but it made me feel quite elated. Then she turned to me, so serious. "I want you to tell me... The important questions you think I should be asking myself. If you're not afraid of asking them then maybe I won't be so afraid of answering them."

"It's probably something you should be..."

"No!" she interrupted me. " _You_ ask me. You're a part of this now, that's one thing I know for sure. I need you to be a part of this."

I sat staring at her. Was this what it had come to? Always her. I had to bone up, say things I didn't want to. Why did it have to be me? I didn't want to make her face anything bad, ever.

"Elise?" She was set, she was not going to back away from this.

"Why did you cry?" I asked, my voice barely audible even to me. "That night, why did you cry?"

"It was the first time I felt that, it scared me."

"Why does sex scare you?"

"I don't know... Because it always ends up hurting someone. Like love, it's messy."

That was an unusual thing to say, and it threw me for a few moments. I tried to stay on course.

"Were you raped? Or sexually abused?"

"What?!" The question clearly took her by surprise, which knocked me off track again. Had I been wrong?

"Never mi..."

"No," she interrupted me again. "I was never abused. I don't have anything that juicy to excuse my behaviour, I'm just messed up."

Inwardly I breathed an enormous conciliatory sigh. She was not a liar, I had been wrong. I leaned my head back against the head-rest and shut my eyes.

"You're not as messed up as you think. You're probably just a late bloomer," I said, unable to hide my relief.

"You're always so calm and collected. About everything. Why are you so good to me? Why have you become..."

I looked at her but she stared ahead and didn't complete the sentence.

"Maybe your feelings are misplaced. You're confused because it's new to you and I'm just the person who's in front of you the most. It's okay, you'll figure it out eventually." No matter what, all I really wanted was for her to be comfortable and happy. I was such a fool, my feelings were much stronger than I cared to admit.

She nodded but didn't look at me again.

"Is that it? Is that the important question you thought I needed to face?"

"That was the worst one I had."

"But you have others?"

"They can wait. You should get to class, it's almost eight."

My day was fabulous compared to the previous week. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I was able to concentrate faultlessly and meet my deadline before eleven that morning. I must have had a gigantic smile on my face unaware because I caught both Rachel and Colin shooting sly looks in my direction several times throughout the day. I was not going to let anything dampen my good mood though, it was well overdue.

My relief was so great that I spent the evening with Micah without returning to the previous topic of conversation. Things almost felt the way they had before; I drank four glasses of red wine, left Micah in the lounge with her books and went to bed sleepy and content.

I was half asleep when she came to me that night - more than half. I lay comfortably on my stomach - sleeping on my back had always been impossible for me - drifting softly into unconsciousness; I was still aware but I floated eagerly towards the unknown.

I heard her padding into the room.

"Can I sleep here?" she whispered just inches from my face. There was a fleeting sense that she was scared, about to have a nightmare and I forgot to be on guard about sexual things. I thought how cruel it was that I should want sleep so much while Micah was afraid of it. I didn't want to wake up properly, my goal was further down.

"Mm," I consented softly, not willing to rouse myself enough to become intelligible.

I felt her slide into bed on my left and I continued drifting. Her warm, distant presence so close to me was not unpleasant; I liked the way she smelled, clean and bright - so different from the darkness in her soul. I followed the pull downwards until I was no longer aware.

I don't know how long I was away from the room, but I came back when I felt Micah's hand on my waist, my hip; vaguely I felt it first, and it was nice, like a benign wake-up call from a familiar lover. I felt her nuzzling in my hair again, around the back of my neck, I could hear her breaths; they were the breaths of excitation, of someone with a goal. When her hand drifted to the side of my breast I knew she was going to try and pull the same stunt as before and I couldn't allow it. I revived fast, wrenching brutally from the puffy embrace of slumber. I turned to face her and held her shoulders back to stop her from grinding on me. In the darkness her eyes were wide, sparkling, clear fear written in her pretty features.

I knew I would give her what she wanted. She looked so scared of being rejected; I couldn't reject her, but it had to happen my way this time. I leaned down and kissed her lips tenderly, curious as to how she would respond. She kissed me back, she allowed me to dictate the kiss and when I opened my mouth, she opened hers. It was beautiful, sweet; soft. She explored the inside of my mouth with her tongue and moved her hands over my back and ass, eventually returning to my breasts. I felt as if I was experiencing what she was, the newness; the purity of physical intimacy. I kissed her like it was my first time as well and felt innocent. I ran my mouth over her jaw, licked her neck.

My fingertips found their way up the inside of her t-shirt, over her flat stomach and toward her breasts. She didn't stop me, she allowed it and I loved her for it. Her breasts were small, her nipples hard as I flicked them between my fingers and tugged on them. She moaned into my mouth, her excitement obvious from her quaking body and her efforts to push herself against me. I wouldn't be able to draw it out the way I wanted and it wasn't about me; it was about her, always her. I ran my hand past her waist band and felt the clipped patch of pubic hair below. She was astonishingly wet; I slipped my fingers between her lips and rubbed at the tiny, hard nub between them ever so gently. Micah pressed her face into my neck and tightened her grip around my back; her body was scorching hot. She came within seconds, convulsing with a strangled moan, muffled by my skin.

I didn't linger, my hand abandoned her sensitive sex and I covertly licked my fingers while her eyes were still closed and she was recovering. Her taste was ambrosial, fresh; I was sorely tempted to move between her legs and lick her clean but I recognised this was a stepping stone and should be kept limited, I didn't want to push things far this early in her self-discovery. My own desires were of no importance.

She didn't cry this time, which was a vast relief; she didn't speak either and clung to me like a child, her temple pressed against my forehead. But she didn't cry and I considered that progress.

I slept deeply and when I woke in the morning, she was still wrapped around me in precisely the same position she fell asleep. I switched off my alarm and extricated myself from her nubile limbs. I would not attempt to speak about the issue like I did last time. I was happy that she was confronting her urges, accepting them, and willing to engage like an adult - _facing_ me.

I did hope that we could move further, that she was open to it. Though her kisses had started clumsy, it was still one of the most intense feelings I had ever experienced. I'd not been so worked up by someone since I was a teenager myself. I wanted her to kiss me in other places; I wanted to touch her more and for it to last much, much longer. I relieved my own frustration in the shower, Micah's image and taste dominating my thoughts.

Again, that morning she didn't speak a word about it. She didn't avoid me - drank her tea, ate cereal and was perfectly amicable. She complained about missing her alarm and her morning class, played with her phone and made some disengaged comments about dinner that night. Then she just left for her second class of the day and I said nothing.

The morning set the bar for a disturbing trend. I shouldn't have allowed it, I should have had more backbone. But I had misgivings in other areas.

Was I taking advantage of her? She was innocent, and I was destroying it.

*

That night she came to me again. I didn't push her away, I didn't speak when she started kissing me. Light, fairy kisses on my shoulder and arms and then my neck. Hesitant touches to tell me what she wanted, to tell me she was ready. And so it went every night from then.

I never initiated it, but if she did, I assumed control. And she did initiate. At first slowly - for the first few nights she came to my bed and lay beside me quietly, it took her half the night once, before she worked up the courage to get close and start kissing me, dislocating me from the draft of sleep yet again. After days, she learned that she wasn't going to be rejected and she became quicker, less patient. She knew I wouldn't just accept her advances but would take over, ensure that her need was fulfilled. She was eager, so perfectly eager, and I adored her for it.

The seventh night after she began allowing me to touch her - yes, I was counting - I tasted her properly for the first time. I slid my hand between her legs to make sure she was ready and fast brought them straight back up to her nipples as I kissed her. She had more stamina now and I had wanted to lick her for so long. I was slow, kissing my way down her body, giving her the opportunity to see where I was going and to stop me if she wanted to. She writhed as I worked my way from her supple nipples to her legs and licked my way up their insides. She lay back, submissively allowing me to pleasure her. I took my time, I needed to make every moment count. But when I started licking my way around the outside of her lips towards the inside I knew it wasn't going to last the way I wanted; she was too excited, too near. Instead of going straight to the core of her need I pushed my tongue inside her - the extent of her lubrication was difficult to believe; it was heavenly. But it wasn't enough, I wanted more. I pulled my mouth back and inserted a single finger deep into her.

It surprised her because she clamped hard around my intrusion and almost yelped. She was so tight, so wet, my beautiful girl. I held my finger inside her and waited for her to accept its presence; she relaxed slowly. I went in for the kill, licked at the sides of her clit before finally moving to the centre. She clenched around my index as I tongue lashed her and she came. Harder and louder than ever she came that night, pushing me into her.

The nights ticked by and her keenness increased, as did her endurance and her skill. She liked my fingers moving inside her, began to demand it; began to love it. Her touch became more confident, more thrilling. Our bodies began to move together, understand each other. Until the time when she seemed more eager to please me than to take pleasure.

She went in head first, licking me like she was seasoned and gave me the most intense climax of my life. When she looked into my eyes afterward she was different; open, beautiful - like the girl I had first seen outside the motel. It was a look of ownership; it said _'you're mine_ '. And I was. Our sex couldn't be confined to pure physicality or to the bedroom for me. Her essence dripped through my mentality, through my days, through my decisions. Had I always been hers?

She held me tighter than ever that night.

She could be loud with her sounds, uninhibited; as if she were making up for being so quiet the rest of the time, for her lack of words, precision. Her sounds told the story we couldn't express through conversation. But again, I suspected I was only creating the reality I wanted. She trimmed her fingernails and started doing things with her fingers that she hadn't learnt from me. Was she fucking other people? This idea began to plague my mind. She spent all her nights with me but who knew what went on in the long daylight hours we spent apart.

We left the bedcovers in the morning separately and with our sleeping garments back on. We left to face our days and we never talked about it, never alluded to it. We were platonic, good friends, flatmates. We shopped and cooked and watched television. We poked fun at the family and laughed together as if nothing strange was going on.

But at night she came to me and as soon as the lights went out we were something else, more. I began to love the darkness, to come alive at night. Was I wrong for allowing it to get this far? For allowing it to continue the way it was? Maybe it was her who was taking advantage, using me for her experiments; and I, a willing subject. Without conversation I had no security - small comfort during the day except to look forward to the night, to the wordless sounds, the touch. The red flags waving in my head became more insistent, as every day I looked forward to my nights more.

Sometimes I lay looking at her in the darkness thinking, why me? Why had she chosen me to act out her lately developed urges on? Had she had them before me? I couldn't be the first one to inspire these feelings in her. _Could I?_ I knew I wanted that to be true, but I doubted it. And as my desire grew so did my doubts. It was turning into something that wasn't healthy. What had started as a privilege was turning gradually into an obsession. I'd never been involved in anything like it before, I'd never loved anyone before. But I couldn't stop it, giving her up in any way was not an option.

I was screwed and I knew it.

6

She was different now, the confidence that had started between the sheets had spilled out to her daylight hours, to her interactions with other people, to the way she dressed and the way she acted. It was beautiful, it was what I had wanted; and it gave me chills. I dreaded the day she came home with one of her university friends. Or worse, the night she stayed away with one. She had found her feet now, my role had been fulfilled and eventually she would be done with me, would move on to greener pastures.

I attempted to concentrate on my own life, even had drinks alone with Casey a few times - but I felt like a pretentious bitch and that I was cheating somehow. I was lost, something would have to be done to resolve the situation and soon but I'd slipped into a rut, the depths of which I had no experience in climbing out of.

On the evening of her birthday, three months after Micah moved in, I picked her up outside the library. We were not planning on celebrating it till the following night since it was a Thursday and we both had to be up early. She had been specific about wanting to get drunk and make a night of it and who was I to deny her anything? We were also expected at my parents' for dinner the next night, an offer we had given in to only on the condition Bruce and Mary would not be there.

Before she made her way over and climbed into the car, I saw her hug a tall, blonde boy goodbye through the windscreen. She had a beautiful arrangement of flowers in her arms.

"Wow," I said and nodded, impressed. "Very nice."

"I've never been given flowers before, for anything," she said, holding them away from her and studying them as if she wasn't quite sure they were real. "It was embarrassing carrying them around today, it's the only reason he gave them to me."

"A sense of humour is good."

"Hmm. For the first time in my life, I have an actual friend and I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. It's a really weird feeling."

"You're perfect, you deserve everything," I said sincerely and she looked at me and leaned over suddenly. For a second I thought she was going to kiss me but she gave me a brief, tight hug instead. I smiled. "Happy Birthday. We can go anywhere after facing the family tomorrow night, it is absolutely up to you."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that. Let's see what happens at dinner first."

"An excellent plan. These things can be unpredictable." I was trying to keep the smile on my face and my tone light but my heart was heavy. I was jealous. I'd never been the jealous type and now this random, unremarkable boy had made me jealous. The only way I knew how to cope with jealousy was to hide it by any means necessary. How could I express myself properly without losing her, without losing my place in her life? More to the point, why didn't she consider _me_ a friend? I had tried so hard to be there for her. But she owed me nothing, I owed her nothing. My despair grew.

A surprise awaited us when we got home that night. Mary, who Micah hadn't seen since the unfortunate dinner weeks before, was lurking outside the building.

"Mary?" I asked as we approached. "What are you doing here?" At first I was pissed that neither of us had been told to expect a visit from her but her expression was of outright anxiety which made me think something was wrong. She wrapped her arms heavily around Micah who hugged her back.

"Are you okay?" Micah asked, obviously thinking the same as me.

"I am." She looked toward me sheepishly. "May I come up for a minute?"

"Of course."

"It's a nice place," she said when we got inside. "You have your own room, Mi?"

"Yes."

"Do you want tea, Mary?"

"No. Thank you for the offer but I won't stay. I wanted to wish Micah a Happy Birthday and..." She put her bags on the sofa, pulled a gift out of one and handed it to her. She sat down on the very edge of the couch. "I also wanted to talk to you, Elise. Helen had a few choice words to say to both of us the other day. Not for the first time but I don't know...This is different."

"Mary, this probably..." I began but she cut me off with an apologetic look.

"I know. But when is ever going to be a good time for this kind of thing?" She looked back at Micah who sat next to her but remained largely expressionless. There was regret in Mary's eyes. She looked on the verge of tears. "I know what we did was awful, kicking you out because we thought you were ill. I want you to understand that if you ever need to come home, you are welcome and things would be different. I know you don't need us anymore, I understand what Elise was saying the other week. You are okay, I hope it's true."

"I'm good, Mum, really."

I raised an eyebrow at her and backed toward the kitchen.

"My 'strategy' wasn't the greatest." There was a softness in her voice I had suspected she was incapable of. "I don't want you to disappear from our lives."

"I won't."

"That's all I came to say. And... I love you, Mi." She hugged her again.

"I love you too."

When she left I turned to Micah.

"That was unexpected. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It was nice of her."

"It's the first time I've heard you call her Mum."

"Should we start dinner?"

And that was it, she didn't speak about it again. But she seemed thoughtful afterward, more distant than usual. Mary had changed her tune. She was thinking of leaving, I knew it.

There was a brief moment when we were eating breakfast the next morning. She was looking at me while I checked the markets on my tablet, I could feel her eyes on me. She reached across the kitchen counter and touched my hand. I stared at it, at her hand touching mine, so gentle, as if we were more than just bed mates. My head spun, she stroked her finger along mine and my chest hurt. I turned my hand over and she stroked its palm. It was so perfect and so brief; she abandoned it to continue eating and I kept staring at my empty palm, appetite gone. Mary's offer and her subdued mood afterward still gnawed at me. I was in a different world than her, I couldn't reach her anymore, no matter how wonderful her touch felt, it was no longer pure; it wasn't mine.

*

At dinner that night, while I was wondering what the fuck we were doing there, Micah told the family about Mary's visit.

"I had a suspicion she might do something like this," my mother said.

"She was really nice, Mum."

"She thinks she's lost her daughter, of course she was nice."

"Why does everything has to be so calculated with you? If she's willing to change then wouldn't Micah be better off to have her in her life?" I paused. "The prospect of losing your daughter could encourage someone to change if nothing else could," I added quietly, but Mum had moved on and I was talking mostly to my knife and fork.

"You're not thinking of moving back with them, are you?" she asked.

"It was nice to have a real apology from her, that's all."

"Real?" my mother narrowed her eyes. "What did she give you for your birthday?"

"A new lap top and...a few vouchers," Micah said and my mother laughed.

"Calculation, Elise, is how you respond to calculation," she said but Micah didn't seem bothered by her rudeness.

Christ, I said silently.

"What's the matter, love? Bad day?" My father could always tell when something was bothering me, while my mother remained wilfully clueless.

"Sometimes I just don't like the woman you married," I told him glumly. "Work's shit like usual. How are things at the clinic?"

"Renovations are taking longer than expected. The noise is making me want to sma..."

"What _is_ going on with her?" my mother whispered, interrupting us and I looked at Micah. She spoke with Adrian at the far end of the table; she was smiling, laughing, glittering.

"What do you mean?"

"She's a different person, Elise. Don't say you don't see it."

"Yeah, I guess," I nodded vaguely. "She's well, Mum."

"She looks like she's on drugs... Or in love."

"Don't say things like that," I said too harshly - the idea she was in love struck a raw nerve. "She's always been fine, she just needed stability ...like you said."

"No arguments here. I'm glad you've made it work. And damn well, apparently." She took advantage of a gap in the talk at the other end of the table and raised her voice. "Micah, why the glow? Have you met someone?"

"That's none of your business," I said sharply. How dare she be so blatant?

"No, it's okay," Micah told me. "I suppose I have met someone."

I withered inside, kept my head bowed to my plate and tried not to scream.

"Biology student? Lab partner?" my mother continued pushing. "What's he like?"

"Mother, please."

"He's smart and kind and unbelievably hot," Micah said shamelessly.

How dare _she_? I cast a wretched glance her way but she didn't meet my gaze. Why was she tormenting me? What had I done? Easy, I thought; I had gone along with our 'arrangement'. I could have stopped it at any time but I'd allowed it to snowball and now I was going to have to face the consequences. I had underestimated my feelings.

"All the clichéd prerequisites," I said and my mother frowned at me.

"He makes me laugh," Micah added, smiling into her Bordeaux.

"Sounds perfect," my mother told her, immune to my breaking heart. "Have you met him, Elise?"

"I've seen him from a distance," I said mechanically. "He's cute."

"Why do you look like you just snorted a lemon rind?"

"I don't think lemon rinds can be snorted."

"Don't you approve of Micah having someone special in her life? Show some support - look at her, she's a butterfly."

I stood up abruptly; this was more than I was willing to endure.

"I need the bathroom," I said and left the room without waiting for a response.

I sat on the side of the spa bath in the downstairs bathroom and tried to breathe evenly. I searched desperately for a way I could excuse myself altogether from dinner. I could not face it again. But it would seem strange; I hadn't pulled a sickie to escape from a family gathering in years, I thought habits like those were behind me. A small knock at the door broke cruelly into my time out.

"It's me." Micah's voice. I froze. "Are you okay? Let me in."

I unlocked the door and sat back on the side of the tub without looking at her. She sat next to me.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Should we go?"

I took a few deep, determined breaths.

"Maybe you should take Mary up on her offer," I told her, my voice betrayed the intensity of my feelings. I hated hearing that weakness disrupting my usual composure.

"What?" Micah said stupidly and I stared at the tiles, focused on the cylindrical pattern.

"Mary...moving back in. It might be for the best." I wanted to keep my words to a minimum, only say as much as was necessary.

"Don't say that," she said, her own voice barely a squeak and I looked at her. Her eyes began to redden and fill. "Why would you say that? Please don't ever say anything like that!" Her pitch rose quickly and she began to hyperventilate. I had done wrong again.

I pulled her quickly into my arms to try to steady her shaking shoulders. I loved her. I would throw myself under a bus if it meant I got a smile out of her, I couldn't make her feel this way voluntarily. But I could do one thing; I needed to tell her the truth.

"Micah, I love you," I said into her scented hair. "Not just at night, all the time, and in every way. Do you understand?"

Her shoulders went still in my arms, she pulled back and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. She kissed me, open-mouthed, on target and tender - right there in my parents' bathroom in broad daylight. It was more beautiful than anything we'd done on our dark nights together under the sheets. But it was bitter sweet.

"Can we just go home?" she asked me. "I don't want to be here anymore."

We left - it was easy to make an excuse once we realised neither of us cared if it were believed; it was a concerted priority to simply get out of there. I don't even remember what we told them as we walked out the door. When we got inside my apartment and took our coats off I peered at Micah.

"I know why I wanted to leave. Why did you?" I asked her then shook my head when I remembered belatedly, it was supposed to be a special night. "I'm sorry, what the hell are we doing here? You probably wanted to go somewhere else..."

She stepped closer to me and looked at me squarely, her eyes so serious.

"Did you mean it? What you said in the bathroom?"

"Yes," I said and shuffled my feet miserably. The moment of truth, I couldn't lie, not about this. It was over.

"Then why do you think I should leave?"

"I didn't mean to say that, I would never ask you to leave. But its better you sleep in your own room from now on. Or..." I remembered the nightmares and suddenly became muddled, "I guess you could stay with me, if you're scared but nothing can happen...." Fuck, shit, this was a mess.

"I don't understand," she shook her head in confusion.

"There's just this point where I have to start thinking about myself. It's gone too far, I'm going mental that we're doing this stuff but you can't give me what I really want."

"Why can't I?" There was panic in her eyes and I threw my hands up in exasperation.

"You're in love with some guy!" I didn't want to be angry, jealous, but I was. The honesty had started, I might as well keep it going, before my emotions were forced back into oblivion. "Don't you understand that I can't deal with it? I have feelings."

"There is no guy, Elise! I was talking about you. I'm in love with _you_!"

Her words stunned me to stillness for a minute. Was she saying this just because she was scared I would kick her out? I mentally slapped myself; Micah had never lied to me before, why should she start now? I stared at the sincerity in her big eyes.

"The guy who you hugged goodbye the other day. Gave you the flowers; isn't that who you meant?"

"Of course not," she stressed, a lightness entering her eyes. "He's the first friend I've ever really had, he listens to me go on and on about _you_ and he doesn't judge. How could you believe that there was anyone else who could come close to competing with you?"

"I thought it was just bedroom stuff. We never talk about it, we never allow it to leave the bed. I never tried because I'm so fucking afraid of scaring you off, of losing you. Of facing the fact that you don't have the same feelings as me."

She cupped my face, tears in her eyes.

"But I do. You've changed my perspective, my whole life. Don't you know how special you are to me? If I knew I was making you feel this way I would have told you much sooner what you meant. I've been so happy you were willing to spend your nights with me, I didn't dare believe that you could want more."

"I want everything."

"So do I," she told me. "I want the whole family to know, the whole world."

I could hardly believe my ears, I wrapped my arms tightly around her.

"I don't think we can do that," I said into her shoulder. "It would make things hard, for them and for us."

"I don't even care if I never see any of them again. But I'll keep it just between us if that's what you want. We can be together here, but all the time and we can be honest with each other from now on. Can't we?"

"Please, yes," I said with a level of anticipation and she stepped back and held me away from her.

There was something in her eyes I hadn't seen before. She was still so full of surprises, so full of mystery. She began to undress. Riveted, I watched her, until she stood in front of me fully naked and I took in the contours of the body I had got to know by touch so well. She was thin, less curvy than me, her nipples a swollen, delicate pink atop small breasts.

I knew how quickly that tenderness could turn rigid in my mouth. I knew the sounds she made when I touched her here; there. She was perfect.

Her eyes were huge and she flushed deeply as I looked at her and I realised it was the first time she had ever allowed anyone to look at her openly disrobed in the light of day like this. She was so brave, my sweet girl. She was offering herself to me in a way she never had before; all of the privilege I'd felt from the start rushed back. I stepped close.

"You're beautiful," I said and kissed her clavicle as I unbuttoned my shirt and went to pull it off. She stopped me and held my hands at my sides. She started undressing me herself. She took her time, drinking it in and touching me everywhere.

"I want to tell you everything now," she whispered as she worked. "I want to tell you how sexy I thought you were when I first saw you, and how awful it was realising you were family. How, when you told me you liked women I felt something inside my stomach and my chest, something that started to move further down and grow between my legs. How confusing it was and how every time, you made me feel better, about everything. No matter how stupid I was being you never made fun of me. How I fell in love with you that night you stuck up for me at the table, how I fell deeper when you touched me for the first time and every time I felt your lips on mine. I was so angry when you stayed out late, because I wanted you all to myself. I never thought you could want me back, but you didn't turn me away, you never did. You were always so gentle, so patient. How much I wanted to make you feel the way you made me feel. How hard it was not to kiss you goodbye in the morning and hello when you got home at night. It was so hard not to curl into your arms when we watched TV together. I don't think know what you've done to me." She finished with my clothes and stared.

"We're so different," she said. I had tears in my eyes from her words and she looked into them. She held my jaw. "I love you so much. I want you so much. Look at you... You're..."

"Yours."

When we made it into the bedroom there were no blankets or sheets involved, we saw everything. Our sounds turned into words. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever known, I died and went to heaven.

And I knew. I knew that I would take this as far as Micah wanted to go. I would tell everyone, the family. Fuck them all. This was a great love and I would fight for it. Everything for her, always. It was going to be hell.

***

About the Author

I'm still only experimenting. I can't seem to bring myself to stick to finishing stories in depressingly realistic ways. The signs are there, I have everything to work with, but I end up liking the characters too much to punish them.

Connect

mccallumsasha@gmail.com

Other titles

Bathrooms & Psychiatric Offices

The Reader & the Writer

There Will Be Blood

The Lake

Daughter of Night

Said the Spider

Oculi

Pretty Ugly Place

Tinderbox
