“Sarai la mia morte.”
You’re going to be the death of me.
I don’t remember much of the language, but Bella is trying to learn it so we can “speak behind the adults’ backs,” even though her Spanish is better than my Italian. And I don’t know any Spanish beyond gracias, and me llamo Roman.
“Don’t forget, I’m going to visit Mitchell’s mother this weekend,” Bella says suddenly as she plasters on a band-aid.
I groan, but I’m unsure whether it’s from the pressure of the band-aid on my cut or from her reminder. I hate when she goes, because she’s all alone with no one to watch over her. What if Mitchell, her new foster dad, tries to hit her? He hasn’t done it before, but it doesn’t mean he won’t start. Or, what if she has a nightmare, can’t find Mickey Mouse, or has a panic attack again? Or if she forgets her inhaler?
“Why do you have to go?”
It’s not like anyone in her foster family has given a shit about inviting her to their family gatherings. At least Mitchell’s place is better than the hellhole she was in when we first met.
When Margaret heard all about how she wouldn’t get proper lunches—and I may have mentioned a bruise or two—the state swooped in to save the little girl with bright brown eyes. Apparently, she didn’t have “attention seeker” in her file, so they believed every word she said and got her out of there.
Mitchell is an asshole, but at least he gives her three meals a day and enough blankets to keep her warm—not like the last house.
Bella pinches her lip between her teeth, then shrugs like it isn’t something to worry about. Probably more for my sake than hers. “They told me I have to go. I don’t make the rules, I just follow the orders.”
“But you should try—"
“Mickey,” she says calmly, eying the stress ball that looks a hair away from exploding. “I’ll be back at school on Monday, and you won’t even notice I’m gone.”
She’s wrong. I’ll notice.
I always notice.
Unless I’m in the basement, I’m loitering on her lawn, or terrorizing the neighborhood, which she isn’t really a fan of.
If it were up to her, she’d have us both curled up with a book. She’s been doing this annoying thing where she likes going to the park to sit down and read, but I hate it. There aren’t enough noises, and I like hearing the sound of her voice.
“Isa,” Mitchell yells from somewhere inside the house. “Get inside. Set the table up for dinner.”
Pigtails steps back with a slight shake of her head, and I jump to my feet. Two days. She’s gone for two days. That’s nothing. That’s like… Like… Forty-eight hours.
I can count down or something.
I move forward to give her a hug, but the rejection smacks me in the face as she turns and runs up the stairs, avoiding my touch entirely. I know she wouldn’t have done it on purpose, I just guessed—well, hoped she’d be a little less scared now.
We never used to be able to high-five without one or both of us flinching, so when she hugged me for the very first time two years ago on my birthday, it was like I saw the light. Then, when she hugged me last year, I’m pretty sure I understood why people find religion.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been hugged—that I can remember—and Bella takes both places. I wasn’t even sure I liked it at first. It felt so claustrophobic, and all her hair was shoved in my nose and mouth, but the second those small arms of hers wrapped around my waist, everything stilled. The noises, the need to move, to burn energy by taking it out on another person. She is the only one who has ever been able to calm me. Sometimes she does this special little laugh, and the world quietens, but it doesn’t go away forever. Until she hugged me, and for once, everything felt normal.
Peaceful.
Right.
“See you Monday,” she half wheezes over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say. “Monday.”
Forty-eight hours.
I can do forty-eight hours.
It turns out I can’t count. Either that, or she’s been gone for more than forty-eight hours. But whatever. I survived. Barely. I’ll see her today, and that’s all that I care about.
I show up at her house earlier than usual and tug at the bracelet she recently made me as I wait, leaning against the fence. I’m still not used to wearing it and it makes me feel uneasy. Something about the bumps of the cotton strings sends weird shivers down my spine.