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I don’t even have to look at them to know what they’re thinking. But knowing how they feel only makes me more determined to live a very long life.
I will give no one the satisfaction of my death.
Sometimes I’m just so tired of this life.
No one will speak to me as anything but the chief commander and regent of Sector 45. Friendship is not a thing I have ever experienced. Not as a child, and not as I am now.
Except.
One month ago, I met the exception to this rule. There has been one person who’s ever looked me directly in the eye. The same person who’s spoken to me with no filter; someone who’s been unafraid to show anger and real, raw feeling in my presence; the only one who’s ever dared to challenge me, to raise her voice to me—
"Sir, please, can you hear me—”
“I’ve been shot, Delalieu,” I manage to say. I open my eyes. Look into his watery ones. “I haven’t gone deaf.”
She would sit in one place for hours at a time, unmoving, and I always wondered where she was in her mind, what she might be thinking, how she could possibly exist in the solitary world. More than anything else, I wanted to hear her speak.
I was desperate to hear her voice.
I’d always expected her to speak in a language I could understand.
A̶m̶ I̶ i̶n̶s̶a̶n̶e̶ y̶e̶t̶?
H̶a̶s̶ i̶t̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ y̶e̶t̶?
H̶o̶w̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ I̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶?
But sometimes I get so tired that I forget I’m not allowed to wish for things anymore, and I find myself wishing for the one thing I’ve always wanted. The only thing I’ve always dreamt about.
I wish all the time for a friend.
I dream about it. I imagine what it would be like. To smile and be smiled upon. To have a person to confide in; someone who wouldn’t throw things at me or stick my hands in the fire or beat me for being born. Someone who would hear that I’d been thrown away and would try to find me, who would never be afraid of me.
Someone who’d know I’d never try to hurt them.