“Next question. Are you an only child?”
A blink and I’m back. The covers pulling away. Calloused, yet soft hands cupping my cheeks. The moon light illuminating her bruises and eyes, emerald like mine.
“I’m getting out,” she says quietly.
“I go too.”
“No. I’ll be back for you,” she smiles sadly, “love ya.” Clap, high five, repeat, spin, and hug.
“Always.” I whisper. A kiss on my forehead. The creak of the window, a rush of cool air, then the quietness of the house. I trusted her. I still trust her ten years later.
I recite my line.“Yes.”