*Chapter Five

Men!

Aren’t they the silliest things?

I certainly thought so.

The way Daniel showed and we both felt everything was alright and then he had to go and tear it all apart.

Men.

*missing bit – I’m sorry! I’ll get to it*

It would seem ridiculously lucky, for me, how fast the days passed. I heard nothing from Daniel and time just seemed to slip away. It was just me. Romero had to leave town to attend some conference which name was so long that I couldn’t remember mostly because of how incoherent my brain was every since the day when I last so Daniel. I could say I’m bored. I could act real tough. I could say I’m torn. Oh yes, I’ve been drowning myself with endless music – and that’s where those lines came from, I should think.

“The stupid TV doesn’t work,” I muttered, frustrated for nothing.

Nessa tapped her foot irritably. “You don’t even watch it.” Now she had something to be frustrated over – thirty-four days (and counting) of sitting around, withstanding my growing pessimism, accompanying me in my days of doomed loneliness (or more likely, boredom) and all she could talk to me about was school. Daniel wouldn’t talk to me; I wouldn’t talk about it.

I simply looked at her and then out the window. Rain was beating on the window pane, gently. The sky was just gray, dull, but I liked it that way, reflecting my insides, dreary and dark. Thirty-third floor, ward thirty-three. I’ve met and had friendly and merely friendly conversations with everyone (that was conscious) on that floor – except old Mr. Gideon Alson, admitted for over drug usage (he really just thought it was good for him to down lots of nonprescribed medicine one night when he wasn’t feeling so fine) and managed to trip over two flights of stairs while under the influence, breaking his right ankle and elbow, who simply glared for minutes without blinking and then turn away with a hard whip in his neck – and I have simply moved on to getting to know every doctor.

“Jul –”

I only ever had to hear her tone to see it coming.

“No, Ness, don’t even try,” I murmured into my hand as I covered my face, my fingers dragging across my dry eyes.

Daniel, you damn brainless, thick, obtuse, ludicrous, imprudent, idiotic, moronic bastard. Why won’t you talk to me? Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me…

My eyes weren’t so dry anymore.

Tears fell thick into my hands and I made a stupid attempt to force them back, as if they would just go back into my eyes. I cleared my throat. I hated him for being so unforgiving – just this once of a lifetime! Why now? Why damn now? If it had been some other time, before, this might not have happened – and yes, I would rather it happened some other time, destroy our friendship so that I didn’t have to bear with the possibility he might walk into the room when there’s a tap on the door and then be let down again, again, again…

“Please, Jul –”

I squeezed shut my eyes and looked up at her. “Fine, talk.” I was ready to give everything away now. It didn’t matter now. Thirty-four days and counting. It had never been so long. The longest we had ever been apart without even a message… was never! When I was away to visit my parents, when he was away on vacation with his family with the very few times when I didn’t tag along, when I was away in camp, when he was away in camp, we would call each other, in the dead of night if we weren’t allowed (disciplinary camp), we would text each other, chat online, send each other letters. This couldn’t last, not because he was an idiot to not forgive me, not because I was a bigger idiot for not forgiving him and thinking it’s his fault, not because he was finally dating after so many years, not because the person he chose to date was born to be Amelia’s sister – and born bitches those two are, I wasn’t taking that one back – and definitely not because of Romero and what’s-her-name.

Nessa looked relief, surprised, her eyes wide. She inhaled a sharp breath. “Okay, what really happened?”

It took awhile for me to think of what was I supposed to tell her. “Romero… He was kind of, you know… um, talking to, oh, uh, not exactly talking… well, there’s this girl… woman… bitch” – she raised an eyebrow – “and she’s sort of his ex-girlfriend. They probably… well, did have a fight… and he was shaking her off… a bit harsh, I’ll admit – just a little bit… and Daniel thought he was being rude… awful… blah blah blah… wanted to stop him… I told him no… argued… left…” I spoke in an indifferent way. It seemed nothing to me – unimportant. I didn’t really try to remember or glory that moment, obviously.

Nessa shook her head. “Detail.”

Did she suddenly want to gossip or what? “Oh, er… she’s really a bitch. Her hair was bleach blond, a bit golden –”

“Not that kind of detail!” she glowered.

I chewed on my lip. “Um… what?”

“After the scene.”

After? “Eh… I, uh… Romero walked in… apologized. Touched my forehead –”

“What did you do?” she interjected, her eyes suddenly flaring.

I raised an eyebrow and then answered hesitantly, “I… leaned in… it felt good,” I shrugged.

She moaned. “Oh, there you are!”

My eyebrows both arched. “Because it felt good…?” I repeated uncertainly.

“No, you idiot,” she grumbled impatiently. “He’s jealous! Obviously!”

I let my lips turn down while my eyes blinked. It was much more of an expression of disbelief in a sort of ‘gross’ thing. Then I laughed – ah, laughter. “What?! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

She waved a hand, still impatient. Her face crumpled, molded into concentration, thinking furiously hard. She shook her head after a while, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes remaining squeezed tight, she muttered, “I’ll say, Juliana, that you are the silliest idiot in the world.”

I sucked in my cheeks. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Her eyes opened momentarily just to let me see them roll.

Day thirty-seven arrived with the sun buried and winds raging. I should know, that those winds were about to bring me the bane of my richer existence.

“Mom… Dad…” I greeted them with a mumble as it was too late for me to pretend I was asleep.

Mom was of average height and perfect slimness. Her brown hair, the exact shade of Chad’s, was always knotted up. It was long since I saw her hair let down, and back then, I was still sure that I remember it being so bouncy, so soft, and so perfect. Her eyes were a lighter shade of the usual brown, not nearly hazel. Her skin was a natural creamy color and looked very fragile and tender.

Dad was tall with a strong, averagely muscular build from back when in the older days when he had to work to provide food and shelter for his siblings as the head of the house after both his parents disappeared. His hair was midway blond and brown, so it was a shade or two lighter than Denia’s and mine. His eyes were hazel, with a ring of moss green around the light brown. His skin was sun-kissed, unlike Mother’s.

“Juliana, what happened to you?” Dad demanded. I absolutely despised his tone. So superior, so accusing, so demanding… so annoying!

“Didn’t Chad explain?” I muttered under my breath, but I was sure they could hear.

“No, he wanted you to do the explaining. He said he was afraid that he wouldn’t get it right,” Mom murmured in her soft voice. Her tone was only expectant.

I clenched my teeth. “I drove too fast. Someone drunk came the opposite way and I swerved, he swerved, I hit the railing.” I decided not to mention the guy who hit me didn’t hit anything or got hit by anything – though I was positive he was possibly hurt worse. “I’m fine.”

Dad’s face was contorted in anger. What was with him today?

“Your injuries?” Mom asked, her eyes on Dad’s distorted face.

“I don’t remember,” I lied.

She looked at me and I looked back with a cool, blank expression. A crease appeared – she distrusted me. No matter.

“You may leave now,” I dismissed them.

“Wait a minute, young lady!” Dad’s voice raised and his face turned a very dark shade of red. He wasn’t young… surely he’s not that upset? “How dare you talk to us like that after you’ve shown such irresponsibility? Do you not understand that you must obey all rules? Do you not understand that you must honor your parents? Do you not know how to respect us? Do you not know how to be responsible? Do you know –”

“What do you know?” I interjected, my jaw clenched.

He looked at me with wide eyes, angry and disbelieving. “What? You dare –”

“Of course I do,” I said coolly and my chin jutted out indignantly. “I dare talk to you this way. I dare break all the rules. I dare walk out on you as soon as I am healed and have packed my necessary” – I emphasized the word to show how unnecessary the too-much-money they earned was – “belongings. I dare. I dare. I dare a lot of things. You seem to not have noticed yourself, but you’ve given birth to a daredevil.”

His eyes were bulging and his angry blush deepened another shade, which had seemed impossible. “You – you… ungrateful –”

I couldn’t stop myself. “And what are you grateful of? You are not grateful of a wife that follows you everywhere? You are not grateful of your children who know how to take care of themselves – though I seemed to have proven otherwise a month ago? You are not grateful that you have a towering mansion on the hills, with ostentatious collections – cars like toy cars and paintings, instruments – and money that would never finish? You are not grateful that I’m still alive!” The first few were questions. But the last was an accusation, he heard it, I was sure.

He stomped out of the room. Mom scurried out after him with a wistful glance at me. At my last glance at Dad, his face was purple.

At least he’s still alive.

Day forty-one.

The sun was out in the open, a little watery, perhaps. I could see outside, so many buildings – glass, metal and concrete – and no trees. The sky was pale, but it was much bluer than usual. It was pretty.

“Romero!” I pushed myself to sit erect.

There he was, my older twin, candy-colored hair, golden eyes, pale and pink lips, bright, ultra-white-teeth smile. “Juliana, nice to see you again. You are well, I hope?”

I laughed at his formality. “Oh, hello. I am, well, as you hope,” I mocked, imitating him.

He laughed too. “Oh, c’mere.” He pulled me in into a hug, surprising me. Over the days, however close we’d grown, this hadn’t happen. His arms constricted around my waist and it registered how muscular they were. I let my arms wound around his neck. A tiny shiver ran down my spine and my skin tingled where it touched his, though not bare. It took a little while before we broke apart.

I cleared my throat. “So, how was your… conference… thingy?”

“Jul,” he rolled his eyes, “really, the conference, is of utmost importance!”

“Found a cure for the common cold yet?” I snapped.

He shook his head exaggeratedly. “That, I’m afraid, not yet.”

I grinned. “Met any doctors you’re interested in?”

“Well, I saw Doctor Pollar. He is major right now. We believe he is on to something with the –”

Apparently, he had misunderstood me. I gasped. “Romero! I didn’t know you were interested in men!” I put my hand over my mouth in mock horror.

He looked taken aback a second, frown for a second and then laughed. “Is that what you were asking about? Well, there was Doctor Esther Quille. She’s quite extraordinary. A year or two older but nevertheless, young. Red head. Green eyes.”

“Hm, seems just your type.” I rolled my eyes. Over the time I had spent with him, I would’ve known by now, more or less, what his type was. Someone extraordinary, no. Someone older, no. Someone with red hair and green eyes, maybe. “You like to be superior! And you like to take care of people.”

“Ah, you caught me!”

I laughed. “Strange, you weren’t even trying.”

“Maybe I’ve already found the one?” he sighed theatrically.

“Oh, Mr. Drama King, get a grip!” I faked a moan. “You are going damn overboard with this, you know?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said indignantly, imitating a British accent.

“Oh, you make me laugh!” I grimaced to display my sarcasm. Then grinned, for he really did.

He smiled back at me. Then he glanced at the clock. “Time for lunch.”

“When will I be out of the hospital?” I asked abruptly.

He looked at me and then bit his lip. He sighed, shaking his head. “Sooner than I hoped.”

Those words set a bunch of butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

What does this mean?

Day fifty-seven.

The curtains were drawn. I didn’t want to see what was outside anymore. I was being shredded inside. Unless there was a hurricane to satisfy the mirror-inside-and-weather effect, I didn’t want to see the skies.

I was leaving in five days. Romero had promised to continue tutoring me as he had done. He was scheduled – and yes, scheduled, thanks to his busy schedule – to come every Sunday morning to my house. And there still… was no sign of Daniel.

I had my face buried in an extra pillow, trying to drown all human emotions. I knew that I was definitely losing it. Other than the pessimism, I was also trying to do the impossible. I had actually insisted to Romero that I could jump down from the building and survive – broken legs and such casualties but still alive. He turned all jumpy and anxiously asked me whether I thought I was alright and was seriously considering getting me professional help. Never, I repeat, never show signs of insanity – blur, joke or otherwise – in front of a doctor – friend, acquaintance or otherwise.

There was a knock on the door.

“C’min,” I mumbled, just loud enough for whoever it was to hear.

The door burst open. “Surprise!”

I jerked up. The audible beep of my heart rate jerked too. I choked. “Ohmigosh,” I gasped.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nessa rushed forward as tears began springing out of my eyes and the choking didn’t stop.

It took me a few more seconds. “Ohmigosh!” I nearly screamed.

“That’s better!” Kiera piped up.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t be in shock.”

I all but stared at her. Her hair color changed again. Truth to be told, all of us had no idea what her natural hair color is. She was outrageous. Her hair was now cut short with a strange style, and dyed a bloody, flaring red. The fringe stuck out, chin-length, shadowing a third of her face while the back of it, so short, it was shaved like a boy’s. Her triplet sister, Kathleen, always said that we should be lucky that she never changed her eye color, which was green, as her other triplet, Katrina, did.

Kathleen Dason, shy, sweet, and quite literally beautiful, stood in the shadow of her elder – by six minutes – sister. Her hair was a pale brown, almost caramel – which we suspect was Kiera’s natural hair color, they are triplets after all – and long down to her waist, naturally curling and twisting in complicated yet elegant ways. All three sisters were tall (and lean), all three striking – though grew up so different, unlike each other – yet Kathleen seemed to stand out. Kiera was outrageous while Katrina – whom was not part of our group and could never be – was ostentatious. Kathleen was simple, lovely and charming.

“Why did you dye your hair?” I asked in a pained voice. The color really stung my eyes.

She laughed her ringing laugh. “Ah, well, they wanted me to do something outrageous again!” They meaning the company, as Kiera was actually a part-time model. And she takes it very seriously.

“The company never asked her to do that! But still she keeps doing it, I don’t know why. It’s so annoying!” Arielle complained.

Lance snorted. “Ari, just ’cause Dad doesn’t allow you doesn’t mean anyone else can’t –”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

Everyone laughed.

Ari was Lance’s younger sister. Her hair was shoulder-length and strawberry blond. Her heavy-lidded, deep-set, sea gray eyes are the sharpest amongst us – mostly because she was the manager of their parents’ pizza parlor, Piece’a : New’s Pizza Parlor. She was the most hot-tempered amongst us. She enjoyed, very much, bossing people around and snapping at everyone, evidently.

Lance had basketball practice and schoolwork to balance so he didn’t have to work as much. Lance had the same eyes – much less sharp – and was redheaded. He was ultimately mischievous, like the most of the rest of us. We had once set a fire in the park after a rain, betting each other whether or not the fire will burn over wet twigs. It did. And gosh, were we in a huge heap of trouble. The fire spread over one small field and burnt down all the shrubs planted there when Lance, who had lost the bet, bet – I see the irony in this – that it wouldn’t spread over the part-wet grass and kicked the burning pile just by the sidewalk into the field. Then Ari panicked – she had a good reputation to protect – and grabbed the lighter off Lance’s hand and threw it into the burning field.

It exploded.

Luckily, it couldn’t spread over the concrete. We, naturally, did not admit it.

We ran for it.

“Well, I suppose it would scare off the customers,” Tamara reasoned.

“I said shut up,” Ari shot at her a filthy glance.

Tara gave a forced smile.

“Oh, don’t talk to Tara like that!” Calla retorted.

Tamara Brielle and Calla White, inseparable friends, yet world’s apart difference. They were very nearly opposites. Tara was half Latino, her skin pale brown with a healthy sheen. She had dark, wavy hair with a slight mahogany tint, trimmed short, and her eyes were a chocolate brown. Her heart-shaped face held delicate, slight – like her body – features with high cheekbones. She was quiet, tiny, sensitive… and quiet – four feet, a librarian and the one with the best grades amongst us all. Calla had skin white as snow yet the irony seemed to stand as her hair and eyes were both ebony black. Her hair fell to her waist in ringlets and she was taller than Kiera, nearly six feet with perfect curves. She was outgoing, bold, tall and sporting. In the morning she went to school, then she had basketball practice after school, after that there was her dance rehearsals and sometimes modeling – though these two usually occupied her weekends – then she worked as a waitress-slash-singer in a jazz club at night to satisfy her taste for expensive clothes – oh and of course, shoes.

“Sorry,” Ari mumbled, looking a little ashamed.

Oh, did I mention Callie was also charismatic.

“There are a lot of things you should be sorry for!” Brandon whined. “Look at the state of my arm!”

“What happened?” I asked, grinning, going with the familiar flow.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Ari protested.

“Look!” He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and revealed his forearm.

I frowned at it. “There’s nothing there.”

He stared at it dumbly. “Oh wait!” He grinned. “That wasn’t me!”

“Yeah, dude, it was me!” Benjamin showed me his forearm, covered in nail marks. Then they both, perfectly synchronized, made a strange sign over his head like antennas. “Guess we’ve got strong twin telepathy! I didn’t even tell you she pinched me to my death.”

Ari threw her elbow to his ribs. Everybody laughed.

Brandon and Benjamin Mac were identical twins. Black hair, green eyes, freckled, tanned skin, mischievous grin, basketball players, and seriously annoying – in the funny way. Completely identical, though Benji was smarter than Brandon – in grades. Brandon was too carefree. And the only reason for that difference was because Benji had Ari as his girlfriend.

Peter handed me a paper bag. “Here. We’re all sure you’re still allergic to hospital food.” He grinned.

I grinned back. Last summer, we had another bet. Guys against girls – who were the better skateboarders. All we girls wanted to prove is that gender didn’t matter. However, they were overly arrogant and indignant to even listen. We slid off from my house, through the slippery, slanting, bending road, me and Peter. I was familiar with the slopes so I had the advantage. Eventually, he hit a branch of an old tree growing out of place while he took the lead. I grabbed his arm and heaved, but we both got hurled to the ground, scraping the road and hurtled down – luckily – the grassy slope on the side of the road. I had a broken leg because his weight landed on it and he had a broken arm because we landed awkwardly with me still holding on to his arm tightly, somehow managing twisting it. We both took a couple of weeks off from school. Stuck in the hospital with tasteless food and numbing drugs, spending our time moaning at the other just to annoy each other.

Peter was the best-looking guy – you could say in the whole town, but I would say I’ve ever seen, a.k.a tall, dark and handsome. He had dark hair and dark large eyes, with manly features, an incredibly straight, perfect and dead-center nose, and the most amazing, ultra-white-teethed, full-lipped smile, ever. He kept out of attention, all the while. We were all amazed he’d been around for a long time yet no one noticed him with his killer attractive looks. He had a very low profile. All I know about him was his name, Peter Gale, his age, seventeen, and his personality, funny, loving but mysterious and dark – and what he hated most, was being called Pete. He was my brother-friend and Daniel’s best guy friend. I could never love him that way, surely, but I always thought I had a bit of a crush on him, because of his looks – very shallow of me, yet nearly everyone who knew him did. But I knew for certain, that Nessa had a massive crush on him.

“Thanks.” I took it and took out a small container. “Lasagna?”

“Dad’s new recipe!” Ari piped in.

“Thanks,” I said again as I took out the spoon and my stomach growled.

“You haven’t been dying in here, have you?” Selena asked tenderly, sympathetically.

Selena Shine was the sweetest blond beauty you will ever find. Her wavy, golden blond hair was halfway down her waist which she took to tying into a lose ponytail at the back of her neck. Her lapis lazuli blue eyes – essential for any blonde, I think – were large with long, thick golden lashes and heavy lids. Her face was a perfect oval, her bone structure prominent. Her skin had a light golden tan and upon her cheeks and the palms of her hands, they were like rose petals. She was a bit taller than me. She was a model too, naturally and was on the basketball team alongside Nessa.

“Oh, no. The doctor takes care of me.”

Nessa shot me a glare which I ignored.

“That’s very well then.” She smoothed the covers of the bed. “Do you want to eat now? We’re interrupting you, aren’t we?”

I smiled up at her. “That’s okay. I’ll eat now though, thanks.”

Sel was sure the sister I never had – not that I don’t love Denia. She was motherly.

I took off the cover of the container and began scarping the lasagna down. “Tastes good,” I complimented while I chewed quickly. Ari smiled then continued pattering over something about Benji’s diet – which I knew very well consist of junk food, fast food and no vegetables and very little H2O.

As I ate I took the time to look around. Dillard Rose and Jacob Capelle hovered at the window with Dillard’s laptop on and typing fast and furiously. Dillard – who insisted on never being called so – was the strangest combination of geek and jock. Dell, we called him, was widely known as the computer genius in school and yet he was also known to be a devotee of the extreme sports. With his tall and brawny figure as proof, I was sure no bully had picked on this geek. His sandy brown hair was cut only inches long to keep out of his brown eyes. He had wounds and scratches frequently thanks to his obsession but it never bothered him. He also got a deep tan because of his activities, and lots of freckles.

Jake had a well-developed body too, though he was much lankier. He was the best hip-hop dancer around the region – he was the teacher of Callie and several other people, including me, occasionally. He had longish brown hair which was always covered by a bandana (red and black checkers today), green-tinted hazel eyes and a long nose. He also worked at the Piece’a’s.

After that, I took in what everyone was wearing. It was an obsession now since I turned fourteen: fashion. I hated myself for that. You shouldn’t judge people but what they wear! I didn’t. But I think that I only ever wanted to improve my own sense of dressing.

The boys all wore loose tees and hoodies or jackets, jeans or sweatpants. Brandon liked bright, neon colors but Ben liked pale and light colors – so you would never catch those two wearing matching colors. Peter liked dark colors which complimented his light, olive-toned skin. Dell wore plain colors that didn’t burn under the sun and usually earthy colors. Jake was more like Brandon, but not nearly as bright – if there was red, there was black; if there was blue, there was white.

Nessa wore white shorts, a yellow polo tee, ankles socks and white sneakers. She was unaffected by the changing weather. Kiera was her usual, outrageous self: bright yellow miniskirt, pale pink tights, bright purple tee under pale blue tank top, blood red, artfully torn and faded, fingerless, elbow-long denim gloves, pink and yellow polka dot ankle socks and white sneakers. The colors always burnt my eyes. Kath was dressed to her personality: a simple white linen dress under a beige button-up sweater with pale, knee-length silk-made socks and a pair of pearl-colored platforms. She was so simple, so pretty. Ari was the same as usual; her casualness was constant: black long-sleeves pushed to her elbows with a pair of faded blue jeans and black Converse high-tops. Tara was like Kath, but less up-to-the-minute: a white zip-up sweater over a gray V-neck tee and a pair of black Bermuda shorts, the same socks and nearly same platforms as Kath. Callie was always dressed to impress. She had removed her red leather jacket over her figure-fitting black short-sleeves; she wore a pleated jeans miniskirt with black leggings, silver peep-toe stilettos and a black, gray and white plaid hat over her black curls. Sel was mostly like Callie, though less intimidating in some ways: a snow white sweater with the middle down open, which she had removed, revealing a pale blue short-sleeved dress that showed off her ideal curves, and a pair of gleaming white, leather knee-high boots.

I, on the other hand… I sighed. I was stuck in scrubs, dammit all. I missed my clothes.

“Um…”

I looked up. “Romero!” Icing on the cake.

His knuckle was on the door and he looked uncertain whether he got the right room. “Jul?” His eyes were spinning out of control. I sighed, typical doc. He looked like he was doing a damn calculation.

“Clear way for the poor guy, why don’t you?” I smiled, amused by the way he stared at the bright-colored crowd.

The movement was synchronized. I laughed. A path wide enough for one person was cleared, slanted and directly to my bedside.

“Like an earth crack,” I chuckled.

He was momentarily stunned. “Like an earth crack,” he echoed through unmoving lips and moved to my side.

“So, how’s my little girl feeling?”

“You sound like a father.” I rolled my eyes.

I tried not to dwell on the face they were all staring at us with mixtures of surprise, skepticism, sheepishness and… anger. I caught Peter’s expression. It could only be described as dark.

“Too young,” he grunted, busying himself with checking… stuff. That’s all I can tell.

“So am I ready to be checked out?” I asked, providing conversation. He needed prods like this when he was doing research.

He gave me a pained look that mangled my breath. He was tactful to unplug the machine momentarily to silence the beeping of my heart rate. He plugged it back on with a half smile. “Three days or so,” he mumbled.

I gave a curt nod. “Hear that, guys? I’m expecting a welcoming party.” The glare on my face was intentionally comical. They laughed.

“Pizza Parlor?”

“Done and done!” I smiled with enthusiasm. A party was what I needed for my life-enjoyment personality to kick in.

“You’re invited!” Kiera batted her eyelashes at Romero.

I pretended to gag behind his back at Kiera as Romero turned to face her, clearly startled. She winked at me and mouthed, “Mine.” I rolled my eyes and mouthed back, “Not happening.” Romero turned back, looking at me with his eyebrows raised. I shrugged and winked back at Kiera.

The room blacked out. I heard a series of scattered screams. I shot rigidly upright with a mangled gasp. In the second, my head filled with the memories of my darkest hours and my heart filled with fear. Me as a child, locked inside my room with the lights off as I sobbed over having my fifth birthday alone again. Me as a teenager, at my sister’s bedside as I sobbed over how she might leave me, more alone than ever. My darkest moment, tears streaming, racing too fast down the freeway, for the first time, finally more alone than ever, the person that was always there not there. I was afraid of the dark. I started to cry. My sobs were soft but hearable.

Romero’s hand found mine instantaneously, squeezing it. His other arm wound around my waist. At the same time, a dozen of hands shot out to touch me, my face, my neck, my hair, my hands, my arms, my shoulders, my foot, my leg.

“Don’t panic!” he called, “It’s just an electrical short, the backup generator should be kicking in… now.”

The lights flickered back on as the warmth in me lit up.

I’m not alone at all.

Why should I need him?

Exactly.