I tackled him and for some reason, he didn’t throw me off. I giggled in question, what's wrong? He says he’s smiling but it doesn’t feel like it. I could hear his heart throbbing as we both sat on the cold, wet ground together. For some reason, he did not speak a word to me from sunset to sunrise. The stars, he always tells me of the stars. What does he not want me to see, where are the stars?
When he sits up I wanted to ask, to scream. What is it he doesn’t want me to see? Is it my pale skin, as I thought I remember it being? His face doesn’t feel rough or scattered with scars, what doesn’t he want me to see?
I announce it like a fact and less like an exciting privilege. “I will see, I will see tomorrow night. Then I will see what you don’t want me to see.”
His breath did not steady and he did n