Good Friday, 2003
Caron looks over the balcony of the stairs at her sister. Kayla must have heard the creaking of the old wood, but she determinedly looks into her purse, checking for the essentials: lipstick, lighter, illegitimate ID. From above, it seems her shoulder blades push against her skin like mountains waiting to burst. Her collar bones are valleys. It was only a few years ago that her flesh held life, that her eyes held high hopes of a future that stood like a promise before her.
“I love you.” What else could she say?
Kayla sighed, hastily grabbed her keys off the table.
Desperation arises in Caron. Kayla has to know, has to experience … If she just felt loved, she wouldn’t have to do all this every night. “Kayla. I love you.”
Halfway out the door, she turns to her little sister, her black-rimmed eyes squinting in disgust before she slams the door.
Caron retreats back up the stairs to her bookshelf and waits for her sister to come home and need her.