Page 6 of Borrowed

T he knock was soft, but it still made me flinch.

“Rise and shine,” the voice said, chipper like sunshine through a wire screen. “Cafeteria time. Let’s go.”

I didn’t move. I was still curled against Mila’s side, her skin cooler now, stiff in places where softness used to be. Her hair smelled like vanilla and antiseptic.

Toby stood by the door. He didn’t open it. Just watched.

The handle clicked.

The nurse’s white sneaker appeared first, then her hand around the edge of the door. Her smile was already in place.

Bright.

Fake.

Routine.

“Come on, Now. Breakfast isn’t gonna wait forever?—”

She stopped.

Dead silence.

I blinked up at her, my fingers tangled in Mila’s hair.

“She’s not hungry,” I said calmly. “She likes cats.”

The nurse stared. Her eyes jumped from me to the bed at the way Mila’s eyes stared at the buzzing lamp. Her clipboard slipped from her hand and hit the linoleum with a plastic crack.

Then came the gasp.

Sharp.

Wet.

And the next sound, my name, wasn’t chipper anymore.

“T—Tabitha…what did you…what happened?”

I frowned. “Nothing happened.”

She was already at the call button, pressing it as if the world was on fire.

Voices crackled in the hallway.

Feet thundered.

I pulled the blanket up over Mila’s chest.

“She was just loud,” I whispered. “But Mila likes cats.”

Toby watched me from the corner, head bowed in a pose reminding me of pride.

“And we liked her ‘cat,’ didn’t we, sister?” he said.

I giggled.

* * *

They took me to the room with the bright lights.

I didn’t like it. The air was thick like honey, and it stuck in my throat. But Toby was there, in the corner, waiting for me to figure it out. His fingers twitched like he wanted to play with my hair. But I wouldn’t let him. I needed to listen.

They were going to ask questions.

I always got the questions wrong.

The woman sat across from me. She had red lipstick on…

so much, it looked like blood and danger.

She kept folding her hands and staring at me.

I stared back, but I didn’t know what she wanted.

She was dressed like one of those other women who used to come by the house, the ones with the hard shoes who didn’t smile much.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you, Tabitha?”

I didn’t. But I nodded anyway. It made things easier when I did that.

“She died,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. “She just…stopped.”

The woman glanced at the man beside her. His hair was too neat. Too perfect, like he’d spent too long making sure it didn’t fall. I wondered if he ever touched it at night, wondering if it would fall out.

“You were with Mila before that happened, right?” she said, her voice low, careful.

“Yeah. She told me she likes cats.”

Toby stood behind me, his fingers dancing across my shoulders. I could feel his breath on my skin. His voice was soft, slipping between the spaces in my mind like melted butter.

“Tell them she wanted something from you, Zusje. Tell them, she begged. Tell them it was her fault. Tell them she’s yours.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “Mila liked cats and candy. She snored really loud.”

“Candy? Did you give her anything, Tabitha?” the man said.

His pen was tapping against the paper.

Pop, pop, pop.

It made me hungry.

“He won’t write what you say, Sister. He sees the world with black pens,” Toby warned.

“No,” I said quickly. “I didn’t. But the crying boy did. Mila and the crying boy like candy.”

I didn’t want to remember Mila. I didn’t want to remember the pillow and her scream. It was too loud. “I don’t want to remember the pillow.”

“The pillow, Tabitha?”

I swallowed hard. The room spun a little. “She was loud.”

“No, no. Sister. Keep her screams a secret. Keep our fun between us. The candy made Mila sick. Not you.” Toby’s voice made me calm.

“Tabitha.” The woman leaned forward, her eyes soft, like she thought she understood. “Why don’t you want to remember the pillow? Did something happen with Mila’s pillow?”

“They won’t understand my sister,” Toby whispered. “ She belonged to us. Her screams belonged to us. The candy made her sleep. Tell them about the candy.”

“Tabitha,” the woman urged.

“No,” I whispered. I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. The words felt slippery, like trying to hold onto a fish with wet hands. “No. The candy made Mila sick.”

Toby stepped closer, his breath against my ear.

“They won’t believe you if you don’t make them. Tell them you slept. Tell them the crying boy is to blame. We were only playing.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in deep, trying to remember how to say it.

“She wouldn’t stop crying. I think the candy made her sick. Made her sleep. I didn’t know it would happen. I didn’t want her to die. I just wanted to sleep…”

I stopped again, looking down at my hands. They were shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else. I hadn’t been in control of them for a long time.

Toby was behind me now, his fingers at the back of my neck, pushing my head forward, making me feel heavy.

“You did it, Sister. You claimed her. You did it for both of us. She’s ours now. Forever.”

“No,” I said, louder this time. I slapped my hands against my knees. The woman flinched, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel my own skin again. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t me. It was the candy.”

The man and woman exchanged another look. I knew what that look meant. They didn’t believe me. They never did, just like Toby said.

But Toby was there. He was always there.

Behind me.

Above me.

In the spaces I couldn’t fill.

The woman sighed, and the man scribbled something on his paper.

“We’ll take a break, Tabitha. We’ll let you think about what happened. We’ll have some doctors look at what Mila took from the other patient. You don’t have to say anything more right now. We’ll talk again soon.”

I nodded. The door clicked open, and a nurse appeared, standing in the doorway with that sad face. She looked like she was going to cry, too, but didn’t know how.

I stood, following the nurse down the hallway. The lights buzzed again, angry bees, but I wasn’t listening. I didn’t care anymore. I had said what I needed to say. The rest would fall into place.

Toby was behind me, always behind me, walking with a slow, careful step.

“They’ll never believe you, Zusje,” he whispered. “Because they think you’re sick. But I always will.”