Page 46

H.I.M.

S he's perfect, and kind, and strong. Like a dream — my Dream.

Everyone knows it but her. It's why they like to taunt and hate her. It's why they like to tell her she's going to die, but I'm here, Dream. I'll believe in you, hold you up, and heal you — over and over again — so you can prove them wrong.

We'll show them, Dream. We'll show them all.

She talks all the time about anything — about everything. The very first thing I learnt about her is that she loves her sister. Her sister is her world, her strength, her heartbeat. The second thing I learnt is that she's a Sagittarius.

She loves Greek mythology and knows a little Latin. She loves the stories tied to stars, the constellations and the Gods. A few are inaccurate, but I love the little twists she puts on them. And... she sings. Every night. It's the most beautiful sound, and the best part of my day.

I love that she can talk to me — that she trusts me. It was always so silent before her, so quiet and cold and dead.

But mostly, I love when she calls me Shadow.

I'm sure I had a name. I'm sure my name meant something important to my parents to celebrate the arrival of my existence. But… I'm also sure I didn't exist until the moment she first called me Shadow.

But something is wrong today, because she’s silent.

I don’t like it; I don’t like it at all.

I press my palm against my favourite stone wall, desperate for some kind of connection, but all I feel is cold, unyielding stone.

It feels thicker today, heavier somehow as though it can crush me with the weight of its silence.

But then she speaks, her voice fractured and low, like the last ember of a fire about to die out. "I don't think I deserve your comfort, Shadow." Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. There is something in her voice, something like guilt. "I'm s-sorry."

She lets out a shaky breath, the sound breaking midway like she’s trying not to cry but can’t quite hold it together.

I know she’s trying not to cry; I know she thinks it's a weakness.

I want to tell her it's okay to cry, that I won't let her break when she does, but the words always get lodged in my throat.

The reality is that I can't hold her. I can't put her back together; I can't even break the wall standing between us when I'm supposed to be strong. When all I want to do is take her away from here. Take her far, far away.

"Don't apologise, Dream." It's been years since I'd last spoken; so long, I forgot the sound of my own voice. It sounds frail and weak, but I need to say something, anything, to make her feel like she's not alone. That I'm here. I'll always be here. "You deserve everything."

My words are met with silence, long and insufferable. I almost whine for her to talk to me, to say anything; it doesn’t even have to mean anything. Just come back to me, Dream. Lean on me. Let me hold you up.

"I was selfish today," she whispers, her voice thick with regret. "I hurt people, Shadow. I hurt them, because they hurt me."

Her words from 46 days ago echo in my mind: 'You'll never break me.'

"Who told you being selfish was a bad thing?" My words are low and dark.

"My Papa." I clench my hands, a snarl curling my lips. It's the first time she’s mentioned her father. I didn't think my first thought of him would be how I'd punish him for teaching her such nonsense.

"There's nothing wrong with being selfish," I tell her, my words rough and true, "and when you can put yourself first, it becomes a little easier to breathe. And you deserve to breathe, Dream. You deserve to fucking breathe."