Chapter seven

"Who knows what it means to love,

to those who dare,

to those who burn for love,

to those who cry and are not ashamed,

to those who know what it means to lose,

fall apart and be able to get up and drag on,

day by day

with the hope of building a future that is different from the past,

to the survivors,

because what we have been,

it does not define what we will be. "

"Do you cry every time you read a book?"

I flinch from my thoughts lifting my face to look at the person who spoke. I put a hand on my cheek, I hadn't even realized that two tears had escaped my eyes, those words had crossed my heart passing through my eyes like an explosive and unexpected dart.

"Are you following me by any chance?"

I ask accusingly to the guy in front of me who looks at me with that hateful smile always present on his face and his arms interested. He balances himself on his side leaning comfortably on the shelves behind me

"Maybe ... Or maybe I just want to have some fun ..."

He reply by raising his eyebrows as his smile widens and takes on a mocking expression, I swear that if he doesn't take it off himself, I'll take care of it with a slap ...

"What do you want, Cole?"

I sigh as I turn on my heels and start to leave taking the book I was reading with me

"Only one answer"

He begins with a shrug. I turn to look at him, tilting my head slightly to the side and frowning ... What do you mean?

"Why were you crying?"

He repeats, probably sensing my confusion. My gaze lingers on her slender fingers that absentmindedly fiddling with the cover of a book that has taken off the shelf. My eyes return to his face and his eloquent expression brings me back down to earth. I whiten in a second, I can't find the words, and he probably noticed it, but I still try to think quickly of a plausible excuse

"I wasn't crying, the book was full of dust, it must have irritated my eyes"

Suddenly starting to hyperventilate. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, showing his skepticism about the words I just said, but luckily he doesn't ask more questions about it.

I hand the book I have chosen to the library lady, a woman in her sixties wrapped in a long-sleeved burgundy dress with mouse-colored hair in a perfect bun, and she returns it to me almost immediately with the loan label.

I go out thanks to her, always followed by Cole, as soon as I turn around I see him playing around with his cell phone, who knows who he's texting ... No, wait! I shouldn't care, it's his business, he can do what he wants. I ignore it as we walk all the way down the corridor that connects the library to the main hall, it is already half past seven in the evening and many of the boys are already in the canteen, others are finishing their various training sessions. Then suddenly I decide to take advantage of the fact that this time Cole doesn't seem to want to disappear at any moment to ask him that question

"Why did you pretend you didn't know me at the party?"

Cole looks at me, but I notice he doesn't meet my eyes, as if he is bothered by eye contact with me. I can't help feeling a little bit disappointed, I know I shouldn't, but when I looked into his eyes, into the greenhouse ... There was something, in those eyes I saw something I had never seen before in no other pair of eyes. He shrugs casually interrupting my dangerous thoughts and finally answering me

"Because I was hoping you didn't recognize me"

Finally he says, but something is wrong. If he hoped I didn't recognize him, why then did he call me by name at the end? It's all so confusing, why am I trying to get myself into an uncomfortable situation on my own? Why can't I just keep my mouth shut and stay in my place? Why do I need answers so much about that evening?

My head is so crowded that I decide to give voice to those questions once and for all ... Or at least one of them, perhaps the one that torments me the most right now

"So then ... Why did you call me by name?"

He looks at me visibly confused, but not confused as if he doesn't remember doing it, no ... confused as if he doesn't really know what to answer

"I don't know, actually"

Finally he says and I can read the sincerity in his eyes, those two dark pools that are now immersed in mine.

I can't describe what I'm feeling, my stomach is in turmoil, but for the first time, it's not a bad feeling. It is as if, for a few moments, the world around us had somehow dissolved, I no longer hear anything but the accelerated beating of my heart and the sound of our breaths. I look into that abyss of his eyes: they express something that I would never have expected from someone like him, who doesn't care about everything around him: pain and defeat. Here's what his eyes express. Feelings that are too strong to have been born recently, are something well rooted in time, in those eyes there is a familiar light, something not unknown, something similar to ... Me.

Then all of a sudden he breaks eye contact making me go back down to earth

"II don't even know why I'm still here, I ... I have to go"

He says resolutely, frowning visibly confused as he looks at an indefinite point on the corridor tiles, then he turns and leaves without giving me time to say more.

I remain motionless for a few seconds even though it seems to me that an eternity goes by ...

Did I say something wrong?

I wonder upset, but immediately I slap myself mentally reminding myself that he is a drug dealer and that I must not forget him, he is definitely not the type of person I should trust, indeed I should stay as far away as possible from guys like him who bring nothing but trouble.

As soon as I get out of the shower I wear the blue polka dot underwear and pajamas my brother gave me last year, he was never good at gifts, but I have to admit that this was really a stroke of luck. I comb my ebony hair and pull it up into a soft braid to keep it from tangling overnight, I hardly ever do makeup, so I don't even have to remove my makeup.

Before going out I take the towel I covered it with from the mirror to avoid seeing myself reflected in the mirror: I know that instead of putting on weight I have lost some more, but I don't know how to stop and I have no intention of getting help,

I'll do it alone.

I leave the bathroom on tiptoe, half-closing the door behind me, Cora sleeps blissfully and I envy her a little, I watch her sleeping on her back, one arm dangling out of bed, her lips parted as she snores softly. I kneel on the chest under the window and turn my gaze to the Evening Star, asking her, begging that, at least she, help me win this battle against myself. I turn to her again a few evenings, when I feel that the weight of this secret weighs too much on my shoulders. It was my grandmother who spoke to me for the first time about the Evening Star, she said that it was that star that shone more than the others, and it was always there, in the sky of the dark night to illuminate our faces and that, sometimes, if we believed really in a wish and you asked the Star, it would then come true ... She never told me if for her some wish really came true, but I had believed it so much that every night I stared at a star, the brightest of the firmament and I spoke, I asked her what I wanted most. Back then, when I was still a carefree child, I mostly asked for a new doll or to do well in the school test the next day. Then, after that fateful day everything changed, for a year I stopped believing in anything, I didn't speak, I didn't eat, and I couldn't even sleep, I still remember the terror I felt when I closed my eyelids ... Then in the time I managed to open up a little and every now and then I went back to look at that star, I did it mostly for the same reason I'm doing it now ...In the hope that maybe, one day, something will change.

It is already 2:45 when I finally decide to lie down, the smell of lavender emanating from the sheets invades my nostrils and while I try to fall asleep my mind wanders to that boy with the chocolate eyes and with a strange feeling to squeeze my chest I finally let myself be welcomed into the arms of Morpheus.