My eyes fixed on the black ink sinking into the paper. A face was slowly taking shape. From downstairs, I could hear Mom laugh at something. She must be on the phone.
Late sunlight dyed the paper gold. On the back of my hand, I felt the warmth of it.
“Lyra, food’s gonna be ready any minute.” My brother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Still, I didn’t answer.
A heartbeat passed, and my door swung open. Logan stepped inside, stopping in front of my bed. “Or is our little Grandma too old to eat now?” I could tell he was grinning by the sound of his voice. A small smile formed on my lips, though my eyes stayed on the page. One last pen stroke.
I glanced up before closing the sketchbook and laying it aside.
“I’m not even twenty yet.” A chuckle. It sounded wrong coming from me.
I didn’t even feel like nineteen.
Nineteen sounded like someone who had plans. Someone who answered messages. Someone who went out without rehearsing it first. I felt stuck somewhere earlier.
My eyes dropped to the floor, my chest tightening as I tried to breathe slower.
Four weeks until my birthday. The ticking of my clock suddenly felt louder than it should have.
“Hey, look up.” I felt Logan sit down next to me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You wanna come down? Eat something?” His voice was soft. When I looked up, there was a lazy smile on his lips. I nodded.
Still, eating wasn’t what I wanted to do right now.
He got up and left my room. The door stayed open.
I took a deep breath. Then another.
Come on, Lyra.
I stood, my legs heavy as I walked downstairs. The smell of vegetables and potatoes grew stronger with every step. The hunger didn’t.
Mom and Dad were already eating. Logan watched me sit down and handed me the salad.
“Are you driving to work with the car tomorrow?” Dad asked, his eyes fixed on the broccoli on his fork.
“Yeah, if it’s free,” I mumbled, stabbing at my potatoes.
“Could you wash it on your way home?”
“Sure.” I smiled quickly.
Mom finished her plate in silence. I cut a piece of broccoli. Held it up. Stared at it.
Why couldn’t I just eat it?
I pressed my teeth together and set it back down. Logan’s gaze brushed over my plate before he looked away again.
Their voices drifted further with every breath I took.
When I finally stood to bring my plate to the kitchen, I scraped the food into the trash. The soft thud felt louder than it should have.
For a moment, I just stared at it.
I sensed him step closer. Logan rinsed his plate. He didn’t look at me.
“I’m in my room if you need something,” he said quietly.
I knew he meant it.
A small smile tugged at his mouth when I glanced up. I paused.
“Okay.”
The word felt too small.
Later that evening, music filled my headphones. My eyes rested on the sketch I had started before. The face looked dark. Almost unfamiliar.
I leaned back and let out a slow breath.
I wasn’t sure if feeling like this was okay.
But I dipped the brush into white paint anyway.
Carefully, I softened the shadows. Lightened the edges.
After a while, the face looked a little more alive.
The sun had disappeared completely.
A warm light spilled in through my open door.
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