All That Glitters

The night stretched silently as the last ray of sun got devoured by the darkness. The dark murky sky was a different kind of beautiful, entirely different from the feel of atmosphere just after it rains or the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. Something more like a flimsy promise of life among danger, or a sin that pools on the gravel like blood.

With autumn closing in the cold seeped through the walls, the atmosphere was imbued with a slight chill and the shift was palpable. The house was lightened up by all the lights, and the clattering of utensils filled the usual silence appreciatively. Although Hope didn’t talk to me enough yet the presence of someone else inside this deserted place was almost comforting, like the feel of velvet against smooth skin.

It did little to surprise me to see Hope standing in the kitchen. She had started coming out of the safety of her own room, and—although she wouldn’t say much—spent Fridays with Dad and me watching old movies, the voices from the television no less desired but still amicable to hold the three of us together, surrounding us in a canopy of peace and calm. In the past month whenever I found her in the kitchen she would be standing by the refrigerator door with a passive face and blank eyes that stared incessantly at the pictures taped there of Dad and I. Perhaps all the ephemera that still floated in my dreams were unfamiliar for her; unfamiliar and strange and scratching at the depths of her sorrows.

This time, however, I found her with a cutting board above the countertop, chopping chilies and adding them to the pan sizzling above the heat. It smelled nice, of rich spices and mint and something that was missing whenever I cooked. I coughed; a gruff sound that made her swivel in place, her lips quirking up slightly at the sight of me.

“Come, Faith—“she motioned with the hand that held the knife—“dinner’s almost ready.”

I had anticipated that much. Trying not to seem judgmental I complied and took a seat by the counter. Hope already had laid out two plates, and, after filling them up with what appeared to be her stir-fry, settled beside me.

“Are we not waiting for Dad?” I asked to fill in the silence, partly because I didn’t like it and partly because it was almost time for Dad to be home. But Hope shook her head quickly as she picked up her fork, glancing at me sideways.

“He said he’d be late, remember?” Funnily enough I’d forgotten about that, but she didn’t have to know.

“You didn’t have to do this. I could’ve made something,” I said instead, guilt bunching up between my ribs. Cooking was my way to look after her, and now it seemed that I’d failed at that too.

She disregarded my statement with a wave of her hand, and a gentle order—“eat, it’s getting cold.”

So I did. And it was delicious. We had full meals only on weekends, when Dad was around and I could enjoy his great cooking skills that had somehow escaped me. Now it seemed that Hope was tired of what I cooked, and although it meant that I could actually witness her eating more than she ever did, it still stung.

Slightly.

“This is great, Hope.” The compliment rolled off my tongue as I placed my fork down. She looked at me with bright cerulean eyes, and dancing on her lips was a soft, pleased smile. It was great to see her like that, with eyes that weren’t dreary like an overcast sky and face that wasn’t contorted in a permanent frown.

“Thanks,” she mumbled in a low tone, almost shyly. “I forgot what it felt like.”

I wiped my face with the napkin as confusion dawned over me. Still watching her, I questioned, “What? Cooking?”

“No. Being appreciated.”

She voiced out something I never thought she would feel, let alone say. I averted my gaze as her words lay in the air like blunt shards of glass, broken and shattered and almost dead. They did nothing to sate the rising dread within me. It was one of the only times I’d had a proper conversation with her and I had nothing good to say to her. Not able to just get up and leave I took a small sip of my water and managed a small shrug.

“Maybe—” I suggested as I looked directly at her—“you just need friends.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrow shot up in question, and she didn’t try to hide it as uncertainty shadowed her features and I felt her closing up again. But I continued on, feeling as if I stopped the words will die in my throat and I would never be able to utter them again, “…I mean you’re always alone and quiet and—and it’s none of my business but I think you’d do well with some friends.”

I gazed unblinkingly at the small window overhead as the silvery moonlight leaked from it. The start of October was followed by a myriad of clouds and burning rain which stopped just a few nights ago. It was the end of one thing and an inception of another, and now, now it was just a thing in some corner of my mind, keeping me occupied so I wouldn’t glance at Hope sitting beside me.

She got up at once, and that was it. I had ruined every chance of reconnecting with her again, and it didn’t feel nice. My head was lowered immediately and I shut my eyes tightly. God, it was all ruined; all because of me and my silly need to talk.

“Maybe you’re right, Faith,” came a distant voice. I looked up to see Hope standing by the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and eyes regarding me with a burning intensity. She had built up her walls again, and I had a feeling that they wouldn't come down easily. I opened my mouth to ask the meaning but no words came out, so instead I pursed my lips, mentally willing her to go on. And she did.

“I’m so alone, and maybe I do need some friends. But I’ve seen you, Faith, and I don’t think they help you.”

“What do you mean?”

A disdainful smile embraced her lips. She turned around again, this time leaving finally, not before throwing a few words over her shoulder.

“You’re alone too.”

Notes

God I'm so late and I have no excuse. But I'm slowly catching up on my writing so hopefully the updating schedule will get better. Don't forget to leave your reviews as I love reading them!

Until next time then :)