The girl was silent when she needed to be, when she had to hold back her tangled emotions for fear of them choking her to death. Instead, they lay in a knot in the pit of her stomach. A knot that grew ever tighter with each passing day. She was also a convincing liar – again, when she needed to be. The cruel hand of fate had forced her to carry out many a desperate act.
The boy had watched it unfold all these years, filled with the same sorrow he was sure she too constantly carried with her. It was a precarious balancing act. Sometimes, his sadness would reach the surface and tip over the edges, but he rarely saw the girl allow hers to spill out. The last time he saw a tear trickle down her cheek and her lip tremble was the last time that they had really hugged – three years ago. On the radio, they heard the song that had been played at their parents' funeral. Since that last real hug, she had either pulled away too soon or pushed him away. Eventually, he had stopped trying.
He kept watching, though. She was impossible to ignore when she was laughing; joking; teasing; telling a story, elaborating and embellishing upon the truth; when she wore that stubborn scowl on her face; or when she was lost in thought, concocting their latest scheme. He had found it even more impossible to ignore her defiance - so in sync with his own - especially when it landed them both in trouble.
But he had taken his eyes off her.
A siren sounds, as though she needs reminding of the events of the night before. The woman, Irene, pats the girl's arm as she pulls her car over to allow the ambulance to pass. "Nearly there, love," Irene says, with a reassuring smile. She drops her hand, realising the girl's arm has tensed. "Not far now..."