I'm not sure how long she has been looking, but when I finally suppress the tornado in my stomach, I find blue eyes fixed on me, seeming to slice through the lies and the masks and the muscles, trying to see the real person beneath.
"Well?" She asks.
My embarrassment disappears, and I find myself staring back at her with the same curiosity that seems to be seeping through her skin.
"Well what?"
"I have a feeling you were about to make a great revelation before you almost puked. And also I don't think your real name is Four."
"And I have a feeling that you should avoid being nosy."
Hazel is silent for a moment, and I think she has given up.
"How long ago did she die?"
My heart stops, then feels as if engulfed in flame, a fire fueled by anger and grief and love.
I can't move.
I can't think.
But my brain won't stop.
Days and nights fly through my mind at breakneck speed: a slideshow screaming of passionate, beautiful, perfect love ended too soon.
And all at once,
It's too much.
