Girl Talk

" 'Genta?"

Her voice is sleepy, calling out in the dark with a miz of longing and innocence that in so many ways lost; yet still present. It breaks the silence, cutting into my thoughts , my near- sleep state of mind . like a jeweled dagger. Lovely, but painful. My eyelids close as I answer her.

"What, Columbia?" My tone comes out more derisive than I intended, but she doesn't seem to notice. Usually she'll get huffy at me if I act like that; oddly, tonight she isn't bothered by it at all.

"Do you think... do you think Eddie loves me?"

Her shrill voice hangs in the air for a moment and I can imagine exactly how she looks right now: lying on her side so her back is to me; one arm tucked under her pillow and the other clutching it; her legs curled to her body. Her face will be wearing the optimistic, romantic look it always does when she talks of these things.

I open my eyes and stare at the darkened ceiling, searching it for an answer to her question. Everything I think of doesn't seem right to say. She waits patiently for my reply. I don't know what to tell her. He is infatuated with her. But where do you draw the line? Is there even a line at all?

"I'm sure he does," I finally murmur, not sure if I believe myself or if I'm telling her what she wants to be told. I attempt to drift back to sleep, but she speaks again, her voice holding a tone of poignant desperation.

"Does... does Frankie love me?"

Fuck. Why does she insist on throwing these questions, questions with dangerous answers, at me? Why does she expect me to be able to soothe her, reassure her when she feels depressed? On one hand, I can't fathom how she needs to constantly affirm things that barely even exist, her fabrications of Frank's love. He doesn't love her. He doesn't love anyone. He's just a very good actor, masking his lust as love until he's had enough of whoever he's with.

On the other hand, I can't stand the way she gets when she gets hit in the face with reality. So mopey and miserable. I almost want to lie, to say "Of course he loves you," just so she won't fall into that state of depression. If it wasn't so late at night I wouldn't worry so much. She's so much better at pretending she feels happy during the day; all of her defenses seem to fall away under the cover of night. It seems this has happened so often since that fateful day, the day Frank made his announcement and she broke down. So often I'm the one who ends up drying her eyes and trying to console her; keep her from sinking into immeasurable misery.

I turn onto my side so I can see her. Sure enough, she's curled up just as I thought she would be. She looks so small lying there in her blue pajamas. My silence must be driving her to the brink of insanity. I don't know whether I ought to lie to her and protect her sensitive feelings or tell her the truth and risk her getting a spell of depression, causing a mess that I'll have to try and clean up. Just add it to the list of messes I've cleaned in this damn castle...