Disclaimer: Chapter 13! Ohh ... bad luck? Nah, because it's Sweep, and Sweep is awesome! That's not to say, however, that there's not bad luck in Sweep. In this chapter, there's a whole ton of bad luck ... mwahaha ... but I digress. The song is "Story of a Girl" by 9 Days. Please read and review!
Summary: When Morgan is hospitalized after fainting, Sky meets a young teenage girl with mysterious and extraordinary divinatory gifts.
Title: Essentially Imperfect
This is the story of a girl
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world
And while she looks so sad in photographs
I absolutely love her
When she smiles
HUNTER'S P.O.V
I hadn't truly realized what had just transpired until I saw Morgan lying on the gurney at the hospital in Antrim, Ireland, unconscious and with an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. Portrush was a small community and didn't have its own hospital, so Sky had run over to the council building, hurriedly explained to them that we desperately needed a car, and she, Bree, Robbie, Raven, and I high-tailed it to the nearest clinic, unfortunately 45 minutes away, with an comatose Morgan in tow.
Luckily, the hospital did not appear to be overly crowded even though Antrim was a much larger town than Portrush; Morgan was immediately being examined by nurses and orderlies as we ran in with her, and the entire time, I was chanting over and over in my head: "She'll be okay. It's nothing serious. She'll be okay ..."
"What's wrong with her?" Raven demanded of the nurse currently wheeling Morgan down one of the many hospital corridors as the five of us trailed nervously behind the gurney.
"Is she going to be okay?" Bree asked.
"She's been having really awful headaches lately, if that helps at all ..." I offered, my heart thumping unhealthily fast.
The nurse sighed in frustration, clearly annoyed with our constant inquiries as to Morgan's health when she had not even begun to examine her yet. "Look, I apologize, all of you, but I'm going to have to take her to see a doctor." She pushed Morgan through a set of double doors. "The lot of you cannot pass through these doors."
With that, she disappeared into the new arrivals ward and left us standing there; looking at my friends, I knew that they were just as disappointed as I was.
"Okay ..." Sky said with a sigh. "I suppose we'll just wait here, then."
"She's going to be okay, right?" Robbie asked with a note of panic in his voice. "I mean, it's nothing bad, is it? She just fainted. It's nothing serious, right?"
"I hope so," I whispered, casting a forlorn glance at the large gray double doors before turning and starting to walk slowly back down the corridor towards the lobby. "I mean, she had been asleep for about fifteen hours beforehand. Maybe just standing up so quickly caused a blood rush to her head that knocked her out."
"Let's hope that's all it is," Raven said.
All five of us plopped down simultaneously in a long row of plastic chairs in the lobby across from a woman whose son was bleeding profusely from his nose. I grimaced slightly and picked up a travel guide from a small stack of magazines on the end table next to me to distract myself with.
Sky was looking around the lobby and watching a few orderlies talking with detached interest. "I was hoping to not have to be in a hospital again so soon." She reconsidered that statement. "Or ever again."
"At least it's not you in there," Bree said with a shrug. "So be grateful for that."
"Oh, right," Sky said sarcastically. "Because having it be one of my friends in trouble this time makes it so much better." She paused, staring at the floor for a moment, and then looked at me quickly.
"Hey, Hunter, can I use the phone that you borrowed from Kennet? I want to call Ma."
I looked at her in surprise. "Right now?"
She shrugged. "Well, why not? We're likely to be here for a while."
Bree looked distraught. "Now, when you say that, you mean it'll be because they want to keep Morgan here just to make sure that nothing's wrong when, in reality, she'll be perfectly fine, right? Not because there'll be something wrong with her, right?"
"Right," Sky said firmly.
"Good," Bree said with a little huff, settling back down in her chair.
Seeing no way out of handing over the cell phone that Kennet had loaned me in case we ever ran across an emergency, I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and handed it to my cousin.
"Fine, fine," I sighed. "Call everyone you know, if you must."
Sky just took it and had already pressed the on button, ready to venture to a quieter part of the hospital, when I called after her. "But don't use all of my minutes!"
She looked at me in incredulity. "Kennet has 6500 minutes pre-programmed onto here!"
"Well, yes," I conceded, "but I figure that since he's paying the bill, I ought to get at least 6300 for myself."
"Greedy."
"Just go use the phone," I said in exasperation.
How many days in the year
She woke up with hope
But she only found tears
Acting so insincere
Making the promises never for real
As long as she stands there waiting
Wearing the holes in the soles of her shoes
How many days disappear?
You look in the mirror so how do you choose?
SKY'S P.O.V
Ma was apparently more concerned about Morgan's condition than we were if her constant questions and worries gave any indication as to her true feelings on the subject. As she had put it, and I had to admit that she had a point, perfectly healthy people, especially witches as strong as Morgan, do not faint without an exceptional reason. She was babbling on about some disease or another that she had heard affected a victim's nervous system and thus resulted in sporadic fainting fits when I stopped her.
"No, Ma, we don't think it's anything terribly serious. Chances are it was just a blood rush to the head."
"For all you know, it could be something much more severe," she grumbled.
"I know it could be, but with an attitude like that it probably will turn out to be," I said sternly. "Haven't you ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecies?"
She sounded triumphant. "You see, that was always one of your faults, Athar. Overly optimistic."
I snorted. She clearly had been away for quite a long time. "I'm not being overly optimistic. I just think you're being overly pessimistic."
I noticed then with a slight double take that I had somehow wandered down one of the hospital's multiple corridors that looked exactly the same and wound up in front of what I assumed was the children's ward. A large set of double doors was painted to resemble a flower field with grass and bright red and yellow flowers, and drawings clearly made by young children were taped to the doors, some depicting cute little houses with flowers and puppies in the front yard and, one, a squadron of military jets engaged in an air battle clearly drawn by a little boy.
"Athar? What are you doing?"
Ma's voice brought me back to my senses, but I still stared at the children's ward door in curiosity. What was I doing here? "Nothing. I just wandered to the children's ward for some reason."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
I turned around and began walking back up the corridor. Ma and I stayed on the phone for a bit longer, discussing for some reason the new television show that she was quite fond of: American Idol. I found the news that my mother watched American reality TV semi-disturbing.
"I'd like to hear Simon do a better job than some of those contestants that he constantly abuses," I said firmly as she declared that she always agreed with what Simon Cowell said to the contestants and thought that he was quite reasonable.
"He could."
"He could not."
"Could, too."
"Could not."
Receiving a witch message from Hunter, however, brought me out of the reverie.
Sky, Morgan's awake. Come to Room 185. -
Thank the Goddess. If she was awake already, then whatever was wrong with her, if anything, must not have been very serious.
"Listen, Ma, I just got a message from Hunter. Morgan's awake. I have to go, okay? ... Love you, too. I'll call you this weekend."
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls out quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say
HUNTER'S P.O.V
When Bree, Robbie, Raven, and I were allowed into Morgan's room, she was sitting up in bed, very much alive but looking exhausted. We were instantly gathered around her bed, everyone demanding at once: "Are you okay?"
Morgan gave a tired laugh and leaned back against her pillow. "Yes, I feel fine. I don't know why I fainted ... or at least, that's what the nurse said happened."
"That is what happened," Bree said. "Maybe you should have something to eat. We could ask one of the nurses to bring you something ..."
Morgan just shook her head. "Really, I'm fine. I don't need anything to eat. I'm not even hungry."
The door to the room opened with a loud click and Sky poked her head inside.
"Oh, good!" she said cheerfully. "You're awake!"
"And kicking," Morgan said with a definitively happy tone to her voice.
"That's good," Sky said as she handed me back Kennet's phone. I couldn't help but wonder how many of my precious 6300 minutes she had used up.
"Yeah ..." Morgan said, her voice suddenly softening. I smoothed her hair reassuringly, and she smiled gratefully at me before turning to look at the others.
"Um, guys, could I talk to Hunter and Sky for a second?"
Sky and I both looked at her in puzzlement while Robbie, Bree, and Raven didn't move. Bree was still clasping Morgan's hand tightly.
"Um, alone?"
I could tell that she felt bad about asking the others to leave, but there was clearly something that she wanted to say that she felt she couldn't in front of them. Probably something blood-witchy. This meant that it couldn't be good.
"Sure," Bree said inattentively, letting go of Morgan's hand and walking a little too fast out of the room. Robbie looked after her in confusion for a moment and then looked at Raven; she just shrugged, and the two of them went after Bree.
Sky and I, now the only other two left in the room, exchanged looks as Morgan stared down at her hands. When she raised her head to look at us, however, there were suddenly tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Goddess, Morgan," I said quickly, immediately concerned. I grabbed her hand and kissed her forehead. "What's wrong? What is it?"
Morgan was obviously trying not to cry and with very little luck; her eyes were growing redder, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
"It's my head ..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "God, it hurts so much. It hurts more than any headache I've ever had in my whole life ... it feels like my brain pounded out of my head and fell on the floor ... then got stepped on or something ..."
"Ew ..." Sky said in disgust. Morgan and I stared at her; she looked embarrassed. "Um, I mean, ow. It must be really painful."
"I didn't want the others to see me cry because ..." Morgan took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair; I noticed that her arms were shaking slightly. "Because I cast a spell on myself yesterday. Or maybe it was the day before ... God, I don't even know what day it is ..."
My mind was stuck on her earlier words. "What kind of spell?"
"A spell to ban dreams," she whispered, not meeting my gaze.
Sky and I both stared at her for a moment, then at each other, then back at her.
"To ban ... dreams?" I repeated.
"Meaning all dreams? Not just nightmares?" Sky questioned.
A sheepish expression crossed Morgan's face. "Well, I meant nightmares, but I guess that's not how I phrased it ..."
Well, no wonder. No wonder she was in such pain right now.
"I suppose that explains it, then," I muttered to Sky. She just nodded.
"What?" Morgan demanded warily. "What explains what?"
"The spell that you cast on yourself explains why you have such a mammoth headache," I reiterated.
"Why?"
Sky launched into her infamous knowledge-mode. "Because dreams are the way that your subconscious releases stress and anxiety while you're asleep. Even if one doesn't remember any, a person normally has four or five dreams a night. If you cast a spell on yourself to ban all dreams, and I suppose we can assume that it worked, then your subconscious isn't mulling through its stress while you sleep." She looked worried. "All of that baggage just stays in there, and eventually it piles up to the point where you feel so mentally overloaded that you just can't function normally."
I seemed to remember that Bree had gotten Sky a book about dream interpretation for her birthday in May. "What she said."
Morgan looked less than thrilled. "So I have to, what? Remove the spell?"
"I suppose so," Sky said slowly.
The tears had returned to Morgan's eyes, and I held her hand a little more gently. "But I ... I can't go back to having those nightmares ..." Her voice choked up. "They're so awful and I don't understand them and I just want to not have them anymore!"
"I know, Morgan," I said sympathetically. "But ... you don't really have a choice. You have to remove the spell."
"The consequences could otherwise be much more serious than just a headache," Sky said hesitantly.
Morgan wouldn't meet either of our gazes, thinking over the prospect of seeing her visions and nightmares again. She sighed. "Okay." She looked at us. "When can I do it?"
"I think that sooner is better, right?" I asked Sky. She nodded.
"Most likely. Do you want me to go back to the lodge and get the stuff we'll need for a breaking spell?"
"Would you mind?" I asked reluctantly.
"Not intensely."
The discussion about breaking spells was temporarily suspended as a nurse walked into the room, carrying a huge pile of folders in her arms.
"All right, Miss Rowlands," she said in a strong Irish accent, struggling to remove the top folder and place it on the table next to the door. "All of your tests are normal, vitals are strong, so you may leave whenever you wish."
"Thank you," Morgan smiled.
"Welcome," the nurse said, stepping out of the room again and closing the door. "See to it that you never have to come back."
"Well, that's good news then, isn't it?" I asked quietly.
"I'll go back to the lodge for the stuff," Sky said, standing up and straightening her jacket. "I'll be back in an hour and a half."
"Hurry," was all that Morgan said.
Sky was halfway out of the door when she looked back at the table next to the door that the nurse had set Morgan's folder onto in curiosity.
"Hey, she left someone else's folder in here, too." She picked it a thick manila folder and examined the name on the label. "Someone named Alexis Rody." She shrugged. "I suppose I'll drop this off in the right room on my way out. How do you tell what the room number is?"
I remembered seeing a glance of Morgan's makeshift folder when we first brought her in. "Look at the ID number on the label. I think the second number is the room number."
"Um ... it says 217-7846 375. So is 375 the room number?"
"Most likely," I said. "Look at the map outside to see where it is."
Sky poked her head out of the door and examined the green and blue map of the hospital that was posted on the wall opposite Morgan's room's door.
"Huh ..." was all that she said.
"What?" I asked inquiringly.
"Nothing," she said quickly. "I'll be back soon."
This is the story of a girl
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world
And while she looks so sad in photographs
I absolutely love her
When she smiles
SKY'S P.O.V
While I made my way to the children's ward of the hospital, I vaguely wondered why I was going there. I had found myself there for some reason earlier when I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. The nurse had left a folder in Morgan's room that belonged in Room 375, and all of the 300 rooms were in the children's ward. Something or someone—kind of a creepy thought—wanted me to go to the children's ward for reasons unknown to me.
Or I was just being paranoid. I decided that choice B was just as reasonable as choice A.
The doors covered with pictures and portraits drawn by young children looked very lonely and completely out of place at the end of the gray corridor leading to it; I couldn't help but shiver slightly and wonder how many children were forced to stay in this hospital. It couldn't be much fun ... must have been frightening for all of them the first time they came down this hallway ...
For some reason, I looked over my shoulder to check for any nurses or orderlies in the hallway before stepping into the ward. Even though I was just in there to return a folder that had been misplaced, I knew from experience (Hunter and I had gotten lost when we were ten in the records room of a hospital back in England when his sister Alwyn was in the emergency room for a broken arm. We had gotten a very stern talking-to from the hospital chief when we knocked over a file cabinet full of paperwork) that being out of place in a hospital was never a good thing.
The main room of the children's ward was exactly as I would have imagined one to be and could not have been more different than the bland, sterile, gray corridor outside. A hallway branched off into three corridors from a small circular common room; I couldn't help but feel that I would much rather, personally, stay here than anywhere else in the hospital. Small, child-size poofy armchairs and stools were arranged in front of miniature televisions and coloring tables, and stuffed animals and beanbags were tossed haphazardly around the room. A rug shaped like a vibrant purple flower decorated the floor, and more drawings and paintings done by children were taped to the walls in addition to the framed photographs of Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Bullwinkle the Moose, Bugs Bunny, and other assorted cartoon characters that adorned the room. All of the chairs were abandoned; the television was off and the room was completely silent. I shivered again. The playroom, while warm and welcoming, was slightly cold without any people in it.
I stepped over the flower rug and over to the three branching corridors. After checking the folder again, I selected the hallway that led to rooms 367-399 and followed it down a carpeted hallway, the walls of which were, once more, decorated with drawings and, more noticeable than the others, a drawing of a bomb exploding and beheading twenty poor stick men, women, and children. The same kid that drew the one on the outside door must have drawn this one, too.
Gruesome.
I paused as I reached Room 375. Did I really want to go inside?
The answer was, inevitably, no. But I would just drop off the folder. I would drop off the folder and leave. It would take twenty seconds. So why was I hesitating?
"The door's open, you know."
A voice from inside the room had spoken, so suddenly and so unexpectedly that I jumped. However, I pushed open the door and stepped halfway inside the room.
A brunette girl who couldn't have been younger than fifteen or sixteen years old was sitting upright in her hospital bed watching MTV on a television that was hanging from the wall. I looked around at the room décor. Posters and pictures torn out of magazines were spread around the walls; the faces of Orlando Bloom, Johnny Depp, Uma Thurman, Angelina Jolie, and Elijah Wood peered down at me as I noted the huge pile of cut-up magazines sitting on the bedside table.
This girl must have been a permanent resident, or had at least been here for quite a while.
"Just put the folder on the table there," the girl said, not diverting her gaze from the television.
I felt slightly unnerved. "It was left in my friend's room. The nurse ... I just wanted to bring it here."
The girl finally tore her stare away from the television and looked me right in the eyes; I suddenly felt very self-conscious as her eyes, deep brown, examined me.
"Oh, yeah, your friend," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "She fainted. Is she okay?"
"How did you -?" I began to say but then stopped. Wait a moment ...
"You're a witch."
It was she who said that, not me. I had been on the verge of saying it myself, but she had somehow beaten me to it. I narrowed my eyes and looked at her, scrutinizing every aspect of her.
"You're a witch," she repeated. "A good one, too. Wyndenkell ... strong parents, solid training. It's not every day that someone with your strength comes along."
I wondered how she would react when, and if, she ever met Morgan.
As I looked at her, she smiled suddenly. It was a curious smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth before spreading. "You want to know who I am, don't you?"
"Alexis Rody?"
She snorted. "Well, that was difficult. But you're still wondering who I am. Knowing the name doesn't help."
This was turning out to be a very strange day. "All right, then," I said slowly. "Tell me who you are. Are you ... are you a witch, too?"
She shrugged. "My mother was a Rowanwand, and once a witch, always a witch, I suppose. But I haven't felt like one lately."
"Why not?"
"I haven't done a spell or anything in over two years." She laughed at my surprised look. "Oh, come on. I'm bedridden. How magickally active do you expect me to be?"
"You've been in here for two years?" I asked, my voice softening. "In that bed for that long?"
"Actually, two years and six months come September," she said thoughtfully. "Seems like longer ..."
I couldn't seem to think of anything to say. What does one say to a hospitalized teenage girl who has not been allowed out of bed rest for over two years?
"If you're wondering what to say to me, you might start with, 'Gee, Alexis, what're you in here for?'" she suggested.
I bit. "What are you in here for?"
"My mother left me here," she said. "Two years and four months ago. Gave the hospital a freaking huge check and left me here. I haven't heard from her since. Don't really expect to." She looked down at her hands. "It's not that bad, really. Good food, constant entertainment ..." She motioned the television. "Although, I must say, I got tired of daytime soap operas after two days in here." I couldn't help but smile at that.
She looked anxious. "You won't leave yet, will you?"
"What?"
"You have somewhere to be, things you need to get. But you're not going now, are you? You're the first real person I've talked to in months."
I was still speechless. I couldn't imagine being in her position with no one to ever talk to. I'm not an especially chatty person myself, not like Bree or Sharon Goodfine, one of our friends back in New York, but still ... "No. I'm not leaving yet."
It was not as if Morgan's headache would kill her immediately. She was not in any immediate jeopardy. However, thinking about her brain analogy instantly made me feel guilty.
Alexis smiled again. "Good." She looked at her folder, which was lying on the table near the door, and then back at me. "Want to know what I've got?" I didn't say anything, thinking it rude to ask something like that. "Oh, don't worry," she said quickly. "It wouldn't be impolite to ask. I'm used to it."
That was just scary. "How do you know what I'm thinking?" I demanded.
"If you'll let me explain ..." she said leadingly. I sighed.
"What have you got?"
"Hereditary ataxia," she said promptly.
My eyes narrowed, and I wracked my brain for any vague knowledge on the subject of the disease known as hereditary ataxia. All that I could remember was a comment on ataxias in passing.
"Isn't that a degenerative genetic disorder?"
"Damn straight," she said with a smile.
I could remember it more clearly now. I was pretty sure that I had heard of a disease similar to hereditary ataxia where the cerebellum was largely affected and was mostly associated with poor coordination of the limbs. I amaze myself with my own knowledge.
"Don't be so smug," Alexis said with a slight scowl, and I started slightly. "There's a lot you don't know about it. Or me. I'm getting better."
I smiled. "That's good. How?"
"Coenzyme supplements. It's helping, sort of. I have to work with a physical therapist every week to regain my ability to walk. I'm doing pretty well."
How do you know what I'm thinking?
"I guess it's because of the disease," she said calmly. I stared at her; I hadn't even said that aloud!
"What do you mean, because of the disease?" I said in confusion. "It affects your cerebellum, right? It shouldn't help you with ..."
"Psychic powers?" She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess not. For some reason, though, I suppose that it helped the other parts of me. Intelligence, senses, emotions ... they're all enhanced. It's like how they say that if you go blind or deaf your other senses will pick up the slack." She looked thoughtful. "I can't remember a time when I couldn't sense what people were thinking. The ataxia didn't activate until two years ago, but I've always been able to read people. Pretty accurately, too."
This was all too much for me. "What was that about your mother leaving you here?"
Alexis smiled bitterly. "My grandmother had the disease, too. Plus the gifts. They drove her to partial insanity, I think. My mom took care of her until she died, and I think that she really did love me, but ... I guess she just couldn't deal with what the disease meant for me."
She was lying. I could tell that right away even without the enhanced senses that she clearly had.
"Tell me the truth," I whispered. "I can ... you don't have to worry about me."
"I know," she said simply. "I know that you're strong enough to handle it, but I'm wondering about your cousin."
"My cousin?" How did she know about Hunter? Oh, right ... psychic powers. That made sense. Sort of.
"Yeah. I don't think that he is," she said contemplatively. "Strong enough, that is. He might react differently than you would."
This was turning into something that I'd expect could be featured in an episode of The X-Files. "Why would he react differently?"
Alexis just laughed. "Oh, come on. He's centered his entire life around the council. If he found out that they weren't really who he thought they were ..." She sighed. "Well, things wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure." She saw my confused look and explicated. "The council is after me. Have been for years. The only reason that they haven't stolen me away from the hospital is that a missing patient would attract way too much attention, especially if that missing patient can't walk and therefore can't leave on her own."
"The council isn't evil!"
"Do you really believe that?" she asked. "They've wanted access to my mind ever since I was born. They wanted my grandmother, too, but they never got her." I didn't believe her. How could I believe her?
Her mouth split into a quirky smile. "You trust me. It irritates you that you feel you can trust me because I'm trashing the council and you don't want to betray your cousin's trust, but a tiny part of you is curious to see if I'm right."
"It really sucks to know an empath."
"I've been told that." Her dark eyes glowed with the prospect of a challenge. "Come on, I know you're strong enough for the truth. Are you willing to find it?"
Perhaps against my better judgment, I agreed to find what she called the truth. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but as our thoughts melded together and I began to experience her feelings and emotions as clearly as if they were mine, I knew that I would not regret my choice.
Tath meanmas are always draining, but I couldn't begin to explain the feeling of exhaustion that swept over me. I was watching a young girl, no more than six or seven, and an older woman that I assumed must be Alexis's mother speeding in a small car down an abandoned road, and I felt the fear coursing through my veins as if it were my own.
Alexis was watching two men in dark suits hitting her mother, hitting her so hard that she was bleeding, kicking her and torturing her with magick because she wouldn't tell them where her daughter was. They wanted her daughter's gifts, her powers, and they wouldn't stop hitting her until they got them. The little girl was in pain, but she couldn't do anything. She was stuck, she couldn't move; all that she could do was watch.
They burned a sigil onto her mother's flesh, one that I recognized from the multitude of books of black magick that Hunter had confiscated from magick abusers. Many of them had the sigil on the cover. It was death.
She had two weeks or thereabouts to live. The symbol would drain her of energy, magickal and otherwise. She had fourteen days to ensure that her daughter would not be stolen by the men that wanted her to promote themselves, for their twisted and corrupted benefit.
She was tired, exhausted ... she could barely move, but she had to get her daughter to safety. A hospital seemed the best place, they would watch over her there. A blank check, access to a bank account that had been filled to the bursting point with money for years. And then she was gone; the girl had learned to close her mind to the invasive attempts of the men that brutally murdered her mother.
A darkened room was coming into view; my eyes were barely adjusted when I heard voices, so clearly that I would have otherwise thought that someone was standing behind me.
"Finally. After fifteen years, we will finally get what we have been searching for."
It took me about two seconds to pull myself out of the mental connection between the girl in the hospital bed and I; breathing heavily, I stared at Alexis in shock. She looked back at me in fear.
"I've never seen them before," she said worriedly.
"How long have you been free to go?" I asked, running a nervous hand through my hair.
"Since yesterday," she said. "I guess they know about it, then."
The council is evil. The council is evil. The council is evil. Or at least, some of its members are evil. Goddess, why ... when ... how? I always thought that they were the epitome of white magick, of good. Taking it upon themselves to help others.
"Don't worry," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I won't ... I won't let them hurt you."
Her eyes were wide, staring at me with a kind of intensity that I had never seen before in anyone. It was dependence, complete and utter dependence. "Do you promise?"
I swallowed, my throat dry.
"Yes."
This is the story of a girl
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world
And while she looks so sad in photographs
I absolutely love her
When she smiles
This is the story of a girl
Whose pretty face she hid from the world
And while she looks so and lonely there
I absolutely love her
When she smiles