where the wild gizmos are

i don't think he's honest, really. there are moments when the silence takes him--his brown eyes flare up, frightened, then harden, his emotions impenetrable. some truth hides beneath his blank expression, and he won't divulge it. instead, he changes the subject quickly, almost perfectly.

he's blunt, when he wants to be, if he feels like talking to me at all. this is why he isn't afraid to tell me what my father would say, and this is why i don't listen to him.

even now, at the coffee shop, his voice fades in and out of my attention. a cup grates against the plastic tabletop, and then makes no sound.

"maybe you shouldn't drink so much."

he breathes calmly. the air lifts his chest, every breath a dissipated rush of authority. i sigh, defeated, and stare at the table beneath my hands. he's right, of course, but i can't exactly find the words to admit it. the walls of my throat burn, speechless; my thoughts aren't words, only the quick pulse of shame. i don't know where to look.

he makes me feel like a child.

again, he's right--i am. my thoughts crash against themselves--half-memories that feel like dreams, fill my mouth with the taste of orange juice and vomit, dry my sight with the smell of newports.

they are brief glimpses of a past i don't remember. for a few seconds, clearly, i see the face of a stranger, shouting my name. zandra?! zandra! his eyes are black, large, wild with an emotion i don't understand. blood, purple with exhaustion, pools under his lower lashes. my wrists are bound in the stranger's hands, large and warm and too tight--they hurt. his hands are calloused, the nails are set into my skin. zandra! something cold hits my cheek--water. it drips down my hair, into my eyes, my mouth--my lips are bitter, like orange juice and...his shape begins to crumble into shadow, and he disappears.

"zandra."

my stare snaps, focuses onto the soft lines of his lips. they're pink--the cheerful color distracts from his eyes, dark and unwavering. my jaw tightens, and i turn my head to the left, to the happy couple next to us. they seem perfect, of course, captured in the blind moment of my gaze. i don't want to look any further, to burst the impression i have of them, and so i turn again to him.

i close my eyes, exhausted. the words pass my lips, barely audible, "yeah."