Syler comes at night, exactly three nights after I last saw him in the courtroom. My window is open, and he climbs straight through it. He stands, his eyes searching for me and stopping when they reach my eyes watching him from my bed. He thought I’d be asleep, and I usually am when he sneaks in. Not tonight.

“Wolf...”

His lip quirks up, but he doesn’t make a move to step closer to me. “Mouse...”

Sitting up from my position on my bed, the sheet that was covering me drops revealing only a white shirt that I sleep in, his shirt.

“Your sister called me.”

His eyes leave my body to find my face. “I know, she told me.”

“Are you regretting what you did, Syler?”

He still doesn’t make a move to come closer. I stay where I am, not trusting myself either.

“If I don’t get what I want. Maybe.”

“And what is it that you want?” I ask him, knowing full well the answer, but wanting to hear it from his lips.

“You know what it is I want, but that’s not the reason I’m here. I want to know what it is you want, Mouse.”

No one has ever asked me that before with such impact. Sure, I’ve been asked if I want to go here or there, or what food I want, but never something so large that affects me, and most of all, my heart.

What do I want?

Do I even know?

When I glance back up at him, he’s waiting for my answer. It sits on the top of my tongue but doesn’t want to budge out of my mouth.

“Mouse...”

“I want to be loved, and I want it to be normal.”

“Normal...” He tastes the word on his tongue. “We aren’t normal, though, Mouse.”

“I know.”

“Are you saying that I should climb out this window and never come back because I’m not... normal?”

Another huge question. This one impacts on me, and I’m not sure I know the answer right now. His words slam into me, puncturing me each time he speaks.

It takes me too long to respond. He thinks he sees the answer on my face, but is it really my answer? He doesn’t give me time to gather my thoughts and speak them because he climbs out, not saying another word.

***

JOB HUNTING, THAT’S something I’m currently doing. I hate it. Despise it. The cinemas where I used to work were such a breeze that I don’t think I’ll find that type of position again. I think I’ve applied for ten different jobs that I have no experience in, but hope that I’ll still be successful. I’ve applied for an apprenticeship, also for some non-paid positions until a suitable job becomes available, and all at magazines. I know they aren’t as big as what they used to be, the digital era has taken over, but the thought of working with one and knowing how they’re done, and the work that goes into making something so spectacular, it really interests me.

I’ve always been a collector of magazines, and it only seems fitting that I give it a try. And if it doesn’t work out, at least I’ve tried. I’m still young, I have time.

“Miss Betty,” I call out as I step over her flower bed and into her yard. She’s always out front, always gardening, but today I didn’t see her when I left or now as I arrived home.

“Miss Betty?” I say again while knocking on her door. It opens when I push it, and the first thing I see is her foot. Running inside her house, I notice her on the floor. Blood surrounds her head, and her eyes are wide open as she lays there. Dropping to the ground, my shaking fingers touch her neck to find a pulse.

Nothing.

Feeling for my cell, I call an ambulance, telling them the address, then sit back against the wall opposite her. There is blood everywhere, much like it was that night when I was a child. My fingers itch to move forward, to touch it, because that’s my memory of it.

Will it feel the same way hers did?

Would it be as warm?

Or cold and thick like hers was after hours of soaking into the floor, while I sat in it waiting for her to wake up.

“Hello,” someone calls out, and I only just hear them, being too lost in my own head. The front door is pushed all the way open, and two EMT come into the room. First, their eyes locate me and then Betty on the floor. My heartrate picks up when I see the head wound.

Did someone break in here and kill her the same way my mother was killed?

It couldn’t happen to me twice, could it?

At least this time I knew better and didn’t sit for hours waiting.

“Excuse us, miss. Are you hurt?” A hand touches my arm. My eyes go down, and I notice that Betty’s blood is all over me from checking her over when I arrived.

“No, it’s all hers...” I say.

They pick her up, placing her on the gurney. Her blood-stained tiles sit there torturing me.

“Should I clean it up?”

One of the paramedics hears me. She shakes her head. “It’s best to leave it until the police arrive.”

I nod my head in agreement and walk behind them blindly. Hands wrap around my shoulders the minute I’m off her steps, and my father squeezes me tight, embracing me like he’s never done before.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“My heart left my chest when I saw them here.”

I didn’t think of him when it all happened. The way it would affect him. He lost the only woman he’s ever loved and coming home to see me in Betty’s house, full of EMTs, and me covered in blood, well, it wouldn’t have been good for him.

“She’s dead,” I say, leaning on his chest and watching the ambulance drive away, leaving us standing in Betty’s yard hugging. He strokes my hair, comforting me. It’s the first time he’s done that too. How my life has changed. I now have a father that seems to care for me, and I’m in love with a man who may or may not love me back. I pull away first when the street is silent, and it’s just us left standing there.

“Maybe you should invite that boy around for dinner.”

“Syler?” I question him as we start walking toward our house.

He nods his head.

“Well, maybe you should start dating. Then I’ll think about it, if he’s still talking to me.”

His head shakes straight away. “Not happening. Dating is not in the cards for me.”

“Syler may be out of the cards for me, too.”

He stops looking at me. “I sincerely hope that isn’t true because once a heart is broken, it’s almost impossible to find every piece and put it back together again.”

“I’m going to go apartment hunting tomorrow,” I tell him.

“You can stay here, Jaya. I’d never tell you to leave.”

I shake my head. “You want to sell it, and I think you should. If I’m gone, it will make it easier. I’ll travel, but I think I want to sort me out first.”

“I love you,” he says, kissing my cheek, and before I can say it back, he walks away.

That was the first time I’ve heard him say it.

My smile is large until I enter my room and see the open window and know I have to work out what I want.