Chapter 11: Chapter 11: My Favorite Day I.

Nine sixteen.

Nine seventeen.

I lay in bed staring at the clock with the attention I reserve for things that matter. Without blinking too much, without moving, with my hands on my knees and my back straight.

My room at that hour was in perfect order. It wasn’t very hard — when you move to another country you don’t bring many things.

I could only maintain the order of the little I had.

The sheets stretched without a single wrinkle, my only pairs of shoes lined up under the chair, and his gift already set aside. I had it in a box on my table, wrapped in yellow sunflower-print paper with a small bow in a clumsy purple knot.

Like the one on my hand, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. "Perfect for—"

Chapter 11: My Favorite Day I

I had been getting ready since seven. Not because it takes me long — I can really do it in ten or twenty minutes. But this day deserved time, like the things that matter.

So I dressed exactly the way I had one year ago: the plaid skirt, my old brown shoes, the only stocking I had left on my left leg. "And my sweater," I said, adjusting it on my shoulder. "It’s always more comfortable without that horrible white shirt."

I wasn’t one for accessories, but when clothing carries so much history, a little extra doesn’t hurt. In that spirit I took the purple handkerchief, tying my hair in a small ponytail, letting my butterfly earring show. Finishing with my sunflower headband and my silver ring.

Maybe I didn’t have them the day of our date, but they’re special to me.

Nine nineteen.

I breathed.

Nine twenty.

"It’s time," I said out loud, even though you were no longer there to hear me. "For our anniversary."

I got up. I picked up my bag and his gift. I walked out with a light step.

When I arrived at the office, I was received by that irritating white paint. "It needs some yellow," I said, letting out a small laugh.

The receptionist looked at me from her desk. Dr. Roy’s daughter greeted me the way she has since yesterday. I returned the greeting, wiggling my fingers as if casting a spell.

Elena Roy, the eldest of three. Just two years younger than me and already taller. "What are seventeen-year-olds eating these days," I whispered, thinking of the few people smaller than me — not a very large number, but it had its moments of amusement.

"Ryne," she called. "Are you here for your second session?"

"Yes, of course," I nodded. "You know — I need to sort out a few little problems."

She leaned on the desk. "Bad luck — yesterday you were here for like six hours. My shift had already ended and you were still here."

"Don’t worry," I set the gift on the desk. "I’ll be out early today."

She looked at the gift, touching the ribbon a little. "What’s that?"

"It’s an anniversary gift," I said, stroking it. "It’s for your mother, but I bought it more for myself," I told her, laughing. "So her office has a new look."

"Can I see it?" she asked, pulling at the ribbon slightly. "Come on, say yes."

I shook my head. "You’ll see it later," I told her, patting her on the head. "Right now I have to go to psychology. You know — court orders, being Nolan’s greatest victim and all."

"I know, Ryne," she turned on her phone. "I don’t know why they asked you to see a psychiatrist — you’re a very normal girl. You don’t look as traumatized as a lot of the people who come here."

I looked down at my old shoes. "Even if you don’t believe it, I need someone to listen," I confessed. "After everything I went through and lived, your mother’s words help me feel better."

"And what does she tell you?" she asked, starting to type on her phone. "Once that door closes you can’t hear anything," she answered. "Though outside the office you can, even though it’s not allowed."

I heard her typing a message faster than my words.

"Before I tell you—" I paused. "Who are you writing to?"

She put her phone aside, blushing. "Oh, nobody," she answered. I looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes. "Okay, it’s my boyfriend. I’m just a little embarrassed."

"Why would you be?"

She touched her cheek slightly — it was red as a ripe tomato. "I’m not sure I should tell you."

"Everyone needs to be heard," I told her with a smile. "And I’m a vault with secrets."

She smiled a little. "Well, your session starts in two minutes," she breathed. "So we have time." She touched her hands slightly, looking away. "I don’t know if you’ll understand, but it’s the first time a boy has asked me out and I don’t know how I should act."

I nodded, snapping a finger. "Why don’t you ask your mother?"

She tilted her head, as if I’d suggested sacrificing a chicken. "Talking about this with my mom is unthinkable. She psychoanalyzes everything and it’s not pleasant at all. I think adults don’t understand what love is."

I took her hand, feeling her trembling. "Of course I understand. Love is the most beautiful thing there is in this world, Elena."

She looked surprised, blinking a couple of times. "Do you have any advice? You must have had a lot of partners by now."

I shook my head. "I’m twenty-two, not thirty," I clarified. "I’ve only had three boyfriends — four if you count the one from primary school."

"I didn’t know that about you, Ryne," she laughed, looking me in the eyes. "Do you have any advice?"

"Well, even though I don’t have much experience, there’s something I can tell you," I held her hand, stroking it slightly, holding her gaze. "Love is the most beautiful feeling that exists," I began. "Love is total sacrifice. If you love, give everything for it."

She swallowed. "How much is everything? Is there a limit or something?"

"The limit is your love," I stroked her palm with one finger. "The two of you are going to have a unique connection that will make you feel many things."

I slid my finger along the skin of her arm until I reached her chest. "A physical connection, that will make you want to see him, touch him, and have him."

I passed her neck, touching it carefully, while she shivered but didn’t take her eyes off me. "An emotional connection, where you’ll feel what the other feels and you’ll be joined to him in a more spiritual way, close to the divine."

I continued, touching her cheek and moving across her nose, watching how she closed her eyes for the first time, until I reached her forehead. "A mental connection, where you’ll only think of him, of what he needs and of what you’ll become." I smiled. "In this one, you yourself will be aware of the sacrifice you’ll give for your beloved."

She shivered, blushing, while her eyes shone with curiosity. "Ryne, I think I d—"

I interrupted her, grabbing her other hand, making her let go of her phone, which was buzzing with messages claiming her attention and interest.

I was in front of her, a small push away from her lips, separated only by a desk. I held her eyes while I drew slowly close to her ear. "And a connection so unique and total that it will make you feel this," I whispered to her, hearing how her heart beat against mine. "This emotion, this excitement, this desire, this need." I pulled back, looking at her face while I held her carefully. "That is love."

"R-Ryne..." she tried to say, unable to look away. "Y-your sweater — your shoulder’s showing."

"Thank you," I told her, letting go of her hands. "I like being cared for like that. That kind of attention is what makes me smile," I said gratefully, adjusting it with one hand. "The sweater’s so big it falls off sometimes."

"Y-yes, I noticed."

I stroked her head, feeling her shiver beneath my hand. "It’s good that you feel that, Elena. It shows you’re capable of giving yourself to love."

"I can what?"

"Don’t be afraid to give every part of yourself," I smiled. "Obsession is the most sincere form of love, because you’re capable of giving everything without question."

She nodded, looking at her phone — but this time without picking it up. I, on the other hand, stepped back, taking my bag and the gift, listening to how she took several seconds to breathe normally again.

"Obsession isn’t a sickness. It’s the most sincere form of love," I whispered, closing the soundproof door, losing all existence of the outside world.

I knocked on the office door before entering, as always. Not out of protocol — I just like the sound it makes. It’s better than the sound of its weepy hinges.

"Come in," said the doctor from inside.

I pushed the door open.

She was at her desk with the notebook open and her pen in hand, ready — as if she had been waiting for me for a while, even though I was punctual.

"Miss Moore," she said.

"Doctor," I answered, closing the door behind me.

I approached the desk before sitting down. I placed the box on the surface, between her notebook and her coffee cup, with the purple bow facing upward.

"For you."

She looked at the box. Then at me. Then back at the box.

"Miss Moore, it’s not necessary for you to—"

"Open it," I interrupted. "Trust me, it’s very lovely."

She didn’t open it. She kept looking at it a moment longer, with her fingers on her notebook and an expression that couldn’t quite decide between curiosity and protocol.

"It doesn’t bite," I added.

She looked at me, shaking her head. "That’s not what I’m worried about."

"Then open it," I pressed. "You don’t need proof to trust me — but here’s some advice from a good friend: ’Sometimes all you need is the desire to trust.’ Believe me, I read it at a soccer match."

Another second. She nodded. Then, with the delicacy of a bomb disposal technician, she carefully separated the purple bow, folded the yellow paper to the sides, and opened the box.

She went still.

"What are you waiting for?" I continued. "It’s your gift."

She took one of the box’s flaps and, with trembling hands, opened it.

Inside was a paper sunflower — small, with perfectly formed petals and two round, shiny glass eyes in the center, smiling with that fixed smile only things made to be endearing have.

She held it between her fingers without saying anything.

"I spent the whole night making it. It’s for this place," I explained. "It’s far too white and I wanted to brighten it up a little."

She looked up slowly.

"Miss Moore, we cannot decorate a government facility as if it were a nursery."

"Don’t be so uptight," I said, standing up before she could stop me.

I took the sunflower from her hands, pulled out the small adhesive I had in my pocket, and stuck it on the wall beside the window. It was perfect. The yellow against the white was exactly what that room had needed from the first day I walked in.

I stepped back a pace to get a better look.

"Already looks a thousand times better," I announced, sitting back down. "We’ll continue with the walls later."

"Miss Moore—"

"You can peel it off whenever you like," I interrupted, settling my bag on my knees. "It’s just adhesive. And since it’s a gift, I hope you don’t sell it."

She looked at the sunflower on the wall.

"It’s... lovely," she said finally, with a pause before the adjective that told me she’d thought twice about it. "But the eyes scare me a little. They look too reflective for paper."

"It’s the varnish I put on them," I answered. "It’s to protect them."

She nodded slowly.

"Very well," she said, picking up her notebook with that professional resignation they all have. "Please lie down."

I settled onto the couch, crossing my ankles, placing my hands on my stomach.

"One thing. Don’t turn on the light this time. The white genuinely bothers me."

"It’s protocol, Miss Moore," she continued. She still liked making me angry.

"Alright..." I said, shrinking slightly. It was a reflex, not a decision.

"Today is Thursday," I said, looking at the ceiling.

"That’s right."

"Exactly one year ago, it was also Thursday. And it was also today." I paused. "That’s why the gift. And while we’re at it, I expect mine tomorrow."

The doctor didn’t respond to that. She raised her pen.

"What happened that Thursday, Miss Moore?"

"You forgot?"

"It’s your anniversary, isn’t it?"

I nodded. "Yes — my favorite day," I closed my eyes. "It was my best anniversary with Nolan, the first one as a couple, the one where we grew closer."