I should leave, but something stops me.
The tears in her eyes.
She constantly sprinkles her face in glitter as if believing she’s the dolls she plays with. Now that she’s crying, the glitter soaks in tears and fall in two rivulets down her cheeks.
Silver doesn’t cry. At least, I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve wondered how she does that, and even though I don’t like her, I’ve wanted to ask her and see if it’s because she also thinks it’s useless.
Now that I’m seeing her crying for the first time, I can’t leave. I can’t even move.
All I can do is watch the way moisture pools in her huge eyes. Their light blue colour darkens before those tears stream down her cheeks.
Her face is a mess, full with snot, glitter, and her endless tears. Her cheeks are red and her lips are rosier than usual.
Chaos.
It’s come to me again.
I don’t think about it as my legs lead me in her direction. She doesn’t sense me, or rather, she can’t. Aiden always says I move silently. It’s because I learnt to tiptoe out of my father’s reach.
But I never tell him or Xander that.
We’re not supposed to say such things. We’re proper people with proper manners and proper secrets.
Once I’m behind Silver, I pull on her ponytail. She gasps, then cries out.
That’s what I usually do to kick her out of Aiden’s house when she talks too much. She screams at us that boys suck and I should go to a bad place.
No idea why I did it just now. I don’t really want her to disappear, but I also can’t ignore the habit whenever she’s in sight.
Silver lifts her head up, and when her eyes meet mine, they widen until they nearly swallow her face.
For a second, I stare at her, unable to do anything else.
I love that look.
I want to keep that look.
But how?
“What are you doing here, Cole?” She lets the doll — which also has butterflies on its head — drop to her lap and hides her face in her tiny hands. “Go away.”
I let go of her hair, annoyed she hid that look, and sit beside her. The big skirt of her dress could fit another person between us.
“Why are you crying?” My voice is quiet since I don’t know how I should speak to her.
“What do you care?” She sniffles. “You hate me.”
So she knows about that. “What makes you think that?”
I need her to tell me why she’s crying, because if I know the reason, I can use it and maybe I’ll be able to bring back the look from earlier.
Chaos.
“I just know you do.” She manages to get out through her sniffles. “And I hate you, too.”
“If you hate me, why are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding! I don’t want you to see me crying. No one sees me cry.”