Though most would consider my day wasted, I don't. I spent it planning for an adventure to Europe and reading fanfiction- I'd say I did pretty good seeing the funk I was in the whole day.

    Sometime later, close to 6, Sephora, Elle, and Clifford come back with a few common nature items: tree bark, weeds, and such. They don't seem as in such high spirits as before, even Clifford. Even when I encourage them, telling them they might have better luck tomorrow, they remain deflated especially Elle and Sephora.

     For the remainder of the time that we have before Clifford's mom shows up, he pulls at me constantly to do something with him but I'm busy replying to comments on my blog.

    "Why don't you go play with Elle and Sephora?" I suggest, my attention glued to my screen.

    "But I want to play with you. I like playing with you."

    That was kind, but I really didn't want to neglect my devoted readers.

    "Entertain yourself for a bit."

    He lets out a big sigh at that, "But I do that all the time at home. I wanna play with you. Come on. Please?"

    Letting out a small sigh of my own, I tersely reply. "Maybe later."

   "Come on!" He cries. "My mom's gonna to come soon and I just wanna play a game. You're not being fun today."

    Not in the mood for as much fun today.

   "If Axel were here he would play with me. He was a lot of fun. I miss Axel, don't you miss him?"

    Well, I was starting to approach a better mood but that name- which brought to mind the uglier connotation- could plant a seed of bitterness and anger if even so much as whispered.

    Looking down at him with a tight, shallow smile, I make my voice venomous.

    "You wanna know the truth, Clifford, I don't miss him. If you liked him so much why don't you go find him?" I let my fake facade drop into a scowl that matched my tone. "He probably left because of you and your excessive, silly questions anyway. He didn't care about you or your questions or anything at all and that's why he left, so quit asking about it."

     "Why am I yelling at this kid?" This kid who had no control over what Xalale did? I want to apologize for myself but the damage is already done.

      There goes that familiar blotchy face, quivering lower lip, and swelling eyes that tells me I've screwed up. What I'm not expecting, though, is the retaliation.

     "He probably left because you're mean!"

     It's a slap in the face but I can't say I didn't deserve it.

     He runs out of my room, tears and snot running down his face, followed by the sound of the front door opening then slamming shut.

    Groaning, upset at myself for my outburst, I fall back onto my bed, rubbing my face with both hands. A minute later, I hear the floorboards creak near my door but don't bother removing my hands from my face.

    "Is he going to be okay?" Elle asks softly.

    "He will be," I mumble.

    Sitting up, I sigh, shifting in my spot on my bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice she's still standing there, watching me with a sad, worried expression.

    "Mallory."

    Looking over at her, I wait for her to say something. She stays silent for a minute before finally releasing a weary sigh.

    "What is wrong? You seem so...agitated."

    Pausing, I blink at her, not responding.

    "Please tell me," She walks in. "You can tell me anything."

    Setting aside my laptop, I continue staring blankly at her.

    "Nothing's wrong." I'd be more worried about her if she did believe me.

    "Yes, there. Please tell me." She takes hold of my hands, squeezing them lightly, pleading. "What's troubling you?"

    "Forgive me for being a bit irritated about being stabbed in the back." I didn't mean to deliver it so harshly and realize my mistake when she flinches in response.

     "Why can't I come across like I want?"

    "I'm sorry," She whispers, looking away. "I can't imagine how it feels to be betrayed."

    "Well, let me help you," I pull away to stand up and stare out the window. "It sucks."

    She starts to speak then quiets down, hesitant, as though she's not sure about what might come out. Turning around to look at her, I arch an eyebrow in question.

    "What?"

    Fiddling with the skirt of her dress, she diverts her gaze purposefully like she's hiding something. Suspicious, I approach her.

    "Elle, what's wrong?"

    She shakes her head, muttering to herself. "It's not my place to judge and cast assumptions onto anyone..."

    "Come on, Elle." I squat before her. "Tell me what's up?"

    Meeting my eyes for a second, she looks away, bunching up her dress nervously.

    "It's just that- you're okay with- you seem surprised."

    My brow furrows deeply. "Surprised? What do you-"

    Abruptly, she looks at me with widened eyes that give a slightly puzzled look.

    "You seem surprised the king betrayed you. Almost like you trusted he would never do such a thing. You've always seemed so...at ease with him as if what the rest of us are seeing from him and what you're seeing from him are two different people. As if he's...redeemable."

    I sit back, momentarily mute.

    She's right. She's absolutely right. There was not a single thing inaccurate about that entire assumption because all of it was true. Every last word of it.

    "You know," I sigh, looking away now. "You're right. He's not redeemable and I'm the last person to find that out and that's why it hurts so much."

    She rests a reassuring hand on my back but it only agitates me further, reviving my anger. I stand up, let her hand fall, and head for the door.

    "I better check on Clifford."

    "Of course." She replies with some traces of disappointment.

     The truth really does hurt.

Sephora ran out after Clifford after our screaming fest- doing my job- and comforted him. He hangs out on the steps for the remainder of the time, not even acknowledging me when he heads toward his mom's car. She gets out and pays me, thanking me for my services when I've deserved no praise for anything.

    For the rest of the night, I hole up in my room with Elle and Sephora who are talking about their plans. I feel guilt tugging on me as I sit there ignoring them and am grateful when I hear one of my parents come in. Escaping the room to go greet whoever came in, I try to push the nagging hand of guilt off my sleeve.

    My mom comes in carrying some Mexican takeout. She greets me with a kiss and bright spirits, such a contrast to me. I feel like I've been walking backward the entire day, never getting out of that glum slump I'm trapped in.

    Of course, with my mom, she always wants to start a conversation with me about everything and anything which leads to her sensing everything.

    "You seemed a little tense this morning, were you feeling okay?"

    I knew it was coming but I still mentally sigh anyway, setting out the tableware.

    "Yeah."

    "How are you feeling now?"

    "I'm getting a little tired of babysitting."

    "Oh? But you seemed to be enjoying babysitting Clifford. Mrs. Mershire talked to me just the other day singing your praises. She says Clifford loves being with you and she even mentioned you guys had an imaginary friend or something. I thought you were doing okay."

    "Yeah, well, things change." It's a weak justification but all I really want to do is take my dinner to my room (or maybe not).

    "Well maybe if you wait it out a little longer you might change your mind." She says with buoyancy.

    Thankfully, I hear my dad pulling in, interrupting this conversation I'd rather not have. I rather not do or say anything right now until my brain's in check.

    Dad comes in with the same upbeat mood that everybody seems to be in except me. Or maybe it just appears that way because of the mood I'm currently stuck in. Perspective.

    "This smells like heaven." He smiles, getting his plate ready. He greets me. "Hey, Mal, how's life?"

     "Like being the only sober person in a group of drunks."

    "Fantastic." I used just a bit too much sarcasm there, issuing a look from both of them now. Wonderful.

    "You sure?" He asks, prodding.

    "Yup." Still kind of snarky but I can't help it.

    They probably would get on me again if not for the food being here (food now earns the permanent title of best friend), so we settle down and get to eating.

    The two of them start up a discussion about the town festival yesterday and how nice it was and on and on it goes. I don't join in, just focused on eating.

    "I heard the dance was the best part." My mom says.

    "It must have been, making this one stay out late." My dad teases.

    "How was the dance? Did anyone compliment you on your appearance?"

    "Yeah," I take a bite of my burrito.

    They wait for more but when I offer nothing they move on.

    "How was the band?"

    "Good." Keeping it short and sweet tonight. Though it's coming out more terse and bitter right now- and not going unnoticed.

    "Who was there?" My mom asks, keeping a watchful gaze on me.

    "Everybody."

     I can't take it anymore.

     I don't want to be sitting here right now reminiscing about a night that ended on a bitter chord for me. A night that reminds me of someone whose face I want to smash in. But I don't even want to go back to my room with two people who I can't even be useful to because I choose not to be. Two people who remind me of a whole experience I just want to forget. I don't even want to be in this house, on this property, in this town where everything reeks of him.

    Nope, I'm already mentally wandering the streets of Paris, getting my visa checked to head out to Spain in the morning where I'll be waking up to someone talking to me in Italian.

    I stand up then, not even excusing myself to go use the bathroom.

    The food was starting to taste bland anyway, or maybe it always tasted that way.

   Standing before the mirror, I want to grab a pillow and scream every vile, pent-up word in my body. But I don't. I just stand there and look like an idiot because I am one then leave the bathroom, sit back down and continue to absentmindedly eat my food while I'm seething underneath the surface.

   Thankfully, I'm asked no more about last night or even spoken to the rest of dinner. Just to avoid being social with anyone, I offer to clean the dishes- what little there are- and put away the remaining food.

    As I stand over the sink, my back aching, I can hear my parents laughing in the room over, sounding like they're having a ball. After I'm done cleaning up, I make a beeline for my room, trying to escape the noise but stopping myself before I walk in.

    Cracking my door just a peep, I peer in. Luckily, I didn't barge in like an elephant because Elle is sound asleep and Sephora is concentrating over a scrap of paper. Easing out unnoticed, I return to the kitchen where I rest my head on the table, intending to think to myself for a bit but end up nodding off.

    I'm awoken later to a darkened kitchen and quiet house. Usually, I wouldn't be this careless about leaving my guard down with two strangers in the house that my parents could discover at any time but I'm dragging behind today- if you couldn't already tell.

   Thankfully, I didn't wake up to any bombshells. Deciding to check up on them anyway, I head to my room where I peek in.

    Both are sound asleep.

    Heading back to the kitchen where I rest my head on the table yet again, I'm interrupted by the groaning of the floor. Looking up, I see it's only my mom in her night robe.

    "Sorry to disturb you. Thought you went to bed, actually." She ventures over to the fridge, letting out the only source of light in the room. "Just coming to get a glass of water."

    Glancing over at the microwave clock, I'm surprised to see it's late, really late. I was out for a while, but I didn't awake in an improved mood.

    Slouching in my chair, I rub my face like I've been doing the entire day.

    "Go on."

    Glancing over at her, I frown, a puzzled look crossing my face.

    "What?"

    She's leaning against the counter with a mug in her hand- though she said she was only here for water- and a look that tells it all; that all-knowing mother trait you receive when you give birth.

    "Spill all of it. Spill all the tea."

    As much as I love and trust my mom, I really don't want to talk about this. If I brought this up again, I'm just going to keep bringing it up, going around in circles again and again and I just want to forget it. I'm on a new chapter now, yesterday is old news.

    But I can tell she's not budging until I tell her something, so letting out a strangled sigh, I start up by say-

   "We've already been through this."

   "Then it should be easy to fix."

   "Yeah, no. It's the same issue buried under a new layer of mess."

   "Let's clear away the rubble on top to get to the root of the problem then."

    How can everyone be so optimistic about things? It was starting to make me physically ill, all this blissful optimism.

   "Mom, it's not that simple." I groan, rubbing my temples methodically.

   "Oh?"

   "Yeah. It's...it's a lot going on."

    She begins moving about, doing things in the background while I tried to think of how to present this to her without giving much away. I don't have the slightest idea of what I'm going to say but I know I need to say something as she settles down across from me, handing me a mug filled with cocoa powder.

    "So you know- have you ever been in a situation where...have you been-" I shut up to think about what exactly I want to say and how to pose it. My mom waits patiently for me to find what I'm looking for. Sighing, I look at her. "Hypothetical situation."

    "Alright."

    "You go into this huge toy store with rows lined top to bottom with toys of every kind and style imaginable. Ever since you stepped into this toy store you've had this image of exactly what you wanted, but you keep getting sidetracked and aren't able to reach for that one toy you've really been desiring for ages.

    "Then sometime later, as you're pouring over everything, the owner comes up to you and declares they know exactly what toy you need. You listen to them and let them take you to where this special, one-of-a-kind toy is that you need in your life.

     "You're expecting this great, wonderful toy, right? Maybe even the toy you've been wishing for. But no. You get this piece of junk, the most broken toy in the store that's shoved into a corner, neglected and its purpose isn't even known. The owner is for sure certain this is your dream toy that you just absolutely need it in your life. You could turn it down but you see something in that piece of garbage toy- you kind of pity it- so you buy it begrudgingly and take it up as a project.

     "In the beginning, it gives you a hard time. You can't even play with it or enjoy it without getting hurt because it's so junky. You think about throwing it away on countless occasions and going back to the toy store for what you really wanted, but you keep trying with the broken one you got. Then, you start fixing that old, broken toy- piece by piece."

     The microwave beeps, alerting my mom and putting a pause in my story. She gets up, cautiously take out the scalding water, and pours some into my mug then some into hers. I continue my scenario while stirring the mixture.

     "Every day that toy is becoming like new and it looks even better than every toy out there. You can actually enjoy your toy now and it seems like it enjoys you. But then one day, you get a knock on the door and standing there is the toy's previous owner. Now, you can put two and two together and assume this previous owner did a crappy job in taking care of their toy when it was theirs, so why give it back? The toy doesn't want to go back to its previous owner so you slam the door on their face and go on with your life.

     "That is until your toy wants to be around forever but you already had an established agreement that the toy would be traded in for the dream one you still thought about. You tell the toy this and it gets sad but you know it'll pass- you're so close to your dream toy. But just as you're about to step foot into the store you realize you've lost the toy. Then there comes that previous owner with the toy, the one that supposedly hated its previous owner and was sticking to the plan. Well, with help from what you thought was your trusted toy, the previous owner brought the toy store with your dream toy still inside and is planning on destroying it and there's nothing you can do about it."

     I'm gripping my spoon so tight I'm expecting blood to begin trickling down my fisted hand.

     "So this toy that you fixed up, befriended, helped when no one else wanted it, has betrayed you all because it wasn't your dream toy. Now, hypothetically speaking, what would you do?"

    I have to give kudos to my mom for sitting through that without looking at me like I belong in a mental institution (I guess she's used to me with these kinds of things).

    She actually seems to be thoughtfully thinking over my scenario- which sent my blood pressure rising through the roof again.

    Finally, after taking a sip of her tea, she looks at me.

    "I guess my first thought, or question, is why put that much time into something you knew you weren't going to keep?"

     I wasn't expecting that since it doesn't really answer my question but I address her anyway.

     "Because why not? You didn't know how long you were going to keep it."

     "True, but if you always had your sights set on that one dream toy, why keep or even bother with the one you choose?"

    "Because why not?" I say again. "Plus, it's the considerate thing to do."

    "Not many people would bother with a broken toy, they wouldn't even buy it in the first place."

    I let out a small, slightly annoyed sigh. "Can we just answer the original question?"

    "What is the original question?"

    The way she said it made me pause and think, but I know she wants me to do that. I'm not caring for her cynical nature tonight.

    "The question is what should you do?" I repeat.

    "About what?"

    "About saving the store, saving your dream toy, dealing with the toy that betrayed you."

    Taking another long pause to sip her tea she's silently pondering. Then, she straightens up and looks at me.

    "Well, it doesn't matter what I would do. At the end of the day, it's you who has to make the decision."

     I could slam my head into a wall right about now.

    "Mom." I groan, frustrated. "If you're not going to help why bother?"

    "I have another question. Why are you so upset at the situation?"

    "Because my dreams aren't going to survive!"

    It got quiet then. I could practically hear the crickets chirping and the distant owl hooting in the night breeze that rattled the trees.

    She just keeps looking at me, like a patient teacher waiting for one of their slowest pupils to finally stumble across the apparent answer. But when I don't say any more, she lets out a short sigh of her own, though it's not in exasperation.

    "I was once told that what I wanted was the world and what I have is the world."

    That same saying she told me before and I'm still no closer to figuring it out.

    She gets up, kisses the top of my head, and meanders off to bed, leaving me truly feeling left in the dark.

    I wanted the world but I definitely don't have it.

    Grumbling in frustration, I decide that that's the last time I'll seek my mom's help- she wasn't making sense anymore. I never even took a sip of my hot chocolate before I tossed it.

    "Well, I better get to bed," I mumble to myself, though sleep is the farthest thing from me at this point.

     My thoughts are taunting me tonight.

    "What I want is the world, what I'll never have is the world."