TRAPPED

13

Celine

I stare up at the ceiling. My chest is hurting again. I want it to stop.

     I turn to the window, then climb out of bed on shaky legs. I pull it open and stick my head out a little, inhaling a deep breath.

     The door behind me opens, and I turn around, eyebrows furrowed. Léo is standing there. He smiles at me. "Hey, Celine." He says.

"Hi." I whisper.

"I brought you some food." He says.

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat." He replies. "Come on, just a little. Then you can go back to bed."

I don't say anything for a moment, but then I mumble: "fine."

He smiles, pleased. I walk over to the bed, and he sits down in front of me, setting the plate between us.

I look at it, then at him. His eyebrows furrow a little. "You gonna eat it or just look?"

I frown as I grab the fork, putting some food into my mouth and chewing slowly. My nose is stuffy, so I can't really taste it.

     Léo's phone dings with a text then, and he seems sad as he checks it.

     "You good?" I question.

     "Yeah." He replies. "It's just.. my girlfriend."

"Is she not nice, or something?" I ask. I don't know why I do, or why I even care.

He scrunches his mouth to the side as he thinks. "She's.. she gets mad at me for things I don't even do, or have no control of."

"Like what?" When did I become some kind of therapist?

"Like if someone else in her family was in the shower when she wanted to shower, it's my fault." He sighs. "I don't know what to do."

Pity swirls in me suddenly. I shrug. "Maybe break up with her, or something. I don't know."

He shrugs, too. "She can be nice."

     "If she's not nice all the time, and blames you for things you don't do, then it's not really worth it." I mumble.

     Then I think. Is that how my father feels? I'm not nice to him, but he and everyone else weren't nice to my mother, so can they really expect me to be? And he keeps making decisions for me, as though he has the right to.

     "What's her name?"

"Gracie." He says.

     "How long have you known her?"

     "A few weeks. We met in school. She's in my cooking class."

     "You take a cooking class?" I question.

     He shrugs again. "Free food."

I laugh, and his eyes soften.