When I open the door, she’s facing me. She smiles a really pathetic, pained smile. “Hey,” I whisper. “Hey,” she whispers back. “Hey.” I walk to her bed and stroke her cheek. “Hey,” she says again. “Hey.” “Stop it,” she says. She tries to laugh, but it hurts her. She closes her eyes. I take her hand in mine, and I bury my face in the crevice between her shoulder and her neck, and I cry.
