She blinks. She waits. She bites her lip and shifts her feet.
"I need to go." she says, but she doesn't explain why. She never was any good at being clear. I stare blankly and I know that she knows I'm annoyed. My arms are folded and I'm looking down at her like she's a child. She's unperturbed. It's not me that's making her nervous.
"I'm going." She's more forceful this time. I cock an eyebrow, just one, as though I'm daring her to do it. To take that step in the opposite direction.
"You can't make me stay." And there's the girl I know. There's the Nella I know. She's stood up straight finally, eyes defiantly looking straight into mine. Now she looks real. Now she looks like the immovable object I know her to be. I wave a hand, gesturing that she can leave. She doesn't move. Remains perfectly still in her ballerina posture. This time it is her who arches a brow curiously at me. I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me, echoing off the bookshelves surrounding us.
"You need to learn to get on without me." Nella purrs, smiling deviously. Her shift in tone throws me. Now I'm the one looking down and shuffling my bare feet in the thick carpet. She's right. She often is. It never ceases to drive me crazy, but I can't pretend I haven't noticed. She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at my refusal to answer. She wants me to defend myself and frankly I just can't be bothered. I dare a glance up at her and am invariably met with an angry stare. I open my mouth to speak but she's tired of waiting. She turns and walks away, heels clicking as soon as she's far enough away to hit the tile. I breathe out, unaware I'd been holding my breath.
"I need to go." she says, but she doesn't explain why. She never was any good at being clear. I stare blankly and I know that she knows I'm annoyed. My arms are folded and I'm looking down at her like she's a child. She's unperturbed. It's not me that's making her nervous.
"I'm going." She's more forceful this time. I cock an eyebrow, just one, as though I'm daring her to do it. To take that step in the opposite direction.
"You can't make me stay." And there's the girl I know. There's the Nella I know. She's stood up straight finally, eyes defiantly looking straight into mine. Now she looks real. Now she looks like the immovable object I know her to be. I wave a hand, gesturing that she can leave. She doesn't move. Remains perfectly still in her ballerina posture. This time it is her who arches a brow curiously at me. I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me, echoing off the bookshelves surrounding us.
"You need to learn to get on without me." Nella purrs, smiling deviously. Her shift in tone throws me. Now I'm the one looking down and shuffling my bare feet in the thick carpet. She's right. She often is. It never ceases to drive me crazy, but I can't pretend I haven't noticed. She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at my refusal to answer. She wants me to defend myself and frankly I just can't be bothered. I dare a glance up at her and am invariably met with an angry stare. I open my mouth to speak but she's tired of waiting. She turns and walks away, heels clicking as soon as she's far enough away to hit the tile. I breathe out, unaware I'd been holding my breath.
