a few days went by. at first, i didn't really like sharing my home, but i got used to it eventually. rory was kind; they didn't pry; they gave me my space. the only thing they had a problem with was the drugs. i knew they wanted me clean, but i wasn't ready for that yet. i decided i'd try not to have another overdose, at least for their sake, and i'd lie and tell them i was sober because it made them worry less.
a few more weeks went by, and soon i started to drown out the noise of the gunfire and shouting and instead listen to every little detail that came out of rory's mouth. the way they talked, the way they laughed, and the way they yelled when they couldn't sleep at night because of the light from the fires. i didn't know what was happening to me. i didn't like this feeling because i wasn't sure if it was just the drugs talking. i didn't know how i felt and i didn't want to start anything in case this feeling wasn't real, but it felt real enough.
"what's your favorite color?"
"black."
"c'mon, rory, that's a shade, not a color."
"well then it's my favorite shade."
"when'd you start going by elliott?"
"a few years ago, my mother was pissed; she never wanted a son."
"my mom wanted a daughter too. she thought she had that with me."
"did you ever finish the assignment for ms. maruska's class?"
"you mean the one with the baby robot?"
"yeah."
"no, the world stopped working, and i watched my family get brutally murdered instead; the robot baby probably died too."
"ellie?"
"rory?"
"i missed seeing you."