-Thirteen years ago-"Are you blind?" My question comes out more insulting than I mean it to, and I half expect him to turn around to berate me. He doesn't.The boy looks to be around eight, dressed in the same hospital gown as me. Despite being eight, he's still a full head taller than me. We're the only two people in the white room, yet he refuses to look at anything but the north wall. The wall where they're watching us."If you don't look at me, I'm going to tickle you." My threat doesn't come off as threatening at all, and I swear I see his mouth almost tilt up. Three minutes go by in silence, and he doesn't do anything. Talking to him feels like talking to a wall, and at times I feel as if the wall would have a greater reaction to my words. This is the fifth time they've placed us in the same room, and for some god awful reason they always leave us together for at least twelve hours. My internal clock reads it's only been seven and a half hours.Hesitantly, I reach out to poke his side. He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. I poke harder. When he gives no reaction, I jump onto his body without warning, sending us both crashing to the floor.His hospital gown nearly rips off as I attempt to pinch and squeeze his stomach. I had never actually ticked anyone, nor had anyone ever tickled me, so I'm sure I'm doing it wrong. The boy doesn't seem to care though.Casually, as if I hadn't assaulted him, he grabs me by the arms and sets me onto my feet. He brushes off his gown, then returns to the spot on the floor where he stood before. With an annoyed huff, I cross the white floors to sit in the corner. It's fine if he doesn't want to talk to me. I don't want to talk to him either.After the fourteenth visit, I understand whats happening. They're trying to socialize the boy. Like a dog, they're trying to get him to make friends. I stop talking to him, making myself spend those hours in agonizing silence, staring into the corner of the wall. I try to make it easy for him, even though he never had a hard time ignoring me to begin with."I don't want to see him again." The faceless scientist looms over me, pushing the heavy door open. "He doesn't want to see me again."The scientist doesn't respond, and I enter the room. But this time, the boy isn't standing in his usual spot. He's huddled in the corner, gripping his arm. No, not his arm. His arm is gone, and he's clutching the stump where it was before.I promised myself I wouldn't talk to him, but I can't stop the horrified gasp that escapes my lips. Wires and gore surround the ground around him. For the first time in the months we've known each other, he makes eye contact with me. His jaw tightens with something I don't understand, and he turns his head away, closing his eyes."Are you going to die? Where's your arm?" It feels like such a stupid question to ask, but I simply can't wrap my head around where his arm could have possibly gone. Did it just disappear? Unconsciously, I wrap my own arms around each other, as if they would disappear too.I kneel beside him, and the blood on the floor soaks into my gown. The blood is cold. I want to touch him, to give him a big hug like they do the videos the they make me watch. But I keep my hands to myself, remembering how he reacted the last time I had touched him."Who did this to you?" I don't expect him to answer, but to my surprise, he does."I did.""You did?" I slap my own forehead. "Stupid scrap of junk metal. Why the hell would you do that?" At that, he turns his gaze onto me."What did you just call me?"I shut my mouth, mock zipping my lips with a fake key, then throwing the imaginary key across the room. He exhales loudly, tilting his head up to stare into the ceiling."How old are you?"The question is unexpected, and I sit straighter beside him, beaming."I'm six."He goes silent again, and I'm sure I've offended him again. I reach up and pinch my cheeks, internally berating myself. You're trying to cheer him up, not make his mood worse. Do better, Mirabelle."Anyways, my name is Mirabelle." I extend my hand out to him, and unsurprisingly, he doesn't take it. I wait for him to respond with his name, but he doesn't. "Do you need me to hug you? Massage your shoulders? I feel sort of bad just watching you."The friends that I read and watch about usually comb each other's hair, paint each other's toenails, or share deep secrets. Something tells me he won't like any of those. Maybe I'll ask another day."It doesn't hurt," he says, and I know he's lying. "You should go back and sit in the corner."That stings more than it should, and I feel my shoulders cave in. I try to contain the tears that threaten to burst. I know I'm an ugly crier because the scientists don't like it when I cry. I turn my head away, as I move to get up."Wait." The boy suddenly reaches out, grabbing my wrist. His face is contorted with a mix of anger, regret, and annoyance. "Fine, you can stay.""Will you tell me your name?" My question comes out pathetic and desperate. None of the girls in the videos had to beg for the other's name.Something in my expression must make him snap, because he finally replies."I don't have a name.""Really? What do they call you then?"He shrugs, like he had never given it much thought."The same things they call you." My face falls. His jaw clenches, and he gives in with a low sigh. "But on good days, I'm called X4T9F.""That's not a very pretty name," I say without thinking. He raises a brow at me, and I backpedal immediately. "No! I think it's very pretty. You're very pretty."He doesn't respond for several minutes, and I begin to think I've blown everything with my stupid comment. Finally, he responds."You're pretty too. Pretty like a bellflower."That makes my heart warm, and I reach over to hold where his hand is still clasped around my wrist."Can we brush each other's hair?"He lets go of my wrist instantly."No."The next time we see each other, I'm brushing his hair. There's not a lot of hair to brush, but I don't mind. My pink sparkly hair brush looks ludicrous against his brooding face, and it makes me giggle."If you laugh again, I'm not going to let you brush my hair anymore.""If I don't brush your hair, who else is going to?" That shuts him up. I pull at his hair playfully, and he scowls. "I think I'm going to call you Elias."He tilts his head, and the brush slides out of his head. I hiss at him and grab his neck to pull him still again."Elias? Why Elias?""There was a handsome prince named Elias in the videos they showed me yesterday.""Mira."I glare at Elias from across the room, crossing my arms in a show of anger. I'm not really angry at him, but I can't let him know that if I want him to listen."Mira, I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again." I want to forgive him, but I can't. Not when he's missing a leg this time, and it's bleeding all over the floor."You promised last time."He winces, and doesn't say anything. He hangs his head in defeat, and like a kicked puppy, he moves to sit in the corner of the room. I only last another three seconds before I join the ground beside him. It hurts seeing my friend in pain, and even though I want him to stop hurting himself, I'm not willing to hurt him either.I don't have a comb with me, so instead I run my hands through his hair. He sighs, melting into my arms. I let his head rest against my chest, and he presses his ear to my heart.He likes it when I sing, so I sing for him, humming and harmonizing softly against the mechanical buzzing of my chest. I fall asleep before he does.Elias won't look at me again. He's back to standing in that same place, staring at that same wall. It feels like a betrayal. I had let him brush my hair, and we had painted each other's toenails. But now, he's back to not talking to me. I ask him if we're still friends, and he doesn't respond."I brought you a bellflower." It's not an actual bellflower, as I've never actually seen a flower in real life before, but I had tried my best to recreate it with the images I found online.I hate welding, hate that they force me to do it. But today was fun, and I'd spend all my days welding flowers for Elias if only he would only take them."I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." I'm actually unsure what I'm apologizing for, but it feels right. An apology is a small price to pay to get my friend back. "I'll never do it again. Was it the pink nail-paint? We'll use blue next time." He says nothing. "Is it because I'm annoying? Do I talk too much? I'll be quiet from now on, I promise."Silence fills the room, and it grates at my heart, shredding it into a thousand pieces. I feel like a fool, metal flower in hand, apologizing to a boy who probably isn't even listening. And for the first time, I hate him for it. Hate my helpless desperation for connection.I throw the metal flower at his head, and it misses him by mere inches, sparks flying as metal connects with the far wall. He doesn't even flinch."I don't want to be your friend." The words feel final, soul-crushing, but I say them anyway. Better to have no friends, than a friend who doesn't want to be your friend."Fine," he deadpans, and I would have preferred it if he hadn't said anything at all.I walk to the heavy metal doors, and slam my fist into the doors until they finally open them, until they let me out of that room.