Arrebol

She hated the smell of cigarettes. She hated it because the pungent odor of nicotine made her nose itch and her eyes water. She hated it because it clung to clothes so easily, but getting rid of it was a hassle. She hated it because it was a constant reminder of what she couldn't have.

The first time she felt fear.

When she saw them sneaking out of the estate at dusk, she almost went to warn Celine. Her first instinct was to let her mother their mentor know that the girls might be in danger, but that spark of anxiety was soon extinguished by her sense of reason; they wouldn't risk going too far, not if they still wanted to take advantage of the special protection the Honmoon had around the estate.

'They’re intelligent. They know what they are doing.'

No, she wouldn't tell Celine anything; she was anything but a snitch. She would let them have their little meeting alone, but she would watch from a safe distance, afraid that some demon besides herself might get too close to the girls, who still lacked the training to defend themselves.

That day, she witnessed their closeness, how the touch of their fingers made their cheeks turn pink in the light of the sunset, how they laughed while bumping shoulders, how their gazes remained fixed on each other for entire minutes.

The third time she felt envious.

Or at least that's what she thought she should have felt. It was the most logical thing, she'd thought, seeing them like that: sharing stories, telling jokes, passing around a small piece of paper filled with tobacco and filling their clothes with the characteristic smell of nicotine.

It was only natural to feel envious, wasn't it?

That was what her heart told her. Her mind, however, thought otherwise.

The logical thing was to see the whole picture in front of her: Mira and Zoey were meant for each other.

An image in which she was not present.

The fifth time she felt sadness.

As the smoke slowly rose towards the first glimpse of stars in the sky, she imagined herself with them, next to them, laughing at the same jokes that Zoey never tired of telling over and over again and at Mira's endless stories of rebellion.

She imagined herself sharing smiles with them and leaning back against the metal railing as the cigarette changed hands in front of her.

She thought that this was what happiness felt like, because she was sure that the weight crushing her ribcage and the burning sensation rising in her throat when she saw them getting closer as the days went by was nothing but the opposite.

The seventh time she felt lonely.

A tug in her heart pulled her towards the pair of girls who kept taking the longer route to their meeting place, the only route that, she knew, didn't take them past her room.

Despite always hearing their laughter on their way out of the estate, despite always sitting at a safe distance watching them, despite always being present during their training, during meals and during their free time, there, sitting on a nearby rooftop and watching the only company she had rise to the sky, she felt hollow, empty, as if a couple of pieces of the puzzle that was her being were missing.

No, they weren't lost, she knew that. They were right there, within her reach.

A couple of pieces that seemed to have found their own place, fitting together perfectly.

A new puzzle that she wasn't a part of.

The ninth time she wanted to feel like she belonged to something.

So she sneaked away a little before the usual time Zoey and Mira went to their not-so-secret meetings. Her footsteps on the smooth stone were silent, calculated, cautious; she couldn't afford to fill a space that wasn't hers with her presence, even if the wind, the bricks of the walls, and the green leaves of the trees were the only witnesses to her.

There, in the small space where the girls met and exchanged laughter, thoughts, opinions, secrets and confessions, hidden among grass that had not yet been cut and the stone path, she found it.

A small cigarette butt, a tiny piece of brown paper shrunk down on itself due to the tread of a combat boot that had tried to extinguish its existence.

'Trash', most would say. 'Waste', others would say.

'Valuable', she would call it, even 'treasure'.

Because if neither of them wanted her in their lives, she would respect that. If they wanted to keep their meetings private, just the two of them, she would respect that. If they wanted nothing to do with a freak of nature, she would respect that.

She could respect all of that and more, but she was just looking for some comfort, however small. She just wanted something to connect her to them, something that could make her feel like she was part of those small meetings she was never invited to and probably never will be.

So she put the cigarette butt in her sweatshirt pocket and sneaked back into the house, waiting for day to blend into night and the other two-thirds of her soul to reunite once more, alone, with her as the only witness in the shadows.

Under the yellow light that pierced through the clouds, a small column of smoke rose into the sky.

Under the orange light that pierced through the clouds, two young women connected their hearts through jokes, honest smiles, and lasting glances.

Under the red light that pierced through the clouds, purple roots spread out beneath layers of cotton, and a small, brown, crumpled piece of paper hung loosely between the fingers of an imposter with human skin.