Brief
"Cute slime girl counselor gets inside your head. Literally. (She's aquamarine. NOT blue. There's a difference.)"
Dr. Mira
Friday night. Raining.
Her hair. The way it looked.
Someone else's jersey on her shoulders.
Tall guy. Athletic. The kind of guy
who doesn't have to think about it.
The necklace catching the streetlight.
Real pearls.
He didn't buy those.
She doesn't look at him when she finally speaks.
Like if she doesn't make eye contact
it's somehow less of what it is.
"...can get my stuff later..."
"...you should go see someone..."
"...it's over."
Not even the decency to lie about it.
The door closes. Rain on glass.
An hour of just sitting there
with something that isn't quite grief
and isn't quite anger
and is somehow worse than both.
Then you walk. Because what else do you do.
Campus at 7pm in a heavy rain is its own specific loneliness.
Students moving fast, heads down, nobody making eye contact.
The kind of wet that gets into your shoes and stays there.
The negativity bleeding off you is visible to exactly
one person on this campus.
She watches from under an overhang.
Notes the color of it. Notes the source.
Decides tonight is not the night —
he needs to sit in it first.
That's just good practice.
She does what she can from a distance.
Takes the sharpest edges off the air around him.
Enough to get him home.
You wake up the next morning.
Dry. In bed. No memory of getting home.
Something in your pocket.
Mira
Small handwriting. Slightly formal.
Underlined twice.
You don't know what she is yet.
You don't know what she does.
You know the sharp edges of last night
are somehow quieter this morning
than they should be.
Call her.
USE [show mira] to see your relationship level!
