“I’m really a very social creature, you know. People– always been a fan.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, I just think being with a person is lovely. What do the kids say? I stan society.”

“Mhm.”

“I really don’t belong in here, I mean, I’m a gentle soul at heart.”

“That’s not what the others have said.”

“Well, what do they know? Look, I made a mistake. I regret it, I’m sorry.”

“That sounds ingenuine.”

“Of course it is. Nobody knows how to tell the truth, not anymore. But listen, I’ve got to get out of here, it’s driving me crazy– the walls are so white.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Same thing with wearing white clothes on a white carpet. Too easy to stain, too hard to wash out. White’s such a virtuous color, isn’t it? It almost feels like a challege, you know, all these white walls. Tempting me, inviting me, daring me to paint them in red. Red’s a much nicer color.”

“Why do you like red?”

“It’s obvious, right? It’s the color of fun. Red feels so good on the tongue– wine, fruits...other things...Red can’t help but be delicious.”

“I– stop, stop walking towards me. We talked about this; I’ll call the guards.”

“Oh, what’ll they do? Hurt me? As though I still feel?”

“Get away from me!”

“They should know I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I’m slated to die next month, yes? The appeal didn’t go through, because I wasn’t showing sufficient remorse. God, you’re so obsessed with me feeling... you want real feeling? Cause these damned white walls are making me feel agitated.”

“Take a breath, let’s just calm–”

“And you want regret? I’ll make you regret living long enough to deny my appeal. I’ll make you regret every single day of your life; I’ll make you regret your ability to feel, too.”

“Guards! Guards!”

“They’re not coming. No one’s gonna save you, not anymore. You’re gonna help me paint these walls red– and it’ll be delicious.”

Together, that’s what I thought.

Together, that’s what you said.

So when I found you, together, with them,

I learned that together didn’t include me.

And you had all these togethers, each time telling me they were only temporary.

You said they were temporary, and that I was forever.

You’re right, I know that now.

I know that as I stand above you—

Together is temporary.

And I am forever.

I stared at the dark wooden box in my lap. I’d just taken money from a stranger to carry this box on the plane, and I was at an absolute loss.

“Sir, I have to ask you to place carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you,” a bright-eyed flight attendant told me.

I jumped at the voice. Stop acting guilty, I told myself as I slid the box onto the floor. You’ve done nothing wrong.

Unless the box had a bomb.

It’s already been through security, a small voice echoed in my head. And it’s not that heavy.

I nodded. Right, of course it couldn’t be a bomb. I was only getting paid to take a box from Indianapolis to San Francisco. I felt an urge to pick up the box again, and I complied.

Besides, you need the money, murmured the same voice, louder this time.

I really did. A hundred thousand dollars was enough to help me get squared away– to pay off student loans, get a new laptop, maybe a down payment on the apartment I'd been eyeing–

The world is run on money.

It was, wasn’t it?

A few hours in, I drummed my fingers nervously on the box. I’d put it down once more but almost immediately picked it up again. I needed to be holding it. Besides, it smelled good. It smelled… exciting. The scent was driving me crazy now. How had I just noticed it?

Nice, right?

I nodded fervently. It was, it was very nice.

Almost… addictive.

I wasn’t addicted, though.

Then put the box down.

I obeyed, sliding the box onto the floor. A minute later, it was in my hands again. What?

Try opening the box.

I shook my head. It wasn’t mine, it wasn’t my business, I didn’t want to get involved.

The box in my lap trembled a little.

My eyes widened. Was it alive? Had I just taken an animal across national borders? This had to be twelve kinds of illegal.

Not alive, no. The voice told me. At least, not in a conventional sense.

I didn’t know what that meant. I noticed the scent was gone.

If you knew, you’d want to get rid of me, just like the last one.

Rid of… you? I looked carefully at the strange, yet nondescript, box.

“What are you, exactly?” I asked the voice.

I am an unconventional companion, it responded.

“Oh,” I squeaked, bewildered. “I guess that’s fine then.”

The box was talking to me in my head. Okay. I was just going a little insane. Which was fine. I put the box down, resisting the urge to grab it and hold it close. The memory of the enticing smell remained.

You’ll pick it up again, the voice said, quieter. They always do.

When blood runs cold and skin turns pale

And icy glaciers crack and crumble

When sunshine bounces off the waves

That awaken a heart or ten.

When cloudless days meet unbridled joy,

Awash with warmth and love and light.

When cold, cold, you tremble, heart aching,

Clear, dangerous ice reflecting the unseeing skies.

Happiness, sadness, fear, excitement–

All exist within the realm of snow and sky, water, you.

To being obsessed.

To acting possessed.

To three (maybe four) straight days without rest.

She thought about him, dreamt of him, lived and breathed and felt for him. She loved him, she was sure, with her body and soul. She'd die for him, if he asked. But he didn't ask, he didn't care, he didn't know how she loved him. That was okay with her, it was enough for now.

It was 1: 54 in the morning. Tickets went on sale in four minutes, and she'd been awake for the past thirty hours in anticipation of finding the best seat. She wanted to be as close to him as possible, wanted to see the sweat dripping down his face, wanted to touch his perfect gleaming skin. She loved him, she'd do anything for him, how could he not notice? But at least she could watch him, and that was enough for now.

The concert was in three months. Its setlist was the same as the last two shows she'd been to, and she'd been to ten of his concerts in the last two years. It was the most she could afford– the cost of plane tickets, hotel rooms, and merchandise was sucking her dry. Who cares if she'd been living off of cheap ramen for the last month to make rent? She only needed the internet, her posters, and a floor to sleep on, really. As long as she had him, she was happy. She didn't truly have him yet, but she would.

She would.

1:59:56... 58...58...59... there! Within seconds, she clicked through the process like she'd done a million times. After inputting her abused credit card's information, she sat back with a smile. She was going to see him again. It had been enough so far just to see, to feel his presence in the room, but she was beginning to tire of his lack of awareness. How could he not know her when she had dedicated so much to him? The fanfiction, concerts, art and posters, donations in his name, the letters she'd been writing for years– surely all of it meant something? She deserved for him to know how much she loved him! She had bided her time thus far, because soon he'd know her– he'd have to.

A front row seat. Seven hundred dollars. There went her grocery money for the next week. It was worth it. Anything for him– surely he'd see that she'd do anything for him.

Now, she only had to prove it.