When Words Run Out of Time

Isn't it interesting how every time something significant happens, almost immediately after we're supposed to go back to living our lives how we normally would?

Samiyah leaves not long after we almost dissolve into thin air, leaving us to go about our business for a week. Then she comes back with a plan none of us like—a dangerous solo mission. And once again, we're left hanging.

I huff, tugging on my braid and pressing my palm into the concrete. The rough surface is cold against my skin. It kind of hurts. I press harder. I can feel it making an imprint.

As the anxiety builds up inside, I can feel the pent up energy starting to emerge as well. The hand not pressed onto the cold, hard ground is tugging on my braid until my arm jerks out to the side.

Fuck, my tics.

Not the bug—my brain signals misfiring, like static sparks of stress. No Tourette's, just anxiety, but it doesn't make the jerking movements or sharp inhales any easier to deal with.

My head twists jerkily, and I inhale sharply in such a way that makes sort of a whistling sound through my nose. My head then jerks backwards, and I continue making that weird inhaling sound.

"Jaiden?"

Apparently, I didn't hear the door open behind me. The hand that was pressed against the concrete skids and I hiss. I lift my hand to my face, and I see my palm is scraped slightly.

Samiyah sucks in her breath, peeking over my shoulder. "Yeah, sorry if I startled you... everything alright?"

"Yup," I wheeze. "All good."

When Samiyah sits next to me, there's something guarded in her expression, like she's carrying more weight than usual. When she motions for it, I allow her to take my scraped hand and examine it.

"Wash this properly with soap and water when you can," she says, pointing to my scraped palm. "And maybe rubbing alcohol after."

"Got it."

"Put a band-aid on it too. If you're really impatient, I could find a med kit and we can do it here."

"Yup."

"Are you going to completely disregard everything I'm telling you because you're not really listening?

"I will do that."

Samiyah chuckles and pokes my arm.

"You really should do those things, though. Your hand could get infected."

"Yeah, I know."

We sit in silence for a few moments. Something I like about Samiyah is how adaptable she is. When she interacts with people, she picks up on their communication styles and mannerisms and remembers them. She knows the best ways to communicate with individual people based on past interactions with them.

Her patience helps. I'm not the easiest person to read—sometimes I want to talk, sometimes I don't, and the signals aren't always clear. It's confusing as hell.

I'm basically a living oxymoron.

"What do you think, Jaiden?" She inquires.

"Of what?"

"You know, this whole... situation."

I shrug, and she pokes my side.

"I don't fucking know," I mumble, burying my face in my hands. "I'm fucking tired, that's what." I continue to tic, like I was before.

I feel a bit bad about taking my frustrations out on her– despite the fact that they are somewhat caused by her– but I'm too tired to care much at the moment. I'm allowing myself to be difficult and petty. Thank god Samiyah's used to dealing with snarky pettiness, otherwise I don't think Lex nor I would still be here.