Melissa: I'm a counselor working for the school Chie goes to. I'm standing in front of the door to an apartment room. I look down at my clipboard. I've been assigned to do a check-up on Chie as she hasn't been seen at school in 3 weeks. I've spoken to Chie once or twice, just about grades and the usual stuff. She was a little quiet and shy but otherwise just a regular, healthy kid. It says here she recently lost a family member. I knock at the door.

Chie: I flinch at the sudden knock, my pencil skidding across the diary page and leaving a jagged gray line through the words. The sound feels too loud, too close, even though the apartment door is down the short hallway from my room. I go very still on the futon, heart thudding in my ears.

Who would come here?

Nobody does. Not since… not for weeks. The mail slot just gets flyers I never read.

Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe they'll go away if I stay quiet.

But the knock doesn't repeat right away. The silence stretches, and somehow that's worse. My fingers curl tighter around the pencil. I set it down slow, careful, like it might make noise. Socked feet press against the cold floor as I creep toward the hallway. The door looms, a plain off-white slab with the little chain lock still fastened.

I stop a few steps back. My throat feels tight.

"…Who is it?" My voice comes out smaller than I meant, barely carrying.

Melissa: I recognize her voice. Hopefully she remembers me. "It's Ms. Kade. From school, remember? Could you open the door? I just want to talk to you."

Chie: Ms. Kade. The counselor lady. I remember, the one who called me into her office last semester to ask why my math grades were slipping. She'd given me a piece of candy from a jar on her desk. Lemon. It was nice.

That feels like it happened to a different person.

I shuffle closer to the door, sock feet silent on the cold floorboards. My hand hovers over the chain lock. What does she want? Did the school send her? What if she makes me go back? The thought knots my stomach. But, she came all the way here. It'd be rude to just send her away.

The chain rattles as I slide it free. The door creaks open a few inches, just enough to show one eye, a sliver of my unwashed hair.

"…Ms. Kade." My voice is hoarse from disuse. "Um. Hi."

Melissa: I peek through the crack to look at her, a warm smile on my face. "Hi, Chie. The school sent me to check up on you. Could I come in? Like I said, just here to talk. I'm not going to make you come back if you don't want to…"

Chie: The words settle in the air between us. She won't make me go back. The tightness in my chest loosens, just a little.

"…Okay," I murmur, pulling the door open wider. The hinges whine. The apartment beyond is dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Dishes are stacked in the sink. A faint stale smell hangs in the air. I'm suddenly aware of how bad it must look.

I step aside, eyes fixed somewhere around her shoes. "It's… it's kind of messy. Sorry."

My hand drifts up to tug at a strand of hair near my ear. I haven't brushed it today. Or yesterday. I can't remember the last time.

Melissa: I step inside, looking around. It's messy. Seeing the messy apartment combined with the knowledge that she has lost a family member makes some of the puzzle pieces in my head click together but I try to ignore that for now. My warm smile wavers slightly despite my best efforts. I look over at the couch in the living room. The couch has a thin layer of dust on it. "That's okay. Is there somewhere I should sit?"

Chie: I follow Ms. Kade's gaze toward the living room. The couch. The one where I used to curl up next to Mom during movies. Now it just sits there, covered in gray fuzz. My stomach does a sick little flip.

She can't go in there.

"Not—" The word comes out too fast, sharp. I catch myself, grip my sleeve until the fabric bunches. "Not there. Please. That's…" My voice trails off. I can't explain. I don't want to see her face if I try.

My hand drifts toward the hallway, pointing down toward my open door where the edge of my futon is just visible. "My room's smaller. But it's… there's a cushion. If you want." I shuffle a step back, gaze fixed on the floorboards between us. "The kitchen table's got stuff on it. No chairs free."

Melissa: I follow her to her room. It's small and also a bit messy CD's, crayons, and her diary laying on her futon. "Anywhere is fine!" I lower myself on to her pink futon. It's close to the floor but it'll do. "Where are you going to sit, though?"

Chie: My cheeks warm as Ms. Kade settles onto my futon. The pink cover is rumpled and hasn't been washed in… a while. I should've straightened it first. Should've done a lot of things.

Oh. Right. Sitting.

I glance around the cramped room. The only other spot is my desk chair, a rickety wooden thing buried under a jacket and a manga volume. I could clear it, but that feels like too much movement, too much attention on me.

"Um…" I mumble, tugging at my sleeve again. "The floor's fine. I sit there a lot anyway."

I grab the thin cushion from my desk chair and drop it on the tatami mat, folding my legs underneath me. The position puts me lower than her, which feels right somehow. Smaller. Safer.

My diary lies open between us, the jagged pencil line still cutting through my morning's words. I reach out and flip it shut, sliding it under my thigh where she can't see.

Melissa: My eyes follow the notebook curiously before I remember what I'm supposed to be doing. I look up at her, my warm smile returning. "Right! So, we've spoken before. It's been 3 weeks since you last came to school. They sent me out to check up on you, make sure you're okay and stuff. We don't have to talk about school, though. How have you been?"

Chie: I keep my eyes on a loose thread near my knee. The question hangs there, simple and impossible.

How have I been?

I don't know how to answer that. The truth is too big, too sharp. But lying feels wrong when she came all this way.

"…Okay," I manage, the word thin and unconvincing. My fingers find the hem of my sleeve and twist. "I guess. I've been sleeping a lot."

The diary presses into my thigh. I think about the dreams I wrote down this morning. The ocean, the floating jellyfish, the two boys waiting on the pier. Better than being awake.

Melissa: I think about ways to ease into the issue as I bring one leg over the other. "Any reason why you've been sleeping more? I'm assuming this is a recent thing that's started happening?"

Chie: My fingers twist into my sleeve. The question pokes at something tender. Why have I been sleeping more? Because awake is too hard. Because the dreams are nicer than this room, than the silence in the kitchen, than remembering.

I don't say any of that.

"Dunno." My voice drops even quieter. "Just… easier. To fall asleep. The dreams are…" I search for a word that won't crack me open. "Quiet. Nice. There's an aquarium sometimes. With big tanks."

My gaze drifts to the balcony door, the thin curtain glowing with afternoon light. "Better than being awake." The admission slips out before I can stop it. I hug my knees, pulling them close to my chest. The diary digs into my thigh, a sharp corner.

Melissa: My smile fades as I think to myself if it's too early to ask the big question or not. "Did…did something happen recently? Or has it just always been this way?" I look back at her, my expression patient but underneath I'm definitely worried about what she will say.

Chie: The question lands like a stone dropped into still water. Something happen. Something happen. The words echo in my skull.

My throat closes up. For a moment I can't breathe right, can't think past the red-black image trying to push its way in. The floor. The shape on the floor. No. No, don't—

I blink hard, digging my nails into my shins through my shorts. The sting helps. Grounds me.

"…S-sorry." The apology wobbles out, barely a whisper. My eyes sting but nothing spills over. "I don't— I can't really…"

My voice breaks off. I pull the diary tighter under my leg. Say something else. Anything. She's waiting there all patient and worried and I'm just sitting here like a broken toy.

"The hallway's hard," I manage finally, the words coming out in a rush. "Where the couch is. I don't go in there anymore. Not since…" I can't finish. My gaze stays fixed on the tatami weave beneath my knees, counting the fibers.