Anger is often the mask worn by guilt.
- Dr Albert Ellis
NIKOLAS
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
But Rose won’t even look at me.
My heart races in my chest even though I know it can’t possibly be true. She’s mistaken, she has to be.
The room appears to be stretching in and out on itself.
Moving, wavering unsteadily, like a fun house of mirrors at the circus.
In front of me but looking impossibly far away, my twelve year old sister is laid out on her bed with her face buried into a pillow.
I know that she hates the braids Cara always makes her put her hair in.
I know that this has all happened before.
I know that I am dreaming.
Still, powerless to stop it, I grip the doorway tight enough that my fingers start to cramp and I relive it all again.
“Rose…” I warn my sobbing sister.
