The music blared over the speakers as I reached for my stylus, certain of its position because I always kept it in the same place. He has always been so kind, helping me with learning where to put things and setting me at ease over my overly dilated pupils.
“We match,” he joked as he removed his glasses and allowed me a closer look.
I’d never felt so close to him except for when we danced. I loved to dance with him because all that mattered was the music and the feeling of our bodies together, two becoming one.
He encouraged me to read and keep up with my writing as much as ever and massaged my weary legs and feet at the end of each day. Often words were not necessary.
I could talk freely about how I thought about the others and wondered why they hadn’t clung onto the will to survive. They hadn’t wanted to be here, but I did. I liked being here.