It's the Music, Love.

“Hey, don’t be so glum. It’s been four years, Mime. That’s a long time. Cheer up, baby.”

But you don’t cheer up, Baby. You only sit there and close your eyes.

“Did you know about our trip to Europe?” Her eyes brighten a little, daring to meet my own for a millisecond. Then she turns back to the window. After another second or so of silence she shifts, let’s her legs fall back to the ground and looks expectantly at me. She shakes her head as if to say, ‘Well?’

“Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Did you want me to tell you about it?”

She tries to hold a glare, but lets it slide with a smile. “There you go, Baby. You should smile more often. I think it suits you better than apathy.”

She’s blushing.

She’s cute.

Grown up. My age, not barely 18. Maybe twenty, maybe older.

Before, she was so young – pig tails and all. When did she grow up? How could I have missed it?

She knocks on the table – Green eyes finally sparkling again- But she’s paused. She stands up and holds a finger to hold off. But before I get to watch her walk away – my jacket left on the chair, she turns around. That forehead furrows and her eyes flicker to the door.

“I won’t leave.”

I don’t think she believes me. “Wait,” I stop her, “I’ve got a t-shirt or something and sweats in my pack. They’re mostly clean, don’t worry. They’ve got to be more comfortable than that bikini you’re wearing.”

Her reaction is difficult to understand. Half blank, her movements stiff. Her neck tightens again – she flinches.

Should I not have said that? I didn’t mean to insult her or anything – but a low cut mini-dress can’t be too comfortable sitting at a booth in Starbucks. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to sit here and watch her all night – but I don’t think she’d appreciate me getting distracted by her boobs the whole time.

I throw her the clothes –

Pray they smell all right. The camera I’ve got clatters onto the table. I’d forgotten about it already. I took it on the trip to Seattle with me to show my old man the pics from Europe.

I almost forgot that Mime’s ass is now facing me.

Almost, I say. Because how the hell could I pass up watching a thing like that?

It’s wrong though. This is all wrong. Mime was always bright and bouncing and laughing –

Before the pact, that is. None of us saw that coming.

But how could we have predicted that? Six girls are dead. The seventh –

Mime.