Best Kind of Broken

50 Levi

Charity’s birthday is almost over.

I settle into bed and stare at the ceiling. Two minutes later, my bedroom door opens to Pixie’s silhouette.

Without a word, and by the moonlight shining into my room, she makes her way to my bed and crawls in next to me. She tucks her body up against my side and places her head in the crook of my shoulder and her hand on my chest.

My heart feels funny and I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to let go. So I wrap my arm around her and pull her close, resting my cheek against her head like we’re kids again and no tragedy has marred us.

Charity’s not here, but Pixie is. And that makes everything okay.

Not perfect, but okay.

I pull a sheet over us and, with my arms around the best piece of the worst thing that ever happened to me, I close my eyes and fall asleep.