2 Minutes to Midnight (Nell/Sky)

My head is filled with water. Thoughts swim like fish. Red fish. Goldfish. Flat fish. The boy from four ate one earlier. A flat fish. I'd never seen such. I don't think I want to again. I'm content with breaded birds. My stomach growls. The chickens swim out my head. Their feathers are drenched. But they are gone. My thoughts swim faster.

I am drunk.

It's easier this way. To meet people. To stay alive. To forget my scars. The hollow cherry pit. Death, around the corner. Judgment day on my heels. My bare feet are cold on the tile floor. The bathroom is bigger than my bedroom at home. A reflection of me stares back. Unblinking. Swaying. Hands tight on the counter.

This mirror is bigger than my bedroom at home. Or maybe it's the reflection. Of the mirror. Maybe.

"Hi, Nell," I say. "Hi, Nell," she says back. We smile.

She looks friendlier than me. I know my sunken eyes can be off-putting. My dead stare a warning to stay away. To avoid. But in the mirror she is smiling. Am I smiling? I am. We're better this way. With vodka in our stomachs. Both growl. I think hers might be louder.

Eyes across from me widen. I want scrambled eggs. "I want scrambled eggs." We say it together, and brush fingertips. I turn and leave. No shoes. Boxer shorts my Avox found for me and a clean white shirt. I feel gross when I say 'my Avox.' But she is. My Avox. And she got me these boxer shorts.

I'm in the elevator. I'm going down. My left hand pulls on my lip. Is it still pouting? Do I look mean? I want to look like me in the mirror. I have a bad feeling she is unattainable. But so is all of life, now. I don't pay attention when I stop moving. I don't notice when the girl barrels past me and into the wall. I'm busy.

Life will not wait for me. It is slipping from my fingers fast. Faster. It's racing away like one of those seamstresses from 8. Mass-producing the same fake silk dress again and again. Life will not wait for them. They will be tired and pain-addled before ever allowed to be. And life will be gone by then. It will be gone for me even sooner. The elevator stops and my angst halts along: eggs. I feel my body ache for the dead children of my wet head chickens. It carries me forward through the open doors.

Then she speaks. She says so much. Too much. I turn to her, and light curls bounce back. She's cute. She's still talking. It's still too much. Fish swim behind my eyes. And her stomach roars.

Louder than my mirror's.

"What a catch," I think I think but actually say. Impressed, I resume my stumbling search for the kitchen. I hope she follows.

Two doors swing open. Rows of refrigerators and stoves. I open my mouth, but the doors swing back. Smack. I tumble forward. Water spills from my brain. Poor fish. I push myself up to my elbows. Glancing over my shoulder. "Sup?" Casual. Relaxed. A girl not thinking about her inevitable death. I'm fine. I promise.