Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,10

me. I want to be invisible so I can disappear and never come back.

Hours go by, and I don’t even notice. I stare at the ceiling to try and distract myself. When I was a kid, the ceiling in my room was full of glow-in-the-dark stars. At some point in my teenage years, I thought I was too big to have stickers on the ceiling and ripped them all off, but today I regret it. I want my stars back. I’d have something to focus on if my glowing stickers were still up there.

My mind won’t stop replaying the events at the supermarket. Everything happened so fast, it couldn’t have lasted even a full minute. But now I’m stuck in a never-ending loop of insults and roaring laughter. The laughter is the worst part. The sound of laughter can make you feel hopeless when the joke is on you.

The afternoon has already turned into evening when my mom knocks on my door. She tries to turn the knob, but I locked it.

“Son? Is everything all right?” she asks softly from the other side.

“I want to be alone, Mom.”

“I baked a cake!” She tries to cheer me up.

Usually, those four words will do it. On a regular Saturday, it would be the best part of the day. Eating cake with my mom and watching any silly show on TV. It’s usually enough to make me happy. But not today.

“I’ll eat later.” My voice is so low that I doubt she can hear it. But her footsteps fade away before I turn on the bed and try to fall asleep.

I wake up a few hours later, starving. It’s still dark out.

You know when you sleep outside your regular hours and wake up totally lost, not knowing what time it is, where you are, or what happened in the world in the meantime? Yeah, that.

I check the alarm clock; it’s two a.m. I drag myself out of the bed, trying to decide if I’m more in need of food or a shower, and leave the bedroom. The apartment is silent and the hallway smells of cake. I walk to the kitchen and have a slice. (It was carrot cake, in case you were wondering.) I pass by the living room, and Caio is asleep on the couch. But he looks different. If he was sleeping all cute and peaceful last night, tonight he looks exhausted. His body is contorted, as if he were trying to get into an impossible yoga pose. Sleeping on that hard couch can’t be good for anybody.

There’s a comfortable guest bed in my room, and I wish I could pick Caio up and carry him to it. But I can’t do that because A) I’m not strong enough to carry him, and B) I’m not out of my mind. Still, I try to help as much as I can. I close the curtains so the sunlight won’t wake him up in the morning, and I fix his blanket, which was almost on the floor.

Before I head back to my room, I spot Caio’s book on the coffee table. He spent the entire morning reading The Fellowship of the Ring, and the bookmark is still in the same spot, almost at the very end of the book. It’s official. He’s determined to reread the end of this book forever, just so he won’t have to talk to me. And I can’t let that happen.

I run to my bookshelf, grab my copy of The Two Towers, and place it right next to Caio’s book. My book is way more beat-up than his. It’s an old edition that my grandma gave to me, but I think it’ll do the job. He might not want to talk to me, but he can at least know how the story continues.

I go back to my room in silence, and this time I leave the door open.

IT’S PAST NOON WHEN I wake up on Sunday. Two days into my vacation, and my sleep schedule is already screwed up. When I walk out of my bedroom, I realize the house is empty. Our apartment is pretty small, so it doesn’t take me long to check all the rooms. No sign of my mom or Caio. While I look for my phone to call my mom, I think of possible reasons for why they’ve gone missing. My mind jumps to kidnapping, alien abduction, and zombie apocalypse.

The call goes straight to voice mail. She probably ran out of battery