NINETY-EIGHT

Time Heals No Wounds

Lolita swirled her coffee around with her spoon. She stared into the cup, lost in the swirls of the deep brown. It had no sugar, no milk, just plain coffee. She still hated coffee, but now it was different. Now she liked the burn and the bitter taste that traveled down her throat. She sipped it slowly, savoring its taste. It reminded of everything that had happened, everything she had lost.

Her thoughts scared her the most. Sometimes she lay up in her bed, staring into her ceiling and wondering if Samantha was still out there. Her brother caught her many times lying outside on the dirt, looking up at the sky.

“I was waiting for Samantha,” she would say if he asked. “But she won’t come. The skies are starless tonight.”

Her family was scared for her, and understandably so. When they tried to take her to meet more psychiatrists and therapists, Lolita had to incessantly beg them that she was fine. They didn’t believe her, of course so she decided to pretend for a