It was a simple thing. So simple, so stupid, so... inane.

But it pissed me off so very much.

“I can't believe you've never done this before,” she glanced over at me, her eyes laughing at me.

“Don't make fun of me,” I responded, placing the knife on the counter and leaning against the granite, “I'm spoiled and sheltered and we knew this already.”

She laughed out loud, a kind of tinkling sound that rested somewhere between wind chimes and the heavy, dull beat of church bells. Her back was facing the counter, her elbows resting heavily and her pink-tipped nails tapping, tapping against the gray granite that spilled over the side of the counter. An unfinished cup of coffee sat beside her, and I stared at it with such longing that she must have noticed.

“Still not sleeping?”

I blinked, long and hard, and forcibly moved my gaze to her face. “Not really,” I replied, “And I'm not allowed to have any caffeine. They think that maybe that'll help.”

“Who thinks that maybe that'll help?” she hefted herself onto the counter, and I had to stop myself from pointing out how very unsanitary that was.

Instead, I shrugged and picked up her partially finished cup of coffee, “The specialists,” I closed my eyes in bliss as the taste of ground beans and hot water drifted over my tongue, “But what do they know?”

She laughed again, shaking her head at me like I was being silly.

“Anyway,” I set the cup down, not quite brave enough to defy my doctors a second time, “Aren't you going to show me how to do this?” I picked up the knife again.

“Hmm,” she leaned her head against the cabinets, her dark hair brushing against the wood and melting into the color, “I suppose I should, shouldn't I?”

“Hmm,” I repeated, nodding, “I suppose you should.”

“Otherwise you're going to be forced to eat out again, or microwave a frozen meal.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth, making a disapproving sound. She didn't even realize she sounded exactly like Mom, and I certainly wouldn't point it out to her. She was angry enough, carrying the knowledge that I willingly choose to go back to them.

She turned her head, glancing out the window. “A hummingbird passes by that lavender bush everyday,” she turned her gaze back toward me, “But she never stays for long.”

I frowned. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I took the few steps it would take to lessen the distance between us, “Do I not visit you enough?”

Again, that laugh. I hadn't realized that someone could sound so harmonious and so melancholy at the same time. She closed her eyes, and the tips of her lashes kissed the edges of her cheeks. She had always had long lashes.

“No, you do what you can,” but she still wouldn't look at me, instead glancing out that window again.

I sighed, and it was painful. I had to leave. I'd upset her if I didn't.

“If you leave it, then you don't have to bring it again next time,” she still wasn't looking at me.

“You know I can't do that,” I said, my fingers lingering over the cold granite, tracing the nonexistent patterns and wondering why in the hell they had this room anyway. It wasn't like they could use it by themselves.

... but we always ended up here, anyway.

“I'll miss you,” I said, though the words felt meaningless, “I'll try and come back again, soon.” I placed the knife in my bag.

She didn't respond as I walked toward the door.

I stood there a moment, drifting between regret and a resolute anger, and watched her as she watched the window.

She said nothing as I closed the door, her gaze fixed upon the lavender bush. She had already forgotten.

I walked as fast as I could, passing the old, heavy doors. Outside, I was grateful to breathe in the chill air that burned my lungs and made everything real again. And though the opposite should be expected, the drab London weather lifted my spirits, and as each drop of rain beat against my hair, I felt my heart beat with it.

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Author's Note:

If I'm too abstract and only understand this myself because I wrote it, and you're kind of confused, here's a hint:

Hummingbirds are only found in the Americas. :-) Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate any and all feedback.