Scenes from my so-called life

I sit quietly at the kitchen counter, mulling over my coffee. I tap the side of the mug with my fingers, hoping the clinking rhythm will calm my restless thoughts. “Hey,” a female voice says softly, breaking my train of thought. I look at the direction where the voice came from. I see Celine, leaning on the bannister, a worried expression on her face. “Hey, you,” I answer, and give her a smile for good measure, however weak. She smiles back and gently starts toward me. She pulls out the chair across me and slowly settles herself down. I watch her, keeping silent. Her eyes lock onto mine. I can see their tender concern. My breathing slows and I can feel my chest tighten, as if my heart is being squeezed. I continue to look at her face, and her eyes, wondering if she can see the resignation in mine. I want to break the silence somehow, but before I can, she reaches for my hand and she starts caressing my arm. I bite my lip as I try to hold back any tears that may