In the afternoon

In the afternoon, I find myself surfing Netflix's selection when I hear the shower start up. Guess that means Sila is up now. A few minutes later, she surfaces from the shower, wearing a t-shirt and track pants, the nationwide uniform for slackers.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Sila flops down on the couch with me.

"You alright?"

"Yeah... I'm better. Thanks."

"No problem. That your first hangover?"

"Yeah..."

"First time for everything Sila."

"Guess so."

"Plus you had a good time and hell, at least you don't have school like I did the first time I got trashed."

"Really?"

I nod. "14."

"14?" Sila gives me the look my foster mother gave me at the time.

"Yep. As you can guess school and I didn't get along too well."

"Right... Well, thanks anyway."

"No problem. I've got your back, you've got mine, got it?"

"So if you get hungover, I get to play nurse?"

"Exactly. Anyway, you want something to eat?"

"Sure."

I take Sila to the table, where my sketchbook is still out on the picture of her.

"Is that me?" She says.

"Yep." I don't think I've ever grinned harder, nor gotten my phone out faster. Holding up the photo of last night, I say "You're pretty proud of it."

"Oh my God..." Sila lets out a laugh. "You have to delete that."

Maybe this is my chance to test the waters. See if I can get sober Sila to ease up a bit. "No way. That's you're new profile pic."

Sila's jaw hits the floor. "Absolutely not."

If only I could take a photo of her reaction, that'd be truly priceless. Instead, I let out a laugh before I ask "What's wrong with it?"

Sila's cheeks turn bright red. "I look stupid."

"I think it looks badass. Like no matter what happens you just keep on rolling."

"I mean I guess, but it's not that flattering either..."

"Bullshit. That photo right there is a real fucking memory with a real story. This is your first punk rock gig, and you ended it with a smile and a bloody nose. That's better than some staged bullshit photo of you caked up in makeup."

"True." She concedes.

"Well how about you think about it over some food?"

"That'd be good. Thanks."

I head to the kitchen where I prepare scrambled eggs and toast. As I get the meal ready, I wonder just how to unravel Sila without plying her with ****. Just a simple photo had her acting self-conscious, which tells me she'll have a panic attack if I tell her I know about her writings. The worst part is that I know she wants it, but I'm just not sure if she can handle me being so blunt.