I hadn't reset in weeks. It was a the longest time I'd ever gone without.

I'd managed it by doing nothing. Nothing at all. I laid in my bed all day, ignoring mi Madre and Papi. They thought I was sick. I wouldn't go to school, wouldn't leave my room. They worried. I told them nothing. I ate by myself when everyone was asleep.

That night I went downstairs as I had been doing for days, bare feet carefully creeping on wide wooden stairs.

Halfway down, I realized someone was sitting in the darkness below, and as soon as I had that thought, the world became wispy and dreamlike around me.

It wasn't the real world anymore. I knew this. I could do whatever I wanted here, but I was trapped until I did what it wanted. Sometimes it took days. Sometimes longer.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak, and then uneasy, I turned around to go back upstairs. I was hungry and my stomach growled, but I didn't care. I turned around and went right back to my room. Maybe if I just left it would all be over.

Downstairs, Papi yelled at me from the dark.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

I shut my door and laid in bed and closed my eyes, pushing the fog out, willing it to go away. Wanting to be back in the real world.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. I turned and bolted, running up the stairs as fast as I could. My stomach growled as I slammed my door and dove into bed, and laid there, motionless. I heard soft footsteps in the hall and the door opened, letting a sliver of light in.

"Conejita? Are you okay? Why did you slam your door?" His shadow stretched onto the thick carpeted floor. I didn't respond. I didn't move. I waited until he gave up and left, and then tried to go back to sleep.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak, and I sat down. My stomach growled.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

"Yes, Papi, I'm here," I sighed.

"Why are you awake my child?" There was a click when he turned the light on. He was sitting at the dining room, facing the stairs, lurking in the dark.

"Why are you awake?" I asked him, angry that because of him, I was resetting again. If he'd just left me alone, if everyone did, I wouldn't have to live this anymore. I could do what I wanted and someday, if I was lucky, maybe even die.

I was always angry. Angry until I just couldn't be anymore, and then I felt nothing else.

"I was waiting to see you, mi conejita. I haven't spoken to you in almost a month. Your mother and I are very worried."

"Well stop worrying!" I screamed at him. "Leave me alone!"

Hurt and shock crossed his strong face. It was the first time I had ever raised my voice to him, though I had done it thousands of times before. "Why do you say this?" he asked, his voice heavy with hurt. "Please, I worry so much, I just want you to tell me."

He was a good, honest man. A good father. I remembered when I was young, a lifetime ago, and I adored everything about him, from his strong arms to his thick moustache which tickled when he kissed me. He worked hard and took good care of all of us, and I loved him.

And now I hated him for being the same man. For caring so much, for always wanting to be involved, never letting me be alone or suffer.

I told him exactly that, and when I did, his heart broke again. Like it did the thousands of other times I told him I hated him. Told him to just leave me alone. Told him to just let me live my life and be miserable. I screamed at him and threw a tantrum. He watched with glassy, uncomprehending eyes as I threw a chair through a window.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Tears began to roll down my cheeks from when I was crying from last time.

I'd had my tantrum. I was tired. I was hungry. And I would be forever, if I didn't satisfy it. I was just so mad that after all this time, after weeks, it would come back like it never left.

I'd probably already messed up by crying and standing here. My stomach growled.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

The light clicked on. He saw me standing there with fat tears rolling down my face. I was sure I had failed when he moved wordlessly to embrace me on the stairs.

I left and went back to my room before he got there, slamming the door in his face. In the bottom drawer, under the dress I'd worn to my tenth birthday party, just a few months ago, Papi's old pistol from when he served in the Cuban military. He only just opened the door as I chambered a round and turned off the safety with practiced ease, and began to yell as I closed my eyes, felt the cold metal against the nape of my neck, and pulled the trigger.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. I had to try this time. I did not know what it wanted, but I would be stuck forever if I never tried. I put another foot down, and another. My stomach growled as I reached the landing.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

"Si, Papi," I said. "I was hungry."

"Please have some dinner. Your mother made us delicious soup, would you like some?"

"Yes, please."

He clicked the light on and I sat down at the opposite end of the table from him, while he got up and went to the kitchen. From the other room, I heard his voice. "I haven't spoken to you in almost a month. Your mother and I are very worried."

"Do not worry about me, Papi. I am fine."

"You are sleeping all day and not going to school. I have not seen your hermosa sonrisa in weeks. Do not tell me not to worry, I am your father."

I sighed. I just wanted to tell him that I would hate him less if he were a bad man, if he neglected me and left me to be miserable on my own. That was not what it wanted, I was sure.

"Tell me," he said, seriously, sitting next to me now and putting a hot bowl in front of me. "Is it a boy?"

This was always his theory. I remembered how surprised I was the first time I heard him say that. Now it was just another way he didn't understand me. I wished I could say yes, make up a lie that would explain away everything so he would give me peace, but it never accepted that.

"No, it's not a boy. It is nothing, I promise."

He scrutinized my face like he had done so many times before. He never found anything there before, and he found nothing now.

"You used to be such a happy girl, what happened?"

"I changed, Papi. I woke up one day, and I get lost. I am scared, I am lonely, and I do not even know why or what I did or who I am. I relive days, over, and over, and over, until I do everything right, just as it wants me to do."

He looked at me, completely lost. A brave smile wavered beneath his thick moustache as he held onto the hope I was joking.

"I have killed myself thousands of times. I have killed you and mi Madre dozens of times. I have spent years, years, years, reliving the same day, over and over until I want to go mad. I can't even go mad. I have tried. I have tried everything there is in this world to escape and I cannot."

"What are you talking about mi conejita? You are not making any sense."

"That is because what I live does not make sense," I said. "I know you want only to help me, but nobody can help me. I don't know what to do, and you can't understand me, because whenever I explain to you, you go away."

He stood and put his arms around me. Tears fell from his eyes for the first time since I was born, though I had seen them many times before.

"I will always listen to you, mi conejita. I may not understand, but I can be here for you anyway. I will try to understand. I love you more than everything, you are my whole world."

He held me tight.

"I will never let you suffer. I will protect my little girl no matter what it is that makes you afraid. Please, just trust in your Papi. Just tell me what hurts you. I will always be here for you, my beautiful, beautiful child."

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My foot touched the step with a slight creak. My arms felt cold where he had held me. I walked downstairs. My stomach growled.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

Minutes later, he asked me again, "You used to be such a happy girl, what happened?"

"Nothing happened, Papi," I lied. "I am still your little girl." I remembered to smile at him, forcing my face to take the unusual shape. He smiled back.

I spent the next few hours reassuring him and letting him know I was fine and I loved him, that I was going through things I couldn't tell him about, but yes, if I ever wanted to, I would talk to him and tell him everything, and yes, I would go back to school, and try to be a good girl and show the whole world my beautiful smile again.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. I walked downstairs, my stomach growled.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

It didn't like it when I lied. It didn't like it when I hurt anyone. It didn't like it when anyone else hurt anyone. Sometimes, it broke its own rules, and hurting someone or being mean was exactly what it wanted. Sometimes, it wanted the simplest solution, and just walking away was all I had to do.

Sometimes, it wanted me to do something impossibly specific. I spent years guessing and trying and reliving the same moments over and over until finally, for whatever reason, it was satisfied and let me go, and the world went on just like that was the first thing I'd ever done.

Sometimes bad things happened to me or to people around me and it didn't care, I didn't find myself in this foggy pretend-world. Something bad happened to someone and that was what it wanted. Sometimes, something good happened and it wanted me to stop that.

But generally, it just wanted me to help people, and myself. It wanted me to be nice and make people safe. There were so many, many things which did not go wrong in the past, all because of it. I think, at some point, years ago by my time, mi Madre would have died, if not for it. I thought, in some ways, I should be grateful.

The problem was, I wasn't nice, I didn't want to keep people safe, I was just an angry puppet, strung along by whatever its whims were. I couldn't live, I couldn't die. I couldn't even take life one day at a time, if I didn't satisfy it, I would be stuck forever. How was I supposed to care about myself, or these people, or anything, when I saw them do the same things over and over, thousands of times. I felt like they weren't people either, just like me. Like we were all actors who played our parts until we got the act right.

Dozens of times, my foot touched the step with a slight creak. Dozens of times, Papi asked if I was awake. Dozens of times I yelled at him. Talked to him. Poured out my feelings. Shut myself off. Ran away. Killed myself. Flew into a rage. Ate soup. Went back to sleep. Tore up the creaky step. Raged again. Left the house. Talked more. Chatted about boy problems. Chatted about girl problems. Told him my problems. Made up stories about aliens. Listened to his problems. Lied. Told the truth. Everything I could.

I was tired. I was hungry. I was emotionally dead, and it still wanted something from me. I couldn't even be mad anymore. I just sat there and closed my eyes and rested while ignoring Papi as he asked me questions with increasing worry.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. I sat down, not done with moping just yet. Another dozen resets or two, maybe, and I'd try again.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

"No," I said.

The light clicked on. "Conejita, what is wrong?"

I sat there with my head in my knees and cried. He took only a fraction of a second to process before he strode across the room and held me wordlessly.

These were the resets I think I liked best. When I didn't have to say anything or do anything or try to be anyone, and could just be me. A miserable, broken girl, loved by her Papi, who didn't understand why his daughter cried, but held her anyway.

Sometimes, I dreamed this would be all it wanted. That Papi could have this memory, and he would just hold me until the fog went away and everything would be all right. Maybe today would be that day. Maybe, me and Papi being happy together is all it wanted for today.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak. Of course not.

I was trying again, with a bowl of soup in front of me and Papi looking at me with concerned eyes while I told him not to worry, when something went wrong. Something went terribly, impossibly wrong. The wrongest thing that had ever been.

I saw the world, the whole world, and everything in it. I wasn't in this world. Papi and mi Madre weren't either. It was an older world than ours, but the same. And it ended in fire.

Explosions scarred the surface of the world, calamity after calamity, as men turned keys and pressed buttons and the world burned like a candle. People were like a fire going out. The explosions burned bright and tall, and scorched the world, but people clung to the world anyway, hanging on against hope, surviving the end to whatever was after that.

And then the ember of people faded until there was nothing but black. People got sick, still fought each other, there was no food, no light, no warmth. Some people lived a long time, deep underground, but even they couldn't live forever, there was no food, and the frozen surface crept ever deeper until it found them and choked them in their sleep.

And the ember went out. The world was over, not a single thing lived on it, not grass, or birds or people. But this wasn't our world, just another one which was.

It had only been a fraction of a moment, but I had lived a billion, billion lifetimes. I had time only to blink and feel tears begin to force themselves from my eyes.

And then I saw myself, saw our world, saw me and Papi in the dining room, while mi Madre fretted upstairs, unable to sleep. I saw everyone in the world, everyone I'd ever known, my teacher, my nanny, and a strange man in a black suit in a black tower, very far away.

This world was different from the first. In this world, I saw other things as well. I looked carefully and looked deep within myself, and there, shining with a blackness ringed in white was it. Deep within me, it beat like a pulse, a part of myself as much as my heart or my brain. It fed, and it dreamed, and in its dreams, I saw my visions, my resets, and in those dreams I saw this vision now.

It was not a physical thing, but something...something else. Like there was a third world, except there was no world there, just emptiness, and in it was that thing, overlapped with me. There were others of them, the black shining things, within other people. All around the world I saw them, and as I watched, I moved, north, to the city where the black tower was. I was there until another joined me, and another, and another. Each with a thing inside of us.

I watched us together, live our lives and fight and cry and live and die. Time passed in a fraction, but as it did, I saw something else.

This world would end as well. Not in fire, but in blackness. I watched as a light so black, so unseeable that it burned, grew and swelled and grew even more powerful and angry, until it eclipsed the world and there was only blackness. Endless blackness for all eternity, not just for our world, but for all worlds. A thing which was never meant to be, which was, and then the universe wasn't.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak.

I fell. I cried, filled with a feeling of infinite blackness, of worlds snuffed from life, of impossible, impassable nonexistence. I had lived two world's worth of lifetimes in two moments, and felt each of those lives snuffed out, turned only to ash and blackness. Things a ten-year-old girl should not be able to comprehend, thoughts which should have broken my mind.

But my mind being broken wasn't permitted. It wouldn't allow it. I just had impossible thoughts in my head, saw the death everything which had ever been, ever would be, gone. And then gone again.

In the face of the absolute end of all, I couldn't even feel self-pity, couldn't feel anything but absolute despair.

I spent days on the steps, crying, feeling the death and destruction around me like I'd just lived it, when it had come and gone so fast. The shock of it rolled through me, back and forth, and even though I thought I was already dead to everything, could feel nothing else, cared nothing about my life or anyone's, just wanting it all to finally let me go, the absolute nothingness...it scared me.

For the first time since I started resetting, I wanted to live again. I didn't want to end up in the infinite blackness, didn't want the world to extinguish, and everything on it to die. For all the suffering I endured, I lived trapped in a world of everything, where there was too much time, too many outrages, too many options, too many demands.

I couldn't begin to comprehend a world of nothing. The nothing scared me in ways I everything could not, in ways I couldn't understand.

The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into years. For years, I sat, wailing and wallowing, still tired, still hungry, still with my father consoling me the whole time, unknowingly.

Until this time, when my foot touched the step with a slight creak, I stood on it instead of falling and crying. This time, I knew what I had to do. It had taken years to put myself back together and realized what it had shown me.

My stomach growled. I didn't care. I'd been hungry for so long, I had almost forgotten what food was like.

"Conejita? Are you awake my dear?"

"Si, Papi. I need to talk to you."

"I need to talk to you too," he said, but stopped when he clicked on the light and saw my face. "What has happened? You look like you have...like you...have something very important to say."

I didn't know what he saw on my face, but I didn't care.

"Papi, I know this will make no sense, but I need something very badly and I cannot explain why."

He looked at me silently, scrutinizing my face. This time...whatever he saw, it convinced him. "I will do anything for you. Just...just tell me."

"I need to leave you, Papi. I need to go find a man in a black suit in a black tower far to the north of here. I need to live with him for a while." I frowned and shook my head. "I will not come back."

He gaped at me. Several times he started to say something and did not.

"But why?" he asked, at last.

"I can't tell you."

"Are you...are you sick? Did you fall?"

"I am perfectly healthy, Papi. You don't understand, and I don't either, but this is a thing I must do."

He hung on the edge of indecision, having no idea what had come over his little girl. If only he could see the blackness consume the world which lurked behind my eyes.

"Why don't you sleep, mi Conejita. We can talk about this in the morning."

I walked down the stairs. "I'm going, if you are willing to help me or not."

"Camila, my love, no. I cannot let you walk out into the night like this. You are ill, let me help you."

I struggled with him, impossibly, and tried to force open the door. He held it shut as fat tears rolled from his eyes.

My foot touched the step with a slight creak.