So apparently, Lia blamed the whole thing on herself and shut herself in her room, and though I was fine, refused to see me.

Fine by me, I didn’t want to be friends with a literal idiot like that either. But, it kind of felt wrong at the same time; she was three for crying out loud. So, I kind of volunteered to help. Definitely not because I was trying to impress Mom or anything.

Aka, go over to Lyra’s place and uh, yeah.

‘What am I even doing?’

After nearly two whole weeks of recovering, Mom took me over to Lia’s place. I was pretty busted and she more or less had to change my bandages frequently. She wouldn’t let me see the wounds but I had a feeling I didn’t have much meat on my arms. I mean, I could tell. And I couldn’t really move my arm much. It hurt, but it was also quite numb. But, I could at least move around now.

They lived close to the rice paddies, so it was somewhat of a familiar terrain. And not just Lyra, Apparently Den and Zena also lived nearby.

But I could visit them later. For now, I stood by Lia’s door, unable to muster enough courage to knock.

Their house was pretty much the same as ours just larger with two distinct floors and six rooms while we just had two rooms. And they had like five people here. Lyra, her husband, and her kids. Two boys, who were both older than me and Lia. And apparently the fourth one was on the way, or so I heard.

‘It’s now or never dude. You came here for this!’

Mom and Lyra both just let me be and were doing other stuff. But I had a feeling they were keeping an eye on me, or us, so we didn’t accidentally repeat our previous incident. For now though-

Breath in, breath out… Knock, knock!

“It’s me… Sol,” I said.

No response. So I waited a minute. Maybe she wasn’t wearing much and needed some time to get changed.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But that time never came and the door didn’t open.

‘Or maybe she’s sleeping?’ So, I knocked again. “We need to talk,” I said.

Again, no response. I knocked with my left hand but even just moving my body made me tired, and kind of stung.

I sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk, just say so. I’m pretty busted up and staying like this is making me a little lightheaded. I’d like to sit.”

Nothing.

So, after a minute or two, I gently stomped my feet, making a sound on purpose.

If she still didn’t open the door then… that was that and I’d just leave without a word.

However… squeak! The door opened, as she haphazardly came out to find the passed-out boy on the floor. I was anything but passed out though. I grabbed her hand, pulled her out of the room and pinned her next to the wall, staring. “You look… bad,” I said. Basically panting, I could hardly stay up and since I only pinned her with one arm, she could easily just slip out from the other side.

My attempt at faking baby talk had mostly failed, so at this point I kind of started giving up halfway.

She didn’t look me in the eye, and just kept her gaze low. Dry skin, messy hair, more or less shit health.

With a sigh, I let her go. “It wasn’t your fault. I did what I wanted to do,” I said, and kept on walking. “And while I don’t think you consider me your friend, if you ever need a friend, I…” I didn’t finish, or rather, I didn’t get to.

She’d grabbed my shirt, and pulled it… eyes moist, she didn’t say word. At least for a few minutes. She finished silently crying and stared at me. “Thank you… Sol.”

“You’re welcome. Lia.”

***

Lia spent the vast majority of the evening gulping down food and water like she was starving for days. She proceeded to unload everything right back up an hour or so later though. Yeah, not eating for a while and then eating a lot at the same time probably wasn’t the best way of going about this, especially if you were as young as her. But it was her choice, so oh well.

But… at least she came out of her room. And even if she blamed herself, she was right. Because it was her fault. It was her fault she got into that. But it wasn’t her fault I got hurt. That was my choice, and I wanted to make that bit clear.

Anyway, we came back home and Mom made me some soup.

“Lately that goat isn’t showing up anymore,” I said. “Is it because I don’t need milk anymore?” I asked.

I was two and a half, ready to just let go of milk.

“Maybe,” Mom said. “Drink it all,” she said, leaving the room.

She often changed the subject or downright avoided it when I spoke about the goat. That goat had saved my life, and… I wanted to thank her at the very least.

But… ‘I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it…’ I’d just have to try again later.

Come to think of it, did this world have cake though?