She's asleep.

For how long, I can't remember. Nor do I want to know.

I close the door behind me, walk across the room to where she lies, careful not to make a sound. Not that I could wake her up, even if I did. If that was the case, I would've hired an orchestra, turned into a 50-pound animal, and smashed every single instrument against the wall with the intensity usually reserved for bomb detonation.

But no, I can't. And the thought makes my chest feel heavy.

But they said not to channel negativity. They said since she's an empath, she could feel it. Bad for her health, they told me.

So I try to summon my nonexistent happiness, happiness she stole the moment she was confined to that bed, and force a grin.

"Hey Rae," I say. My eyes scan her figure. Bad idea. Eyes closed. Lips thin. Lying impossibly still, she was so pale. She had always been, but this was something else.

She almost looks translucent.

I pull over a chair and sat. I open my mouth to crack a joke, but I can't think of anything. So I settle with holding her hand.

"So nothing much happened today," I say casually. "Just the regular boring ol' stuff."

Her hands feel bony in mine. Soft. Weak. Frail. Like butterfly wings. Cold too.

"Cy bought this awesome new game. We played and played until Robin went all dick-mode and made us stop," I say. Though I know that if he hadn't, Raven would've smashed the screen first. If she was there. Which she wasn't. I try to ignore that thought.

"It was because Robin's all caught up in this latest case," I say. "As always," I add. "Good thing Star was there. She played the game too-loved it in fact. All she had to do was bat an eyelash at the guy. He cooled down a bit after that. Lovesick little puppy."

I sweep a strand of purple hair falling across her face. Her skin feels warm. That gives me hope. She's still alive. And in moments like this, I know for a fact that I'm more lovesick than Robin.

"Although of course he doesn't leave unless he gives us a rant about how 'we should be more responsible' and we're at our weakest since 'Raven's not here' and that we need to 'train to be better in order to succeed,' and all that crap," I say, trying to make a joke out of all of it, and fail triumphantly.

My voice wavers.

I take a shaky breath. "But the thing is, Raven, I . . . I can't."

I start to feel an odd lump in my throat. I blink back the tears threatening to spill.

"I can't be better. I'm a wreck right now. And I know I won't succeed."

I clutch her hand tighter in mine, and press it against my lips.

"You need to wake up because I can't do it without you,"

I stay quiet after that, expectant, wishing she would say something like "Idiot," or "Could you stop talking about such nonsensical things and help me get up?"

She doesn't though.

I stay still, foolishly, desperately, fruitlessly waiting for her to wake.

The tears came in landslides. I cry into her hand, soaking her fingertips.