He hadn't been able to sleep. Unlike other Friday nights filled with music, movies, and sweets, this one was just silence. Alone in her room, she pretended, made excuses, and hid under her blankets, even though the warmth and light of spring seemed to be waiting for her. Now, there was only confinement and silence. The only sound was the ticking of her old but functional clock as the room slowly began to lighten. She felt this had been one of her worst nights, a sense of malaise she hadn't felt even during her worst fevers. But unlike a fever, she was alone now, and she didn't want anyone—or did she?
The mess from the night before was still there, with clothes scattered on the floor and other things hidden among more excuses that felt like a bad word game. She wasn't ready to face the new day and wrapped herself more tightly in the blankets, as if trying to get lost in them. She began to hear the first sounds from outside—footsteps, whispers—coming from downstairs. She knew that in a matter of minutes, everyone would be gone. It was one of those "special outings" her father often came up with. The night before, he had mentioned a nature reserve a few hours away and a restaurant nearby where he had made a reservation.
She had been genuinely excited about the idea in the past—a past where that horrible Friday had never existed and she didn't feel so bad. But now, she simply didn't want to leave. She couldn't face any more people she didn't want to confront. Her mind wouldn't leave her alone; all her thoughts ended with the same image and the same question. She tossed and turned in bed for the millionth time, trying to make as little noise as possible, with her back to the door so no one would know she was awake. She didn't want to deal with their insistence on her joining the outing, nor did she want to keep lying just to stay home. She felt so on edge that one wrong word could ruin everything for everyone.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps getting closer, and her door opened softly. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, though she knew it wouldn't help. She was sure her mother said something to her, but in her forced attempt to remain unnoticed, her mother's words got lost in a fog of fear and nerves. Her mother said goodbye and left the room. After hearing a few final noises, everything went silent. She knew it: everyone had left, and she was completely alone. She had all the time in the world to wander a vacant house, to try to breathe again—a simple act that had become so difficult in recent hours—and, most importantly, to organize her thoughts.
That desire to escape only gave her a little more time, as she knew that when everyone returned, they would have questions she could no longer dodge. At times, she had considered running away, but she knew leaving home would only make her problems worse. She lifted her head slightly from the bed. Her phone, turned off, was next to her clock. She couldn't remember how many times she had let it ring the night before as she watched the battery slowly die. She didn't want to charge it or even look at it, even though her parents were trying to call her. She'd deal with that later.
She got out of bed and left her room, still wearing her short-pajama set and a pale pink shirt. She wondered what time she had woken up or how much sleep she had gotten. What time would everyone be back? She wouldn't turn on her phone, and she didn't even want to look at the clock. She walked around downstairs, trying to decide what to do, and finally ended up on the living room sofa in front of a turned-off TV, holding a glass of water. This was the same sofa she had avoided the night before, using a stomachache as an excuse. Now, hours later, after not being able to eat anything, water seemed to be the only thing she could stomach. She felt an emptiness inside and drank small sips, watching her distorted reflection in the TV screen. She felt so broken, wishing that anything could satisfy her, but she knew nothing would be enough.
She put the glass on the table and leaned back on the sofa, looking at the remote, trying to stop thinking. She was tired of having the same things on her mind. At times, she felt like she was falling asleep until three knocks on the front door startled her out of her trance. She wasn't expecting anyone and didn't want to open it, but the knocks came again, more insistent this time. She opened the door, not imagining who would be on the other side, but as soon as she saw him, she wished she could slam the door in his face and never see him again. She felt she had had enough of him.
Everything had been completely normal. It was another Friday where her brother would text her a list of movies and she would choose one for that night. They would have a new board game or replay one of their old competitions. Everything was centered around junk food and plenty of sweets. It was just the two of them, like every Friday, always.
Then, Aiden appeared by surprise behind her. Mabel had automatically closed Dipper's message and put her phone away. She knew he hadn't missed that action, but he didn't say anything. He just leaned in and kissed her softly, pulling away as Mabel smiled at the feeling. He had been her boyfriend for a few months. They had taken things slow, since Aiden had been her best friend for a while. But…
At that moment, he showed her movie tickets he had bought for that night—again. This wasn't the first time he had tried to change their Friday plans, nor the second time she had to explain why she couldn't go, nor the third time he had wanted to join them or insisted on taking Dipper to the movies with them, nor the fourth time she had repeated that "he wouldn't understand".
But this was the first time Aiden's words had cut through her so deeply. After his usual speech about competing with her brother and her repeating that it wasn't the same, Aiden told her he was getting tired of it. “How could he even compete against someone who wasn’t even close to him, right?” “You don’t love me a thousandth of what you love him”. “You're talking about my brother,” Mabel defended herself. “And yet… that's what scares me the most,” he replied.
Mabel understood what he meant; it was like a bucket of cold water covering her completely, but she couldn't lose her temper. “What?” she said, trying to avoid the inevitable. “You know what I mean”. “No... I don't understand,” she said, or perhaps she didn't want to. “If I'm wrong about what I think, just stand him up, like you've done with me so many Fridays. After all, as you said, he's just your brother”. “You know we can go out tomorrow…” she replied. “Stand him up. Give him Saturday. Change your plans…”. There was no answer. Aiden simply turned and left.
But that question had stayed with her, taking hold in her mind as she tried to find an answer that didn't sound bad or bitter. She needed a reason for Aiden not to be right.
On the drive home, she didn't say a single word in the car she shared with her brother. He drove, occasionally glancing at her or trying to start a conversation. She wished she could tell him she was canceling everything for tonight, that she was going out with Aiden, that they should go to that old gas station where she could get her favorite chocolate. She needed something to get that feeling out of her, but she couldn't even form a word or look at him. She didn't want the situation to get any more awkward, so she looked at her phone, where she had the conversation with Aiden open. The only thing she saw was a period she had sent by mistake, and she felt she had had enough even of her phone.
At dinner, she avoided participating in any conversation, skipping questions and answering as little as possible. When she felt she couldn't keep up the act, she got up under the pretense of a "stomachache," leaving the Friday night with her brother behind. She abandoned the movies and everything she had been looking forward to. A part of her knew no one at home believed her, especially Dipper, but she also understood they were giving her space, which she knew was only temporary. They would return, and she wouldn't be able to dodge them anymore, but she still had time—or so she thought.
Then Aiden appeared at the door with a serious—or worried—look on his face. She wished she could run away or lock herself up forever. Then he spoke.
She hadn't expected that and didn't react to an apology she didn't think she deserved. "No... no..." she stammered. "I think I was a little unfair to you, I didn't speak to you very well either...". "Leave it, seriously" she insisted. "Why? Would you not understand it?" he asked mockingly. Aiden thought coming to talk in person might get a different reaction, but Mabel only shut herself off more. For her, it was enough.
"Stop!" Mabel yelled. "Stop it! Who do you think you are? What do you want? Did you just come here to prove your damn point?".
"And for you to believe that you deserve what you say?" he replied.
She took a breath and let it out in a rush, as if her lungs were burning. All the voices that had been punishing her for hours seemed to want to escape in the worst way possible. She saw Aiden look at her in astonishment, but she didn't want a scene outside. She invited him inside, closing the door, and he followed her back to the sofa. When they were both sitting, she couldn't look at him again, her eyes fixed on the garden or anywhere else. But she heard him.
"I texted you yesterday... I tried to call you a couple of hours ago. Your phone is off. Are you okay?"
"I am..." she said, her words a drag.
"About yesterday..." he began.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said.
Mabel sat, hugging her knees and hiding her face, wanting to disappear from the scene.
"Mabel... what I said yesterday, I was just angry. But whatever you're thinking, it's not that I dislike Dipper or anything...".
"But you feel it. You think I'll never see you the way I see him, and you're not talking about a sibling bond, and yet you don't want to say it because it would sound so crazy..." he continued.
Mabel turned her tired face toward him, revealing her red-rimmed eyes and the tears threatening to fall.
"Is that what you came here for? Do you want me to give you the damn satisfaction?" she asked.
"Aiden... I... I don't want to continue like this... I can't. I want to break up... Because as much as I want to, I can't see him differently..."
Aiden just looked at her, but he could barely hold her gaze; his eyes kept drifting elsewhere.
"I didn't want to accuse you of anything, Mabel... but you're right. We couldn't continue like this... I'm sorry..."
After a few minutes of silence, he simply got up and left without another word. As soon as she heard the door close, she fell back onto the sofa, closing her eyes and letting all her pent-up tears stream down her cheeks. Suddenly, she knew it: she had never been truly alone.
He hadn't wanted to go with them; he wasn't going to leave her alone at home or abandon her in the face of her fake illness—he knew there was something more behind it. After their parents left, he had heard her and had been watching from a distance, standing between the door frames, but he had respected her space. However, when he heard her scream at Aiden, he appeared from the top of the stairs, anticipating having to intervene. Instead, he witnessed her confession, watching his sister hurt herself much more than he could have imagined. But he couldn't let her continue to sink, nor would he let this drag both of them down.
Mabel got up suddenly, her eyes trying to believe who was in front of her. No matter how much she dried her eyes with her shirt, Dipper’s look told her everything: he had heard it all. Yet he wasn't there to tell her everything would be okay, as he always had. He hadn't moved from the short distance that separated them.
There were no words that could improve the situation or offer comfort. Dipper didn't want her to interpret things even worse, now that he understood so much more. And as much as he longed to hold her in his arms, he couldn't. He kept telling himself that it would only end up sinking both of them.
"No... it's not worth it..." he whispered, hoping she would understand. He hoped he wouldn't forever ruin something they had always had. He could only think about yesterday, about how he had sat on the sofa, occasionally looking up, hoping she would appear and they could repeat their routine of being curled up together with empty conversation and a movie playing in the background. He should have realized that something was already starting to break at that moment. If only he had known that a week ago, that last Friday would be the last time everything seemed fine, filled with laughter, bad jokes, and a few hours away from their usual routine. He would have truly valued it more. Now, those memories seemed to slip away like sand through his fingers, as the distance between them grew with every passing second. It hurt him to see her so melancholic and sad, waiting for his comfort and support, but damn it, he couldn't—and that hurt even more.
He managed to get up without saying a word, without looking back. He couldn't hear her final words, as his mind was just trying to process their last time together, a moment he hadn't known was the last.
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