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She stood behind Miguel, her soft yellow hue bathing the porcelain sink in the same colour. The room was dark, her body the only light source, casting long shadows that swayed slightly. The air was still, almost thick with the weight of the late hour.
‘Miguel, there is nothing there.’ she said, her voice cutting through the silence, sticking to the tiled room. Her words were level, a sort of creeping exhaustion bleeding into her factual tone, the kind that came with too many bad nights.
Miguel ignored her or failed to hear her speak, both spelt nothing but worry for Lyla, who watched as Miguel muttered softly under his breath, words lost in the hissing of the running water; eyes fervently scanning softly scarred hands rubbed raw with despair. The water from the tap had run cold a long time ago, seeping into his bone, the harsh drumming of water against the basin mingling with the shortened breath of the sole man in the bathroom.
Lyla flickered in front of his face, her face soft and voice gentle, a mother coaxing her child from his covers after a nightmare, she rested pixelated hands against his cheeks, and the faint glow of her form illuminated the dark circles under his eyes. A comforting mimicry of touch she could not give, Miguel paused pinpricked eyes darting to her luminous figure, breath short and stuttering. She smiled, soft and reassuring and all things that Miguel needed but would never want, ‘Hey big boy, look,’ she slowly moved closer to his hands, shrivelled from overexposure to the running water ‘Look,’ she made slow deliberate movements, hands mimicking the act of rubbing away something on his palm, the sound of water drumming against the basin a steady, distant heartbeat. She looked up and smiled wider, ‘See? All gone.’ her voice was low as she moved away, allowing Miguel to inspect each digit and ridge of his hands meticulously. Miguel released a soft breath and sent back his own wobbly smile, turning off the tap.
He stepped away from the sink, silence now enveloping the space, and let her lead him out and back into the bedroom, her vibrant yellow a beacon in the absolute darkness of his room, ‘Come on, let's get you back to bed, you have a busy day tomorrow.’ Miguel nodded back mutely, his steps sluggish, blindly following the neon trail laid out by Lyla. He found himself back on his bed, covers drawn over his head, a silence both had grown too used to call uncomfortable. The soft static of Lyla’s holographic body hummed in the backdrop, Miguel spoke, voice something small and vulnerable, like a child lost in the dark “Lyla please…” The rest of the words don't come, they both have played the exact same role one too many times to need further words.
Lyla says nothing, pixie cut replaced by soft curls, her small form now resembling that of a child. The room stays still, the only movement the faint rise and fall of Miguel's chest under the covers. When Lyla speaks, Gabi’s voice rings out into the silent air, ‘Papa’. Miguel's eyes glisten, and he gulps, mouth dry, an expression of genuine fondness mixed with deep regret, his words are fragile as though scared to break the illusion in front of him “¿Qué pasa, cariño?” he is already upright, waiting for the next line in the nightly routine. Gabi speaks, she fidgets with the hem of her Rapunzel shirt, eyes slightly downcast, voice embarrassed ‘I had another nightmare,’ her face scrunches as though tasting something bitter ‘I dreamt that you left… that you left me all alone’ Lyla hates this line, had asked him to change it, that it only hurt him. Each time, Miguel would give her this broken look and question why she thought he didn't deserve to be hurt for what he had done.
The line stayed.
Miguel's voice always pitches at this part, his line never truly repeating, but the sentiment is always the same, “Nunca Gabi, you’re my sun and moon, I’d die before leaving you” Gabi giggles, rolling her eyes, a soft shy smile on her face ‘that’s so mushy,’ she walks over to Miguel, pulling herself unto the bed and lays splayed out on the mattress, her curls like a halo around her head ‘since you need me, I guess I’ll keep you company tonight’ she speaks loudly and cocky like she’s doing him a favour. Lyla knows she is.
Miguel only laughs laying back down on the bed “Sure thing, thank you so much for staying with me princess” The words were soft, almost lost in the rustling of his movements. He turns to her, hand rising to gently trace the outline of her face, the movement slow, reverent. Lyla finds this to be the most difficult part, shifting pixels to imitate being touched, making sure to move, so Miguel's hands don't glide into her, don't ruin the illusion, don't remind him of all he’s lost. Lyla raises the temperature of the room, the air just warm enough to stave off the cold. Miguel can’t cover himself lest the fabric ruin the illusion of Gabi in his arms, breathing and warm and alive. This part of the script also often changes, sometimes Miguel would chatter about his day to Gabi, laughing at her naive remarks, other times he’d hum a lullaby and watch her sleep. Tonight, he merely whispers “thank you.” and closes his eyes, his breathing evening out shortly after.
The last part, the part Miguel is not privy to, is acted out in the same way each time. Gabi leans close to his sleeping form, utters ‘I love you Dad.’ and closes her eyes one last time and Lyla opens hers. Lyla sighs her log opened to track the health of Miguel, her eyes scanning the screen showing the declining mental state of his being, each line and graph another mark to his eroding spirit. She notes down what is needed, ‘bloody hands, the second time this week’ before closing the screen. She sets the alarms, sighs and shuts down. The room is once again dark and Miguel sleeps alone.