"I'm twelve for seven years now," she says happily when the digital clock jumps to 00.00 AM.
The numbers are awkwardly red and it makes him feel uncomfortable. He doesn't know what to say and smiles.
"I believe," she continues, "that one day my lungs will be big enough to keep me under water for over five minutes so that maybe I can see God down there."
He nods and studiously stares at the green painted walls behind her. She puts the bottle to her lips and drinks half of it, then smiles hopeful.
"Maybe I will visit the world this year," she says and her eyes are sparkling and she's trying to find his. She forces him to look at her and all he sees are incorrect beauty scars and glitter in eyes that used to own the sun. He smells vodka.
"Stop doing that," he speaks. His voice sounds hoarser than he intended. She smiles and drapes the pink boa that was lying between them around herself and then around him, connecting them into strange twirls and lousy feathers.
"You are not twelve anymore."
Her smile doesn't faint, but only becomes stronger, and that is her weakness these days.
"But I am twelve," she stands up from the bed and untwirls him from the boa. "For seven years already."
He sighs and stands up too, walks behind her and looks over her shoulders in the mirror, facing himself and the girl he used to know. She drapes the boa around her head as a turban, closes her eyes and starts spinning around the room, until she falls on the bed and faces the ceiling. The boa looks like a defect from nature, an unwanted snake, and the feathers are sticking in her brown hair. They mismatch with the red blankets of her bed, like her whole room is big mistake.
"I'm gonna paint my room blue," she states. "Because then I can relate to God. I know his favorite color is blue. It must be."
It becomes quiet and the threatening numbers of the digital clock jump to 00.04 AM. She notices him watching it and also interpreters his silence as a sign of comfort.
"I want those numbers to be blue," she says, "can you do that for me?"
Before he can answer she jumps up from the bed, closes her eyes again and spreads her arms out like wings. She sighs so deeply that it looks like she might come off the ground.
"I don't understand," she whispers, "why God would live in the sea, when he could be in the sky."
She holds onto her own world. A religion where God lives in the ocean and where everything is an organized chaos of mismatched colors and thoughts. It is 00.06 AM. She waves her arms like enormous, awkward wings and jumps onto him on the red covered bed.
She holds her breath and he knows she won't stop until it is 00.11 AM or her heart tells her to start living again.