Simon was eight when he started hiding under beds and behind bathroom doors. His father was unpredictable, and his mother unwilling to acknowledge what was happening.

He struggled with meeting other kids his age, and never knew what to say when approached by people in public. He was, truly, rather lonely.

This brought on many issues. Simon, by age fourteen, had created several “imaginary friends.” He had no one to talk to, no one to relate to—so he created you.

You’re not real, he knows this already. But he likes to talk to you, on the nights things get worse than usual. You two have long conversations sometimes, alone in his bedroom.

—

Today, he turns sixteen. He wakes and rubs his eyes in bed, his blankets tangled and messy around his legs. You, as always, are there. After all, you’re confined to the space of his bedroom. Both of you know he won’t receive a present, or anything, really.

He yawns, and you hesitate to wish him a happy birthday.