See Me

26

Eventually, the embarrassment started creeping through me.

I was crying. In Zane's arms. And judging from the damp spot on his shirt, I was crying on Zane.

Zane must have felt the way I stiffened in his arms, because he made the first movement he had made in a while. I felt his head twist, and his jaw rest on the top of my head. Almost as if he was trying to look down at me, but I didn't want him to see me. I looked down at my feet instead.

"Seren?" His voice was soft, delicate. He spoke to me like I was nothing more than a cloud of mist that could disperse and fade into the air at any second.

I unclenched my fingers from his shirt, letting go and backing into the wall as much as I could. Trying to create even an inch of space between us.

"Yeah." I responded, but it was so quietly I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't hear it.

"You're going to be okay." Zane told me, stepping back.

I didn't know whether he was lying to me or he was stupid enough to have that hope.

"Sorry." I was scared to look at him. He must think I'm crazy. He must realize how broken I really am.

"Hey." Zane said, and he gently grabbed my chin and pointed my face towards him, like he knew what I was doing.

"Hey." He repeated when I wouldn't meet his gaze.

I slowly raised my eyes up towards his face. He wasn't looking at me like I thought he was going to look at me; with pity, or disgust. He was looking at me like he cared about me. I wondered if he really did.

"You don't have to be sorry, Seren. It's okay to not be okay." Zane said as my eyes met his.

How did I tell him that I wasn't simply not okay? I was gone.

"I told you that I would be here for you. I told you that I'd listen. This is what that looks like." Zane continued. "Even if you're not ready to talk. I shouldn't have pressed you to."

"You shouldn't have. You shouldn't have read that letter, either." I told him.

"I know. I shouldn't have. I apologize." Zane replied. He looked sincere. I want to believe him.

I dropped my eyes again, folding my arms across my chest. How is that one moment I was perfectly happy, high and watching Spanish sitcoms, and the next I'm crying to some boy I barely know?

Zane thinks he knows me, but how can he? Why would he want to?

"Have you eaten?" Zane asked me, jumping me out of my mind.

I nodded, and he arched an eyebrow. It annoyed me that Zane knew when I was lying. But also... it felt nice. I had grown so accustomed to lying. I lied like I breathed, thoughtlessly. And no one ever knew any better, before Zane.

"Skittles don't count." Zane said, glancing over at the open packet on the couch.

"Why not?" Food was food.

Zane chuckled lowly as he walked towards the abandoned bag of takeout on the coffee table. "Will you eat if I heat this up?"

"What is it?" I asked him. I didn't really like soup, there was only one kind I would eat.

"French onion."

"How'd you know?" I asked him. I'm beginning to think Zane was a mind reader.