H A U N T E D

f o r t y - t h r e e

forty-three

My fingers tap against the cold window, my index finger tracing the wet path left by the racing raindrops. My nail taps against the hard surface, and it moves to its own accord. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing on the dry and chapped skin. Soon, my mouth fills with blood when I reopen an old wound formed from the day's stress.

At lunch this morning, while I was twirling my fork in my spaghetti, Jack asked me quietly if he could take me out somewhere where I won't be forced to face the shameless stares of curious eyes. Below the surface, it felt like a wall was going to break and I could start crying at any given moment, so I rested my head on Jack's shoulder, giving a watery sigh in response.

"Hey", Jack calls for my attention, reaching out with his free hand to place it on my thigh. I look over to him, seeing the softness in his honey eyes that reassure me.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?", he ponders and strokes the inside of my thigh with his thumb, redirecting his attention to the road. The snow is still thick and covers the pine trees with a white blanket. Whenever we breathe, translucent fog leaves our mouth, the hot air turning to mist before our eyes.

I lean forward to turn the dial of the radio low, and the lyrical voice of the artist becomes background music. My fingers reach up to tap against the rough skin of my lip, and I know Jack must know of the blood on my fingertips as I pull my hand away. His body grows rigid, but I wipe it against my jeans, hoping that if I wipe it away hard enough, it'll disappear. Once the tense moment passes and I've applied lip balm to my rough skin, I decide to confess what's on my mind.

"Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you just want to cry?", I ask Jack, hoping he'd know what I mean even though he can't cry. Jack tilts his head to the side, giving me a side-glance before letting his eyes focus on the dark road. We came out from school about twenty minutes ago, and just left the parking lot. I was called into the office, after a teacher filed a report on being concerned of my safety. The principal does know of the situation, but asked me to cover up the bruises a bit more. I left without a word, without being dismissed.

Jack was waiting for me in the school's parking lot, leaning against his car. Once he saw something pass on my face, he opened the car door for me, and simply said we'll be taking a bit of a detour before going home. Once I climbed into the warm car, I raised my feet to the seat, and presses my cheek against my knees. Jack took awhile to climb into the car, and I saw in the rearview mirror that he was pacing at the back of the car, talking on his phone.

"I guess, back when I had just escaped from being held captive...", Jack starts before trailing off, his mind taking him back to a hundred years ago. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his knuckles press against his pale skin. My hand reaches for the hand on my thigh, and even though the cold chill that runs through me once I make contact with Jack makes me almost pull away, I let my thumb trace circles on the palm of his hand.

"It was a very dark time. I went back to search for my family, even though I knew they'd be long dead", he starts off slowly, and turns his head away from my observing gaze.

"The guilt of leaving my mother and sister alone, knowing that I wasn't the one to care for them and the pain and shame that went along with them being dead, thinking that I was dead", his breath hitches in his throat. I watch him put on a turn-signal, and I allow his hand from my thigh to move to shift gears.

"Yeah, I get that what you mean, chéri. Even though I do not miss the places I went those days, at times, I miss the comfort of being sad", he turns to show me the wry smile on his lips. His eyes have a sheen of unshed tears, that reflect the low-hanging clouds overhead of us.