Can You Feel My Heart?

Heart

Have you ever felt like giving up?; to finally stop fighting and hand your life over to the enemy?

Cowardly, isn't it? But...what if you had no choice?

What if there was nothing left for you to lose?
•••
Fourteen Days Before
For a long time, Jake had felt like he would get away from his father. But something changed. He finally began to lose hope. He didn't hear the little voice in his head saying, maybe it won't hurt as much as last time, anymore.

And then, to make things worse, the same girl who found his pencil tapping annoying asked a question Jake never wanted to be asked.

"Hey, what happened to your face?"

He ignored her, feeling guilty for not even replying with a lie. But she wouldn't let it go. At lunch, Jake always sat by himself at the little table out on the courtyard, but that day in particular, he finally had a lunch buddy.

"Jake, right," the girl asked. Her voice shook a little, probably embarrassed for not knowing if her assumption was correct.

Jake only nodded, and she took that as an invitation to sit down across from him. He dropped the half-eaten sandwich he had been squishing between his fingers.

Staring at the girl, Jake looked surprised. He cleared his throat, about to tell the girl, politely, that he wasn't looking for company.

"Look-" he began, but he stopped once the girl held out her hand to shake.

"I'm Florence." He wiped his hands on his pants quickly and then took her hand softly and shook.

"Nice to meet you," they said at the same time.

"Look at the sky," said Florence. Jake lifted his head. The sky was gray that day, the sun covered by clouds. A slight breeze made his dark hair blow in his face.

"Your neck," whispered Florence, "what happened?" Jake looked down, automatically covering his neck with his hand.

"Nothing," he continued to look down.

"I'm not stupid," spat Florence. Jake was shocked at her sudden hostility. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Why do you care," Jake asked. He honestly didn't understand why she had suddenly taken an interest in his bruises. After all, they had sat next to each other since the beginning of the year, and she had never once asked him about them.

"The marks are shaped like hands, Jake," she said. He realized that maybe she did see them before, and maybe she just didn't want to say anything.

"I need to go," said Jake. And with that, he was off to his next class.

•••

Life sucks. Simple as that.
Yours Truly,
Quiet Observer.