Can You Feel My Heart?

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Can you help the hopeless?

•••
Thirteen Days Before
Jake hummed as he walked to school.

Can you feel, can you feel my heart?

There was something about that song that made him feel something. Especially the second verse, which went: Can you help the hopeless? Well I'm begging on my knees. Can you save my bastard soul? Will you wait for me?

It was then that he began to cry.

•••

Florence grabbed Jake by the
forearm and dragged him into a closet.

"Hey! What are y-," Jake stopped when Florence whipped her head around and a lock of black hair smacked him in the face.

"Shhhh!"

Jake shut his mouth and waited for Florence to say something.

"Now, I'm going to ask you something. Promise me that you'll tell the truth," she breathed.

"Uh, okay. I promise," Jake whispered, unsure.

"Who beat you up?"

Jake was quiet for a long time. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't like the way she said 'beat you up' as if he'd been carried to an abandoned alleyway and 'ruffed up'. He stared at the mop bucket, a silver thing with dirt stuck to the outside of it.

Then he spoke.

"My father."

There was no sign that Florence had heard what he said, because her face remained emotionless, like she was zoning out to a lecture.
But then there was emotion, and her eyes filled with fury as she kicked at the wall repeatedly. She took deep breaths and put both her hands against the wall. When she spoke again, Jake had to lean in to hear her.

"Jake....I'm so sorry." This didn't make Jake happy or sad, instead it filled him with rage.

"I don't give a damn. Look, Florence, I don't need your pity. To hell with it. You don't understand anything, so please, leave me alone." He reached for the doorknob, but a slightly bruised hand pushed his away.

It was silent, and then Jake heard a low cry. "You're wrong."

•••

He felt horrible. He wanted to curl into himself, and swallow himself whole, to disappear. He shouldn't have said that to Florence. Her cry haunted his ears.

But what haunted him the most was the slight bruise around her wrist, like someone had grabbed her too hard. Maybe she did understand, after all.

Maybe he was wrong.

•••

We all make mistakes. But it's not like you haven't heard that one before.
Yours truly,
Quiet Observer.