Can You Feel My Heart?

Begging

Just when you thought he might have had a friend....

•••
Twelve Days Before
"Jake."

Jaylnn stood in the doorway of Jake's small room, holding each side of the frame with his hands. He poked his head in the room, dark hair falling in his face before he moved it by flipping his head to the side so he could see.

"Yeah," Jake turned towards his brother, putting his pencil down.

"Dad's gone, and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me," Jaylnn blushed.

Jake was in the middle of writing a poem, and he didn't like leaving one unfinished. But the blush in his brother's cheeks made Jake realize that Jaylnn thought he'd say no, and he didn't want to make his brother feel neglected. With that, Jake stood from his swivel chair and walked over to Jaylnn.

"Movie," Jaylnn beamed.

"Sure."

•••

"Why...why does he hit you," asked Jaylnn. He looked at Jake, and Jake looked back, acknowledging that he heard the question, but never really answering it. Jaylnn still waited, but then Jake turned away, and Jaylnn felt bad for asking.

•••

At school, Jake tried to avoid Florence, but it was difficult to ignore her in the one class they shared.

A piece of paper slid under his
notebook, small black words written on it.

"How's it going," she wrote. He rolled his eyes and sighed. Then he grabbed the paper and scribbled an answer.

"I've been better." He handed the page back to her.

From the corner of his eye, Jake could see Florence give a small nod of her head, as if she understood what he meant. She passed the paper back.

"What's wrong?"

For some reason, Jake wanted to tell her that his stomach hurt, that the bruise on his shoulder throbbed agonizingly, that his father broke his toe last night after he caught him talking to Jaylnn, and that he still didn't get a reply to his college applications. Most of all, he wanted to tell her how much he wanted to die, and how much he didn't want to feel another sting or blow or crunch in his body anymore. He wanted to, but he didn't.

"Nothing."

He passed the page back and had every intention of ignoring the sound of the paper sliding across his desk again. But his fingers reached absentmindedly to move it closer to him so he could read her reply.

"Oh, please. We both know you're lying. Tell me."

He wrote without thinking.

"I'm not telling you. I don't trust you, so I have no idea why you give a shit in the first place. Leave me alone." He slammed the paper on her desk, and stood abruptly, shoving his papers into his folders, and then his folders into his book bag. Then, without warning, he walked out of the classroom.

•••

A huge mistake. Which will result in
an even bigger one.
Yours Truly,
Quiet Observer.