A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~ "There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill and keep you alive to feel it."

We drove to the cliff just after seven at night. Less than an hour later, we were already on the way back home. Lights on either side of the street illuminated the darkened sky. Soft, melodic music drifted through the speakers, and I found my eyes growing heavy.

Brock kept quiet. He had not said much since after I tried to explain how I felt to him. It made me feel worse, all the words I wanted to say to him stuck on the tip of my tongue.

After a few hours of laying in my bed reading, we'd made a quick supper before heading out to our spot. I had been so caught up in everything that happened, I'd forgotten to ask to check his scars again. I was a bit scared to ask. Afraid I might find out he'd finally broken his word, and given in after fighting for so many weeks.

Brock always assured me he'd kept his word. I still wondered if he told the truth, or if there were scars in other places. Fresh cuts, not even started to heal, in places of his body I could not see. More tears started to spring to the surface.

"Do you know when your parents are supposed to come home?"

I looked at him, and shook my head. "No idea. They usually don't finish until after midnight. It's been a monthly tradition since I was old enough to stay home alone."

He signaled right, turning down our street once more. "I think the last time my parents went on a date, they weren't even engaged."

"Really?" I looked over at him and laughed. "Why so long?"

A slight shrug. "They're both busy with work. I can't remember when I last came home from school with either my mom or dad home."

The absence of his parents in his life only made Brock worse. I knew his mother worried about him, that her own mental health took a huge blow each time he hit the breaking point, but she still put her work first.

Neither of his parents were bad people. In fact, I loved them both. I just wished they would put in more effort to spend time with their son. Work could only be so important before it became a real issue. Had I been a mother, with a child suffering depression, I wasn't so sure I would even be able to have a job. Every second of my life would be dedicated to that child.

"You're always welcome at my house," I said. "I'll never turn you away."

Brock smiled, and got out of the car.

The lights inside both our houses were off. I rushed to my front door, unlocking it before he even reached the pavement. Once Brock cleared the doorway, I slammed the door shut, locking it and switching on a lamp nearby.

"Today's Friday. I almost forgot." Brock turned to face me, his cheeks glowing red. "In all the chaos, I forgot to show you my scars."

"We had other things to worry about, it's fine."

He seemed more uncomfortable this time than he had any other day. I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" I thought about taking a step toward him, but thought better of it.

Brock shook his head, and slipped his shoes off. "It's nothing. I've just never shown you them here."

That was true. Not once, in the eleven weeks I'd been checking, had he taken his shirt off in my house.