A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Thirty-Three

"In the end, you tried and you cared and sometimes, that is enough."

Another week had passed, and it was now the start of May. I was on my way to the cafeteria for lunch, genuine excitement going through me, when I stopped in my tracks. Brock sat beside Zoe. Our groups of friends all welcomed him, and a few even laughed at something he said. The smile fell away, and I searched for a way to leave without them seeing me.

Too late.

Zoe turned her head a second before I could sprint away, and tapped Brock on the shoulder, pointing to me. He glanced over, the look he gave me enough to make my knees weak.

I hugged my book to my chest and whirled around. Footsteps followed me all the way down the hall, around the corner, down the stairs and to the small garden with the marble bench. He did not have to speak for me to know who it was.

"You look happy." My voice shook, but I refused to give in. "A lot happier than I've seen you in a long time."

"I'm not happier. I've just gotten better at pretending." His hand brushed some hair behind my ear, and I shivered when his fingers brushed against my neck.

A lump formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it, turning to face him. He still towered over me. "Why did you follow me out here?"

Brock ran his index finger down my cheek. It took all I had to stop from closing the distance between us. Minutes passed before he spoke.

"I miss you. You were my best friend, how am I supposed to act like a part of me isn't missing?"

"A best friend shouldn't look at their friend like this."

His expression softened, and he took my face in his hands, tilting my head back enough to make me meet his eyes. "I never gave you a real explanation. I feel like I owe at least that to you."

"It's fine. I was making things worse for you, and you saw no other way. I get it. It was partially my fault. I was too busy worried about myself to see you were getting bad again."

Brock ran his thumb over my lips once I'd finished talking, and I could see how much he wanted to kiss me then. His eyes studied every inch of my face, lingering on my mouth longer than necessary. Licking his lips, he let go of me and took a step back. I hoped the disappointment I felt didn't show.

"I once told you that the reason I self-harmed was because it's the only way I can cope with the depression other than trying to end myself. I meant that. Three months without cutting is the longest I've ever gone. And that was because of you, Claire. You showed me that someone cared. The image of your reaction when I showed you made me want to try for once." He glanced down at the blooming flowers around us. "You are the first person who made me feel that I could be loved."

Three feet separated us, but even that felt like too much distance. I took a step forward, but thought better of it and retreated once more.

"The doctor's say that this time was more of a cry for help than anything else. I didn't even take enough for it to be a fatal dose, even if my mother hadn't found me when she did." He still refused to look at me. "Something stopped me from taking more. When I thought of you, and how my death would destroy you, I suddenly realized I did have a reason to live." A few tears dripped to the grass. He sniffled, keeping his head lowered. "I want to help other people like me. I want to go to university, to study psychology, and then I want to make the world aware. Depression, anxiety, any mental illness. I want them to see that they can get through it. Like I have."