A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"You are enough. You are so enough. It is unbelievable how enough you are."

As we reached the dance floor, my pulse gained speed. Brock held my hand, the gesture enough to bring tears to my eyes. I missed this. I missed him. I missed us.

He kept a respectful distance from me, hands hovering near my waist, the touch so gentle I could hardly feel him at all. Trying to calm the thunderous beats of my heart, I placed my hands on his shoulders. It took half the song before we gathered up enough courage to look each other in the eye.

When our eyes met, the smile that he had started to force fell away again.

"Claire." The music was too loud. I only knew he said my name by reading his lips. "Claire," he said again, hands finally landing on my waist.

I wanted to forgive him then. Forget about the confusion of the past month, and just start over.

Brock gathered up enough courage to pull me closer. Our bodies did not yet touch, but were separated by a few inches. Lights swept over his face, the different colors bouncing around the room. He had never looked handsomer.

Though the song was slow, it still had a slightly upbeat rhythm. We could get away with keeping our distance. It wasn't until the music slowed even more that we were forced to slow our own movements.

"I'm sorry that I pushed you away," I said, the song quiet enough that we could speak at a normal volume. "You wanted to protect me, and I was selfish. I've regretted that day at the hospital for a long time. It was wrong of me to react that way."

Brock looked down at me, shaking his head. "No, you don't have to apologize for that. It was selfish of me to tell you I wanted to remain friends. To take your feelings and cast them aside like that? I wasn't thinking straight."

"Can you tell me why? Why you thought you couldn't tell me it was getting worse?"

He sighed. "I could see you were getting worse, too. The depression, it tells you lies all the time. Since I was diagnosed when I was eleven, I've always felt like any happiness that comes into my life is a joke. You were the first person to show me real love besides my parents. The first person to know about who I am, what I struggle with, and still choose to stay.

"I couldn't handle it when I saw how bad it made things for you. And there was always a part of me that questioned if you could ever care about me as much as I care about you." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "That's the thing people never talk about when it comes to suicide. We never do it to hurt those we love, we think no one loves us. If I had seen how much you cared, if I had realized just how much you loved me, that would have been reason enough for me to go on."

"So, it's true when they say depression is not caring at all?" I wanted to cry at the realization that he had no idea how much I cared about him, that I would sacrifice everything for him to be happy.

Brock nodded. "After a while, I stopped trying. I figured it would be better to pretend I was fine and to see you get better than to make you more miserable. That's when I decided it might be better for you if I was gone."

"It would never be better for me if you were gone." I moved one of my hands from his shoulder to his cheek. "How could you ever think that? It doesn't matter how bad I can get, you would never be who I blame. I've never blamed you for my anxiety, Brock. It's not like you do it on purpose to make things harder for me. I know that."

"And so do I, now. That's when the logical part of my brain kicked in. It's happened every time. A part of me has regretted my decision, but it's never been as strong as it was this time. I realized that I wanted to live. I remembered how you asked me what I wanted to do in the future. Something no one has ever taken the time to ask." Brock kept looking in my eyes.