Clichéd Story of all Clichés (NaNoWriMo 2012)

7. <| Distractions don't make the problems go away. |>

<| This is the 'freak flag,' and it is flying. Anytime there is ANY kind of sexual scene in a chapter, this flag will be in the title. The flag will be the only warning in the future. |>

7 

<| Distractions don't make the problems go away |>

Feeling the smooth wood beneath his palm and the strings between his fingers comforted Nick. It had been too long since he got out his guitar.

While he adjusted the pitch and picked at the strings, he thought about his mom. He tried not to. He tried to push it to the back of his mind like he did every other day, but he couldn't do it. Her face wouldn't leave his mind.

He was hoping to talk to Lindsey so he could get his mind off of her, but she hadn't texted him since he first got home. He knew if he called Coca she would be able to tell something was wrong.

Lindsey didn't know him well enough yet to tell when he was really hurting, but Coca could read him better than anyone he knew.

Strumming a few cords to check that the guitar was now in tune, he started to play a song, humming along to the rhythm instead of singing.

He thought back to that day while he played. He remembered it so clearly and yet everything was a blur.

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze that grew as the day went on. He remembered because his mom told him to take a jacket to school. He told her he didn't want to, and on the walk home, he wished he'd listened to her because he had to rub his hands together to counter the cold.

When he heard the news, he went to Coca's house to tell her, and as soon as she saw him, before he could even open his mouth to say anything, she had him in a chokehold, hugging him so tight it took his breath away. He had held it together before she did that.

He hadn't cried when the police officer came to the door and asked for his dad.

He hadn't cried when the officer asked them to sit down and tell him about when they last saw his mom.

And he still hadn't cried when he said they found a car rammed so far into a tree the bumper was inches away from the windshield.

He hadn't cried when the police officer shook his head apologetically as his dad stared at the man in disbelief.

He hadn't cried when the officer came forward and patted his head as he mumbled something about how everyone had a time.

And he still hadn't cried when his dad dropped his head into his hands as his shoulders shook with grief.

But when his best friend was squeezing the life out of him on her front porch, he cried.

He couldn't hold it in any longer. He had held it together until he got there, but as soon as she was holding him, he let go, knowing she would keep him together as long as he was in her arms.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer than before, and he leaned his head down into curve of her neck. When his body first shook with his sobs, she only held him tighter, and when his tears stained her shirt, she simply pushed her head even deeper into the span of his chest as she began crying for him.

Neither of them said anything. She just clutched his shirt while he held her and breathed in her scent as comfort.

He held her as the thought of never again seeing his mom hit him. He held her as the understanding of never again having her yell at him about his room dawned on him. He held her as the realization of never again hearing her say she loved him came to him.