Imperfect | est. 2015

47. Another Apology

          "Have you ever thought about it?" Connor asked me, while the both of us just lied on my rooftop and stared up at the stars like we used to.

"Thought about what?"

"Doing something like that to yourself..." There was a pause between when he'd said it; as if it was hard for him to say. I just watched his eyes look as colorful as they did in the dim lighting that night. His hands were set behind his head, he looked comfortable. His focus was on one single star while he went on with what he was trying to ask me, "I mean, have you ever thought that... dying would be easier than dealing with all the pain that you've gone through?"

Then my eyes darted from him to the sky. It made things easier to say when you weren't looking at the person who you were saying them to. Things were always simpler when you felt like nobody was watching, "I don't really know,"

"Are you just saying that so you don't have to talk about it?"

Yes.

"You know me too well, Anthony." I said it, emotionlessly.

And, without me seeing it at the corner of my eye first, I felt him reach for my hand and take mine. I could just imagine that he was looking over at me, then; probably worrying about how secretive I was. I wasn't necessarily secretive, I just hated spilling my feelings. There was no purpose in bringing other people down just so you could feel relief about it, afterwards... I mean, what was relieving about having to tell everybody what was going on inside your head? If there was one person I would tell anything to, without a doubt, it was Connor... but in the long run, I hated to make Connor have to go through the burden in feeling all that sympathy.

"Have you ever thought about talking to someone about it?" He asks me; by the sound of his voice, I knew he was looking at me.

"I talk to you about everything."

"No, not to me; I mean, have you ever thought about talking to a councilor? Or just anybody other than me."

I blinked, heavily. I wasn't tired, I was just exhausted. Believe it or not, having an anxious ex-enemy sob into your shoulder about the guilt she feels for being a witness of the death of your family was quite the energy-drainer.

"I don't like councilors," I admitted, bluntly. I couldn't imagine how awfully and disgustingly tired I looked. I had mascara stains all over my t-shirt from Grace's meltdown. Not only that, my hair hadn't been kept for since the day of Tyler's stunt, "they make me feel uncomfortable. I don't know them; they're just people who claim to understand every word your saying just because they're being paid to do so. And once they have answers to all the questions they ask you, all they do is therapeutically give you some grand set of advice that nobody even attempt to take on, afterwards."

"Maybe all you need is some grand set of useless advice," he tells me, "there's no harm done in having help."

I just laughed, under my own breath, "What, you're tired of listening to my problems?"

"No, never. I love being here for you. If you feel like writing me a novel of all the things you just want to rant about, I'll read every word of it," I enjoyed his passionate metaphor, "I just care about you a lot. I couldn't imagine you trying to do something to yourself... or to even think that way."

Just him saying something like that to me was making my eyes feel like they were going to over flow. And there were chills on the surface of my skin when he moved his thumb over my hand. I had to look at him, at that point, "I won't do anything to myself, Connor. I promise."