The Reason | ✓

6: Empty Questions

6: Empty Questions

"Wow."

I glance behind me at Will as he walks through the front door of my apartment, admiring it for reasons I can't grasp. "What?" I ask, truly curious as to what he finds so special about this dull place.

He doesn't look at me as he wanders around the quaint living room, filled with a singular couch big enough to fit two as well as a coffee table that's cluttered with crap. No TV, only a radio - and a crappy one at that. I cringe when he goes to the back of the room, stepping into the kitchen that needs to be cleaned badly.

To say the least, I wasn't expecting company.

He doesn't move from the fridge though, staring at the pictures hanging by magnets on its doors. "Is this your family?" he asks, his voice a bit hoarse and I can't help but wonder why.

"Yes." I walk up to him, stopping at his side and gazing at the pictures with him, trying to see what he does in his perspective.

There's two little girls in one, holdings hands while twirling in a circle - my sister and me. She was a bit taller than me, skinnier and much more healthier. She was looking at me with a broad smile on her face, and I mirrored her with a smile that covered my features. We were happy little girls, nothing wrong with the world.

The next picture is of an older man, white hair peeking at the back of his head with his wrinkled arms cradling a baby boy that must've been his grandson - or maybe even his great-grandson. It was my grandpa, holding my older brother. He past away before I met him, but I heard he was a great man.

"Who's this?" Will asks from beside me, pointing gently at a recent Polaroid picture taken only a few months ago.

I smile unconsciously, fingering the picture of a little darling on a playground, running away with a wide grin on her small face from a man that really did look scary looking. "My niece," I reply, and I realize then that I should be scared of his reaction. But I'm not. I look at him by my side, and he only smiles and nods.

"And the man?"

I bite the inside of my lip, afraid to say. "My ex," I choke out, and his whole body freezes next to mine.

"Why is he on your fridge," he says through thin lips, more of a demand than a question.

I swallow whatever had formed in my throat, and I sigh when I say, "It's the only picture I have of her."

His eyes turn sad and he turns to face me, touching me on the shoulder in an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and the sincerity is clear in his voice. I smile, glad that he's here. I tell him this and he matches my silly grin, squeezing my shoulder and then hesitantly letting go. He glances over my shoulder and nods toward the door behind me, asking, "What's that?"

I turn my head to peek over my shoulder and see that my door is actually open, a mixture of dirty and clean laundry tossed around on the floor, dresser, side-table, and bed. How embarrassing. Will must've seen my grimace because he chuckles and nips his fingers on my chin and walks around me to enter the room.

I'm about to speak in objection - to demand that he never go in there - but he's already past the door and inside the room, gazing at the little nick-knacks placed everywhere. Hesitating, I finally decide to follow in after him and try to clean up as much as possible.

He must think all of these clothes are dirty - that I never do laundry. Of course I do! It's just that I never put them up in the dresser that sits half-empty in the corner of my room.

"You don't have to do that," he says, and I feel his hand on my back as I'm leaning down to pick up another pair of jeans from the floor. I seriously need a hamper.

I just shake my head and stand straighter, turning around to look up at him with a heap of clothes engulfed in my arms. He smiles at me a kind smile, and then steps away from me to look more closely at the little pictures I have framed on my bedside table. It's another picture of my family, but this time a group shot.

And then it occurs to me.

"What's your family like?" I ask, and his body freezes as if I've offended him. Two seconds of silence, he finally sets down the picture back in its place and spins around slowly to face me. But his eyes don't meet mine, but rather stare at the floor in a trance. "Will?"

No response. He's beginning to worry me.

"I..." What do I say? I try again: "I'm sorry. I didn't know I hit a soft spot." I'm starting to ramble and his expression grows pained, as if my words are only making it worst. "I shouldn't have said anything," I continue, but when he sighs and takes two strides to be by my side, I am interrupted with the touch of his lips on mine.

They're urgent, as if trying to distract himself from whatever is in his head. His arms start to wrap around me and as I reach to hook my arms around his neck, I can feel him shaking against me. I begin to break away from him, scared that I'm causing him only more agony, when he quietly croaks, "Don't," against my lips.

So I listen.

We stand there, kissing, and I'm still left with no answers. Just the silent tears of a boy I ran into at the bookstore, trying to ease the pain of whatever is tearing him apart by distracting himself with a girl like me.