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10. Spill

I'm silent for a moment as I absorb the weight of his question. I know why I did it, but I'm not exactly sure how to voice this because it's a stupid reason: I was suffering and I wanted someone else to suffer with me. I have no doubt that this conversation could get messy, and end up ruining any chance I have at friendship with the man waiting patiently across from me.

I lift my eyes from my fidgety fingers in my lap to see curiosity etched into Trevor's features. His left brow is slightly arched and his eyes are squinted just enough to make him appear interested. He doesn't say anything as he waits for me to put my thoughts into words.

"I uh..." I pause briefly, deciding to word my answer a bit differently by starting at the beginning. "So, several years ago my family went through something pretty tragic." I've closed off my brain to any sort of emotion, and force myself to just state the facts. "It tore us up pretty badly, and completely changed my outlook on life." I push a strand of hair over my shoulder.

"I used to be pleasant. I had friends. I had boyfriends. I went to parties - the typical teenage life," I explain, as I take a breath and glance back down at my lap. "My family was close. My dad worked in criminal law, and his job was extremely stressful, but he always managed to be home for dinner so he could spend time with my mom and me."

I can feel my lungs getting heavy, and my breathing quickens. I take a moment to attempt gaining back my composure.

"He had one case in particular that was extremely stressful," I tell him. "See, my father was a prosecuting attorney, so he was responsible for putting the bad guys behind bars, which is never easy."

Trevor is so quiet that for a moment I wonder if I'm just talking to myself. I peek back up at him to find his green eyes glued to me. My breath hitches in my throat momentarily due to the attentive concern churning beneath his gaze. I go on.

"We had noticed a change in him. His job had become more burdensome. His cases becoming more crucial and his work load way more than one man should have the burden of dealing with. Over the next year, he began to change, becoming more easily irritated, snapping at my mom for petty things. We began to avoid him, hoping to not have to deal with his moods." I sigh as I pull my hair over to one shoulder. I know where this is headed and I'm dreading the climax of my own story.

"He had just completed this really stressful case one night," I continue. "We could tell by his posture and the heaviness in his eyes that things didn't go well. Something about a mother and child. The mother was guilty of multiple DUI's, child abuse, drugs...all that crap. He hates separating families from each other, but in this case, it was better for the child."

I grab Trevor's drink without thinking and take a sip. He doesn't say anything, and I'm not even sure if he notices.

"Anyway," I go on. "He wasn't handling it well already, and then, just before dinner, he received a call. Apparently, a few weeks prior to this phone call he had discovered that one of the offenders that he had personally put behind bars had committed suicide. He felt horrible, but the news he received that night from that phone call broke him."

I'm sure Trevor is wondering where this is all going, but he doesn't interrupt.

"He found out that the guy was innocent. He'd spent five years of his life in prison for murder, and couldn't take it anymore. He'd suffered while all along being completely innocent." I take a deep breath in preparation, and I'm begging myself not to break down. "My mom and I ate in silence that night; my father couldn't even bring himself to leave his office to join us." My throat suddenly closes off, crippling my ability to speak. I know I can't finish the way I had planned, so I end the story with one final sentence. "My father committed suicide that night."