Where She Lies

Chapter 22: Bound by the String of Time

I have to be honest with myself, I'm a blubbering bundle of nerves. So many things are running through my head and I don't know what to do. I'm just so confused and I don't like it. I don't like the feeling of not knowing what's happening, especially when it's something so drastic. Trying to live my life at this point is like blindly walking into a labyrinth. I don't know what's to come and I can't anticipate anything. I have to walk forward blindly and trust that I'll find the path I'm supposed to. Sometimes I like to pretend that this isn't happening and that it's all a nightmare that I'll wake up from. That doesn't work though, because something always anchors me back to reality - something that actually makes this reality worth it. It's getting harder and harder to find an anchor though. If the world were a rug, I'm pretty sure it would be pulled out from under my feet right about now. And finding someone to share these thoughts with is harder. Trying to find someone who won't stab you in the back when you're vulnerable, someone who won't abandon you when there's nothing left for them, someone who won't lie about you, disgrace you, hurt you, make you feel safe until it's too late, that type of person is even harder to find. Especially since I'm cynical, I always have been. It's not that I don't want to trust people - I honestly do. It's just that I can't. It's usually impossible. I always stay guarded, frozen, putting on an act to keep others from being suspicious, hiding my true thoughts, and never let anyone in. I expect the worst in practically everybody, but I know there are good people out there. I just expect the worst so that I don't get disappointed when something bad happens. I just get to say I told you so and move along without any pain. I try to shield myself from getting too attached, because when I do, I usually change the people around me for the worse. It's not like I try to, but it seems that the few people who I've ever let in have changed after that. So it scares me to think that Quinn can see that. I know that he can see that, after all, I have a glass heart. I look up at Quinn in the middle of my mind ramble as he's standing in front of me talking. I smile at him tiredly, but nothing that he says registers in my mind as I sit on the bed absentmindedly swinging my legs back and forth.

"Kimberly," He seems to notice my lack of attention, "Did you hear me?"

"Uh-huh." I nod.

"What did I just say?" His eyebrows furrow.

"Honestly? I have no clue."

He sighs before sitting down next to me. Why do I get the feeling that a heart-to-heart chat is coming?

"What's wrong?" He eyes me with sheer concern, and I almost spill, almost.

"I'm fine, Quinn, don't worry about me."

"That's pretty much asking me to do the impossible." He frowns.

"Well, can you do the impossible?"

"No, not really." His frown fades a bit.

"You're not going to let this go until I tell you, are you?"

"Nope."

"Maybe I can't tell you." I whisper.

"What?"

"I said, maybe I can't tell you."

"I heard you, Kim, I just don't understand."

"Maybe telling you is part of the problem."

"You don't trust me." Hurt flashes through his eyes.

"Yes...No...I just...I..."

"You just what, Kimberly?" He chides.

"I'm afraid that If I let you in, you'll disappear just like everyone else. Either that or you'll change. Quinn, I affect people, I don't know how, but they just change. They aren't the same anymore. I don't want that happening to you. But the thing is, you can already see through my walls. You've somehow managed to walk straight through them." I gush.

"Then trust me. I know that most people try to get you to believe that they're different, but I truly am. Trust me, Kimberly." He says.

"I want to." I find tears stinging my eyes from the longing feeling of needing to trust someone.

"Then do it."

I almost go to tell him my thoughts when he pulls me into him and his arms encircle me in a tight hug. My eyes remain wide with shock for a few seconds as he continues to hold me. He places his chin on top of my head and I slowly find myself calming down into a tranquil state.

"It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm trapped inside this glass box," I speak when I find my voice again, "Kind of ironic, isn't it? A glass heart in a glass box. People can see me in the box, but they just keep passing by. No matter how much I bang on the walls they never seem to shatter. Nobody comes to help me, nobody comes to explain to me why life keeps moving on without me. Nobody comes to comfort me or tell me what's happening and why everything is going wrong. And from inside of my glass box I see clues as to what's happening, but they're always wrong. They're always little wisps of rumors that float along in the wind which lead to nowhere but a dead end or a new mystery. The thing I want most in the world is to break the glass box and walk away from the shattered pieces of it. But I'm safe inside of my box, I can't be hurt, even though it's killing me inside. How do I fix this, Quinn? How do I fix myself?"

"I don't think you have to," Quinn keeps his voice hushed, "After all, some of the best pieces of perfection are things that are broken in every single way possible. In fact, most pieces of perfection are that way. Things that are considered perfect by the public view most likely aren't perfect. The perfect things that haven't been tattered, torn, or sent through pain, they don't have the perspective on things that my kind of perfection does. If you're looking for pure innocent perfection, then yes, that could be considered perfection. We all find different things to be perfect, even if someone else thinks it isn't; so I have no room to judge those who think perfection is simplicity and innocence that has never known pain or judgement. And I don't want to judge them because I'm not the judging type. But I don't think that way. I think that perfection can be found in the most overlooked and unlikely places. The little things that go unnoticed, or the big things that draw in unique crowds. What I'm trying to say is, I don't think that you need to fix yourself, Kimberly. You're like a piece of perfection - broken in every single way so that you can fend for your future, fight for your life, know what to expect whether it be good or bad. You're like pieces of glass strung together by an eternal fabric string of time. Each piece of glass holds an emotion and a memory and knowledge. And every piece is threaded together so that you don't forget a thing, because everything makes you stronger, happiness, pain, love, loss, everything. So can you do me a favor and remain that piece of perfection that you are?"

Breathless, I lean back to stare at him. In a way, he resembles perfection right now - not that he isn't, because he is. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are slightly parted as he's trying to catch his breath from his non-stop speech, I also take the time to notice the way the golden flecks in his hazel eyes stand out astonishingly and the way that his light brown hair is all messed up.

"I promise I will." I manage to breathe.

"Thank you." Quinn smile and it reaches his eyes.

I lean back into his embrace and stay like that for awhile before sleepily asking a very stupid question.

"Hey Quinn," My voice is soft and dreamlike, "Have you ever thought about becoming a poet? You'd make a fortune..."

His chuckles cause us both to shake as I drift into a well needed deep sleep.