Flicker Pain

[25] navy walls

Expecting the unexpected is an impossible feat.

I remembered always hating that phrase; the spectrum of things life could throw at you stretched on infinitely beyond the countable range. The number of outcomes was too high to prepare for every single possibility. It wasn't logical. The math didn't add up.

I ran the entire way to Conrad's house, faster than I'd ever run before. Halfway or even a quarter way through — I should've been winded. But adrenaline alone had taken care of that for me.

Not seeing him for weeks, the call, the crash in the background, his mother's voice — all ran rampantly through my thoughts. Intermittently ran the possibilities and the outcomes of seeing him again. I couldn't be prepared for what was coming. It wasn't an option.

I didn't know.

All I could do was keep running.

When Conrad's house entered my line of sight, my heart exploded inside my chest. My legs moved even faster and my breath became even more haggard, but none of that mattered.

I leapt onto the porch and banged on the door, not noticing how it shook beneath my fists. I didn't stop knocking until it was pulled away from me, revealing the teary face and emotion-filled eyes of Conrad's mother.

"Sylvie," I breathed.

"Hi dear," In an attempt to sound lighthearted,  her voice was a mix between a laugh and a sob as as stepped back to let me inside the house, "I'm so glad you could come."

"Where is he?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

Her attempted joy faded from her face, "He's upstairs."

I didn't need to be told twice.

The first few steps were an easy undertaking. I listened closely for any noises — nothing. The suspicious dichotomy of the crashes and silence was the only thing that made me falter in my steps — slightly. But he needed me. So I continued the treacherous way up.

I reached the top, and immediately — I was drawn to a room at the end of the hall, where the door was open a crack — and soft, unidentifiable noises drifted though.

I approached, pausing slightly to collect myself, my breaths, and my heart. It — like knowing what stood on the other side of the door — was impossible.

But for Conrad — it was worth a try.

It was a feeling that couldn't be put into words: pressing my palm against the door and pushing gently. As it creaked open, the moment before the final, great reveal — my heart skipped a beat or two.

My breath was very literally, truly, and madly taken away.

His entire room was in shambles — violent, disastrous shambles. Furniture was ripped and tipped over, splayed out on the carpet. What looked like remnants of plates and glass were strewn all over, few with tracks of blood coloring them. A lampshade was torn to pieces. Various pictures had fallen to the floor, breaking free from the glass and frames. There were several holes, dents, and tears in the navy walls. And sitting in the middle of it all, gathering pieces frantically like a lone soldier in the war field desperate to find survivors — was Conrad Wilkins.

He was completely and utterly broken.

For a long few moments — I didn't know what to do. The image of him — the boy whom I'd depended on more than anyone — nearly feral and completely opposite of his usually composed, strong self was agonizing to watch. His lips moved in incoherent stutters as he crawled back and forth, and his eyes were long gone.

"I didn't mean it," He muttered repeatedly as I came closer, slowly, "I didn't mean to do it again."

"C-Conrad," I eyed his fingers, which were covered with a thin coating of red and shining fragments.

"I swear I didn't mean to do this again," His voice wavered. He continued through his movements, as though he didn't notice the cuts or pain at all.

"Conrad, you need to stop this," I knelt beside him and tried to gently pry his hands away from the wreckage. He was unresponsive to my attempts, like I wasn't even there.

"I'm sorry," His breathing had rough, frost-like quality, "I just keep hurting people and I can't stop. I didn't mean to do this."

"I know, Conrad, I know," I whispered, feeling tears gathering in my eyes. I wrapped my arms around his torso, putting as much love and comfort I could into our embrace. His hands went slack, and the pieces smashed into the floor.

He fell apart.

Breakdowns are inevitable. You pile your emotions onto themselves, making what you believe to be a protective barrier to seal yourself in. You don't realize that instead you've built a dam — not until it floods and everything you worked to protect is released. It's a terrifying moment, hitting that peak and beginning your spiraling descent. Your emotions are wild. You're vulnerable. You lose a piece of your sanity.

I knew the feeling all too well.

It didn't make watching Conrad in my arms any easier. It didn't. That would be a foolish sentiment. But as I watched and listened through his grief, anger, and overall pain — I understood perfectly, and there was no need for anymore.

No explanations required. Just two, silent, like-minded souls — one of whom began to see an aspect of friendship they'd never been shown before.

That is — because — I'd never been given the chance.

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