Deal With It By: Audrey B. Holley

Chapter 16

Natalie pampers me, but the outcome is the same. The negativity eats away at my bones until I'm raw with weak limbs. 

"I'm worried about you," she says, fluffing my long brown hair into her hands. She sighs, but I never acknowledge that she even said anything. "Please say something that assures me you're in a positive state with reality."

"I'm sorry. I'm just out of it today."

She tries something else. "What about that one guy you told me about? Could you talk to him?"

"I see a therapist once a week, but it doesn't help, so I don't see the difference in telling another person how I feel."

My cell is laying on her dresser, and it buzzes. Natalie lunges for it, and snatches it before I can protest. 

She arches a brow, and grins cunningly. Flipping my phone open, she sends a message to the person.

"Who is it?"

"That," she says. "Was Benjie. Told him and I quote 'we need a night out'."

I sigh wearily. "And why'd you say this?"

"Because," she flops on her bed. "You need a strong man to hold you. That's what every normal girl needs when she's upset."

"I don't need this right now." I press a quivering finger to my temple, and rub gently as if a headache is there.

Which there is as usual.

The device sounds and she reads what is received.

"OK, it's set. Tomorrow night he's picking you up at 7:00."

"Why do you do this to me?" I say teasingly.

"Because I love you and you're my best friend." She smiles, and for just the moment I feel blessed.

I sigh. "All this talk about boys make me sick." I drop my hands between the opening of my legs, and bend my head to stare at the floor of bits 'n pieces of stale crumbs.

I peer up at my best friend. "Ever thought of cleaning your bedroom for a change?" Scanning the cluttered mess, I see frequent scraps of clothes scattered in clumps, various wads of balled paper lay near a trash can, and layers of dust pile upon her stacked shelves of neglected books. She has managed to make a clear trail to her bed, but that's pretty much of what's tidy in here. 

"Not a thought," she grins, and suggests, "Lets clean it. It'll get your mind off your stress."

And this is one of the reasons why I love her so dearly.

* * * * *

My mothers attention is absorbed in her cooking plan for tonight's dinner, but she puts forth effort in making conversation with her daughter. 

"How was your morning with Natalie?"

"Fine. We cleaned her bedroom." I glance around the open areas of the house. "Where's dad this afternoon?"

"Your father..." she chops up a potato. "Is working late tonight."

I glance to my mother, whose stomach has increased in size. I almost want to tell her to lay off the potatoes, but I shut my mouth before I can say so.

I think quietly to myself, and then after a moment I say, "Tomorrow I'm hanging out with Benjie if that's OK."

Mother angles her neck, allowing her long auburn hair to fall over her face, hiding her obvious fit of a smile from sight.

"Oh?" Is all she says. A minute of silence tracks into the air, but she interferes. "Do you like him?"

"Yes." I then frown at the statement Mrs. Rubert made at my last appointment. 

Almost hesitant, she says, "He reminds me of Henry in some way."

I only sigh, and gaze to my cold toes, and wish I were staring at my dead friends feet.

* * * * *

Although I am able to be myself around Benjie, I'm nervous, which is rare. I haven't seen him these past few days, and he's called in sick twice for work. So I'm not sure how he's been. 

Walking down the stairs, my stomach is vomiting butterflies as always, and my heart thumps recklessly in my healing chest. 

When my mom lets him in, it is awkward at first. She goes over my curfew: no later than 10:30.

The meeting is concluded with, "No worries Mrs. Hems, I assure you she's safe with me." 

We are walking to his motorcycle.

And then I see it...

His knuckles are swollen. Is that why he had his hands in his coat pockets the whole time in the house? At first, I don't question. He stretches a smile over his round lips. But I bring up the subject when we are stopped at a red light.

It's a cold night under the evening sky. The above view sighs in wonderment of blending colors: twists of blue with hinted violet, a sliver of yellow, and there's red that's gradually morphing into orange. 

I feel my trembling palms pressed to the front of his coat, but I dare. "Benjie?"

He touches a finger to the top of my hand as he says, "Yeah?" He almost feels swollen when his flesh brushes across my own.

"What happened to your knuckles?"

He doesn't answer. Maybe he didn't hear me.

But then he says, "I want to show you something."