Going On

Noelle

“One day, when I am a braver man, I will tell her these things, and then I will look her in the eye tell her I love her and ask her to be only mine. But until that day, we're just friends.” 
― Charlie Huston, Already Dead

Fucking knives.

I should have known that I couldn't sit down and have a normal dinner with Theo and my family. I should have known that doing something that other teenage girls do would be completely out of the question. I should have known that it would never end well.

And this time, it ended because of me.

Fucking knives.

I didn't move when Theo came into my room, shutting the door behind him. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs, and I didn't want to think about what they were saying.  

Probably debating where to hide the knives next.

It wouldn't matter, though. I wasn't that primitive. If I really wanted to commit suicide again, I would figure out a way that didn't involve sharp objects.

Theo sat down on the carpet next to me.

"Hey," he said quietly.

I stiffened, blinking back tears. "Hi."

There was a brief silence, and I stared at the ground.

"So, um..." Theo said, reaching into his jacket pocket. "I heard that your scissors were taken away. So, I thought that maybe... at least, for tonight..."

I looked up as he brought two pairs of scissors out of his pocket, holding them and smiling weakly.

I grin, despite the tears still drying on my cheeks. "Theo..."

"Don't thank me," Theo said, smiling warmly. He handed a pair of scissors to me and gestured toward my newspapers and magazines. "Just show me how it's done."

I smiled--a real, normal smile, as if I hadn't just been crying.

"It's not much of an art," I said, grabbing one of my magazines. "I just cut out whatever speaks to me. Pictures, graphics, words, quotes... I don't know."

Theo nodded and grabbed his own magazine, beginning to flip through its pages for something to jump out at him. I went to my own work, staring down at the colorful pages of my mother's old People magazine.

I saw Theo's scissors snipping away out of the corner of my eye, and I smile to myself.

When he finishes, he pushes a glossy scrap of paper across the rug toward me. I read it multiple times to myself.

You make me happy.

I smile.

"Me too."