The Boden Boys

06. i cry in a stranger's arms

06
the chapter i cry in a stranger's arms

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Well, I'm sure a number of words are relevant. It's just that I can't seem to use them. My mouth is sealed shut. Remember that loose lips sink ships and best believe I'm keeping the soldiers safe in this moment.

The words – the sound – just doesn't come.

He's still standing in front of me, not speaking either. Normally I can read a person's body language, but he was closed off – his hands loose, chest relaxed, face stoic. No signs of any emotion whatsoever.

I wonder what I look like to him.
A mess. An idiot. A lost hooker.

It's only after he takes a step forward, that I flinch back and recognize the extent to which my body is trembling. Limbs shaking, legs of a newborn fawn wobbling in and out of the center of gravity. My hands press back against the brick wall stabilizing myself as he puts his hands up.

He comes in peace.

Hardly audible, a whisper weaves it's way through the silence.

"Tenley?"

My heart is pounding as he moves closer from his position all the way across the alley, to a reasonable distance – arms reach and then some. His hands still remaining held out in front of him, as he comes to the unfortunately complicating conclusion that he knows me, and I know him.

And not well enough to be dealing with this together.

"Yes," I croak, my throat horse as I try to make conversation.

He's not going to hurt you, Ten.

Another beat of silence follows as I begin to tear up, dragging my hands over my eyes profusely to wipe away the tears of now and then.

One can only imagine how pathetic I must appear.
How fucking obnoxious of me to be crying all the goddamn time.
How weak I must be.

And I am. The people that must think that of me are entirely correct. And I have no good excuse.

"Tenley, I – " he stops, "I don't – "

He doesn't. Doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to act.
It's not something that a person should need to know. I wish no one will ever end up having to know.

"It's okay," I whisper, forcing a smile, a tear betraying me, "You don't have to know."

"I don't even know you, but I can't – good grief, I can't leave you here," His eyes are wide with concern in the blink of an eye, and I can't help but feel undeserving of his attention. He must have bigger things to deal with than a random acquaintance's – practically stranger's – well-being.

"Like I said," I sniff, my nose going red as the wind whips against my skin. I didn't notice it earlier, how could I, but the wind is horrifying. As the seconds pass it seems to become stronger and stronger, a trash can to our left end up tipping over out of nowhere.

Jumpy, traumatized, and paranoid, I end up jumping back, unable to contain the tears from slowly streaming down my cheekbones like dollars down a drain. Like wasted goods. Like wasted dignity.

In the midst of my shaking panic, I feel a hand reach out to grab my own.

I freeze, instantly thinking the worse, before it begins to rub circles back and forth along the palm of my hand. The fingers of this hand, are rough and calloused, scratchy even, but I've never been calmed down from one of my emotional episodes so quickly.

I look up and find Boden, staring down at me, a pathetic shaking Tenley, and in the moment I didn't think anything of it when I rammed myself into his arms and started sobbing. Him, a complete stranger, not questioning any of it as he buried me within his large frame, hands resting firmly on my back.

I let it all out.

The fear. The violation. The filthiness. The rage – towards mainly the attacker, but also myself.

And I told myself that after this, I'd never cry again, because I'd have nothing left to cry for.
Nothing more could possibly be felt at this point.

But for right now, this was okay.
Being here, I felt safe and protected and warm, and I felt like I could be vulnerable, for even just a moment. Because he and I were strangers and there was never going to be a chance to regret it, because I'd never see him again. He'd disappear like all the other pedestrians in the street do, it was inevitable.

He began walking me inside, but not to the venue, instead to the building he walked out of. I couldn't tell what the building was, I honestly didn't care. Everything was a blur until I was snapped back into reality when he grabbed his keys, and said he was driving me to my house.

"What? You've done enough already," I insist, voice still breaking though every word I say. It diminishes any strength my argument could've had, as I sound the way I feel – which is not convenient when you want to sound like you have a decent argument, but you've never felt more pathetic and weak.

"I'm not about to leave you here all alone," I try to cut in, but he stops me, "I want to do this."

Instead of insisting that he not help me like I probably would've in any other situation with any other person, I stood still and finally nodded my head in hesitant agreement.

I was too tired. And his offer was too appealing to argue with.

"Thanks," I whispered once I had tossed myself into the backseat, pulling my tattered shirt back up and wrapping my arms around myself once seated. He was in the front, looking at me from the car mirror, but he didn't comment on it – he just started driving out of the area. Minutes later he asked for directions.

It was a while before we got home, a silent drive, no radio, no AC, no nothing. But once I got out of the car I felt it necessary to give something to this new acquaintance that'd given so much to me, "Do you – sorry – um, do you want to come inside and get some coffee before you drive back home? You don't have to, or anything, but I just thought maybe the caffeine would help, and – "

"Yes, I'll have a coffee, Tenley," he paused, "Never needed caffeine more in my life."

And I swear, for a half a second, he smiled at me.
And it was kind of like magic.

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