The Rendezvous // Thomas Sangster

Why Do I Always Loose Things

I look up to see Thomas's lanky figure standing on the sidewalk. His eyebrows are furrowed and his features are laced with concern. I attempt to quickly wipe away any tears and dissolve that feeling that one gets in their throat when they're crying, but I do a miserable job of it. Especially since Thomas had probably heard me crying. 

I hiccup, trying my very best to be normal, "Hey, Thomas."

"What's wrong?" But when he steps over he can see the shattered pieces of my camera on the ground, and the smaller glass shards that sparkle, looking like stained glass from the reflection of the sunset. He frowns, stepping over to me and crouching to sit, "Oh."

I sniff, "It just...slipped out of my hand..."

We sit in silence for a few moments, and Thomas observes the broken pieces scattered on the ground. I stare at my feet, wondering how I get myself into positions such as these. Suddenly, I feel a warm hand graze mine and for a split second I think Thomas might be trying to hold my hand. However, he pulls the demolished camera out of my hands gently and holds it up, examining it closely. 

I watch the careful way he holds it. He softly brushes some dust off of it, tracing his long, slender fingers delicately across the crack on the screen. As if in a trace, I notice how soft his hands look as they slowly turn my camera over.

He glances at me, setting my camera on the ground in front of him, his expression serene, "Will you get a new camera?"

I slowly exhale, "Eventually. But..."

He stares at me expectantly for a few moments before he mutters, "But what?"

I sigh, "I've had that camera for a long time. It was a graduation present from my mother...I just..."

I shrug, feeling tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall again. I quickly look at the ground, biting my tongue to keep them from escaping. 

No. I can't cry in front of Thomas.

I'm stunned as I feel an arm around me, pressing me closer to him. As if he can read my mind, the next words he mumbles are, "It's okay to cry, Stephanie."

Damn you, Thomas. Damn you to hell.

At his simple utterance, tears fall out of my eyes again, and I shake as I say, in a voice that gets louder and louder, "I'm sick of missing my mom, and wishing I could call her. I'm sick of bouncing around from place to place, and I'm sick of feeling like I lose more than I gain, and I'm sick of being lonely and being so clumsy." 

I shiver in the frigid, fall air, muttering with a semblance of finality, "And I'm sick of it being so freaking cold here!"

Thomas stares at me, and I expect to see him shocked at my mini-rant. But then Thomas removes his arm from being around me, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders swiftly and placing it on my shoulders. I blink at him, and he stares at me with that same neutral expression. 

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments longer. The icy wind blows around us, and I feel guilty that I have Thomas's jacket. His shoulder and thigh are pressed against mine and I can feel his body heat radiate through me. I consider scooting away, but something in me stops me from doing it. I do have his jacket, after all. I could at least share a little body heat. 

Finally, Thomas looks over at me and asks, "You said you were lonely?"

I feel heat rise to my cheeks, "Oh, I mean...sometimes, but it's not that bad, really."

He shrugs, "I get it. You live by yourself  in a trailer. Not preferable circumstances. I get lonely sometimes too. If you ever wanted to...I don't know. Hang out. Just so you wouldn't get lonely..."