The Property Of: Neena Eellante | ✓ |

26. Sincerely, I think I made a friend

I found out that Daisy, the counsellor, had resigned on the Friday and I would never know why. Her existence itself would fade from my mind eventually, I wonder if I would from hers.

His name is Henry, he never said his last name. Daisy's stuff was gone and the office felt naked without her 'believe' cat posters.

Henry had sat me down, he didn't grab anything to write with but rather sat across from me, an expecting look on his face.

"Your parents asked me to help you," He somewhat coughed in amusement, "To discuss you in their divorce."

"You find my life amusing?"
Age creased his skin, his hair thick and grey — he looked old and used. I could feel my brows creasing, did I look old and used too?

"Don't see why I would." I noticed the way he traced my face searching for emotion, "I find your parents plain and utter blindness to their own daughter, dumbfounding." 

I had fallen back into my chair at the site of him. He made me feel tired. He made me feel like I should be sober; as if something or someone needed me to be. He brought out a guilt in me I didn't want — just with that hard exposing gaze.

I loathed his presence.

Deliberately looking bored, a hand over my mouth in a conscious effort to hide the smell of gin on my tongue. "And you think I need help?"

"Everyone needs someone."
Regretfully my mind had flicked to Soren.

I had rolled my eyes, taking the opportunity of his deep sigh to scan the person in front of me. Scars covered his hands, a patch of his beard was non-existent and his nose held a crook of once broken bone.

"What? And you're my someone?" I had mocked. I didn't need him, I had lots of someone's — lots of no ones.

"No." Henry had stood up abruptly before asking, "Do your parents know you drink excessively?"

"That's a weak threat."
Eyes fixated on the clock on the wall.

"Why's that?"
Henry's voice held no emotion, eyes dull but calm.

Challenging the man, I had stood up slowly, "because it's not true."

"Do you want to know a story, Neena?" Henry's voice was calming or maybe it was the gin I had jugged before entering finally sinking in.

Falling back into the chair,
"If I don't have to talk."

"There was a man who was walking along a ten kilometres beach. A storm had washed up hundreds of starfish onto the sand." He pulled a lighter from his pocket, "A little boy walking along the beach, home, watched the man. The man picked up a starfish every few feet and threw it into the water."

Henry paused and watched me momentarily,

"The little boy asked, 'Why do you bother? There's so many. It won't make a difference.' The man replied as he threw a starfish into the ocean, 'It made a difference to that one.'"

The muscles in my face relaxed as interest sparked, my neck stiffened as my lips slackened. Henry and I held a gaze that wasn't comforting nor challenging.

Just an acceptance of respect for one another.

Sincerely,
I think I made a friend