Benevolence

Chapter 13: Tremble

By now, everyone and everything is gathered around us. Passing cars slow just to get a glimpse of the "hold up" at the side of the road, their engines mumbling possible causes, but none of them right. And pedestrians continuously push through each other, desperate to witness the cowering girl on the pavement, with her bloodied palms and trembling lips...her blank stare and soaked hair.

It's the blaring wails of police sirens, and the blinding reflection of ambulance lights against water puddles, that get me to my feet; the haunting echoes of falsely incoming renaissance trapping me in its surprisingly colorless trance.

That same ambulance rushed to save me months ago, with the same level of urgency it does now. But why rush to something, or rather someone, when their pieces simply aren't meant to be mended? Why fabricate all that is missing with amnesia and bandages that will soon fade away? Why usher me false hope knowing you aren't capable of saving all of me?

Why...

Why didn't they teach me how to live brokenly, instead of wheeling me out of those hospital doors with no reminder of all there is to live for?

So many unanswered questions, well knowing that Death holds all the answers. Just as it holds our reasoning and our courage, our love and our light— simply to leave us with cloudy skies and raging pitiful rain that does nothing but drench us in guilt and shame... only when met with the harsh truth.

Not all lives are meant to be saved. Some are better left taken.

Sure, those that hide behind those two white doors of unpredictability will manage to heal me externally. But those same wounds sealed shut, those same scars that ache every time it's brushed against, remembers its trials and tribulations better than I ever can, and thus continues to remind me of all that I've lost, and all that I'll never get back.

I wrap my arms around myself protectively, harsh white clouds escaping my mouth as I try not to focus on the sharp pain in my side. Bryan was able to push us both out of the way, in hopes of preventing fresh wounds, but by doing that he'd only reopened the old. Or rather, I'd done that myself, by anchoring us both in trepidation.

I hold myself until the police comes to drag Pharoah away for questioning. And I continue to stand still as two more, one brunette and the other dirty blonde, daringly approaches me and the limping boy at my side.

I tell them everything, from the nonsense arguing, to my stupid mistake, and lastly of Bryan's act of heroism. Both officers listen intently. However, as one jotts down notes on his notepad, the other just observes with both hands on the front of his duty belt. A look of indifference almost bleeds through that of all the blue he wears, but I can't blame him. They're probably used to hearing these sorts of things all the time; it's just that one plays along with repetition better than the other. Just as I play the charmer to the snake, and Bryan the realist to the pain of being bitten.

He hasn't said a word since he rolled off of me, expressing all of what I refuse to show. And it's his eyes that do all the scrounging... scrounging for answers that aren't so easily given. They're wondering off aimlessly into the crowd, most likely reminiscent of what just occurred, and I can't help but worry that...that he'd end up just like me: Lost and running dry on reasons to give.

I act as if I don't notice his unusual quietness, but it speaks louder than the people and their unashamed lurking. And his aura, though stormy and grey, shows brighter than those stupid fucking flashing sirens.