Smoke

30: Helping

My mind was looping.

I was trying to not be negative, trying to appreciate that he came over here to help, that the class was supposed to help, too. He was trying to help me out, to be a good friend. But what if all he wanted was to be a helper, was to fix all of the problems in his life? Was I just his friend because--

"Oliver?" I asked quietly, my voice feeling weak, light. I could feel the smoke in my stomach, could smell the burn of it.

"Yeah?" He asked back.

"Why are you here, helping me?" I asked. Maybe this is why I had no friends, why my old ones abandoned me. I just couldn't accept that they were here, in my life. I just had to care about why he was in mine.

"You wanted me to." He said, his voice a question.

"Yeah, but," I closed my mouth, preventing the smoke from escaping, and in order to think. "Do you really care about--" I breathed, my mind jumbling. "Why are you my friend?" I asked him, my voice weak. I knew I shouldn't ask, knew I should just accept and like that he's here and helping me and being with me.

"I don't know, why are you my friend?" He asked, cracking a smile. I glanced at him, not taking it. He glanced at me, away. "I think you're taking the analyzing process wrong. It's supposed to help you. Like, because I started being more helpful towards people, I felt nicer, I got new friends. I got you." He smiled at me. I felt slightly comforted by that.

"Were you trying to help me with something?" I asked.

"You didn't have any friends." He said. "I wanted to be your friend. I knew what it felt like..." he trailed off. We were silent for a moment.

I felt badly that I had been thinking badly of him, if even for a second. Oliver wasn't selfish, he was just following his work and trying to help.
But Oliver opened his mouth again, looking away from me.