BLUE [BXB]

TWENTY ONE

   Wide eyed, Ethan stared at the weeping boy in front of him. The gears turned in his head as he tried to make sense of the words Vincent had just uttered.

   "What?" He hadn't meant for it to come out like that, so shocked and accusing, but it was too late. Vincent had heard it, and, now, his whole body rocked back and forth with violent sobs.

   Ethan, not knowing what else to do, held the trembling boy to his chest, smoothing a hand through his caramel locks. "Hey, baby, calm down. It's okay."
  
   He sank to the floor, clutching Vincent close until they were both sitting on the grass. He hugged him tightly, only loosening his embrace when Vincent's sob turned into sniffles. Vincent pulled away from Ethan far enough to reveal two bloodshot blues that popped even brighter with the red rims around them. Ethan found himself struggling to catch his breath, feeling like someone had punched him in the chest.

   "You don't have to tell me anything," he said, meaning it. Sure, his curiosity had been aroused, but he would have preferred to live in the shadows forever than to witness Vincent like this: so broken.

   Vincent inhaled deeply, "I want to."

   Ethan nodded, rubbing the boy's arm comfortingly. His heart broke into a million pieces as he could still feel warm tears soak through the fabric of his shirt. He had no idea what was going on, only that he was going to be there for Vincent, no matter what. He could hear the boy clear his throat, a futile attempt at holding himself together. "It was the summer after sophomore year," Vincent began, rubbing his face. "I'd just gotten my driver's license and I was so excited about it. You know, typical sixteen-year-old."

   He chucked humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I could obviously drive well enough to pass the test, but I still wasn't the best. The nerves always got the better of me and I was such a wimp that I sometimes got pulled over for driving too slow.

   "So, one night, Mom decided that she and Dad didn't want to waste all the money the spent on getting me a driving instructor. She offered—forced—me to go driving with her. She'd always been persistent, but she was also really patient. It was fine at first; she let me go at my own pace and only made comments when necessary."

   The boy stopped for a second, taking in a shaky breath and closing his eyes to ground himself. It was the first time he'd be going into detail about what happened to someone who wasn't his dad or a therapist.

   "Then we got on the freeway. She started telling me to go faster, and that's when my panic kicked in. I hit the gas all the way and ran into the car in front of us. The force of the hit, combined with the speed we were going at, had the car violently swerving. I tried—I swear I did—I tried, Ethan. But I—I couldn't. There was so much blood..."

   Ethan was appalled. His whole being ached for the boy who unwittingly blamed himself for a crime he had not committed. Ethan understood the logistics, though, how easy it would be for Vincent to think himself guilty. 

   "She died on impact," he recounted bitterly. "We hit the passenger side, and I had the fucking nerve to come out of it alive and with barely a few scratches. Nobody said anything, but I could see it in their eyes: the accusation. I don't blame them. I know it's my fault. I'm a murderer."

   Ethan clicked his tongue disapprovingly, gathering Vincent's face in his arms. Tears rolled down his fingers as he cupped the reddened cheeks. "I know this isn't going to change anything for you, but for what it's worth, I don't think it was your fault. Your dad doesn't, either. Pretty sure no sane person thinks it was. You were sixteen and it was an accident," his tone was stern but his eyes held a foreign gentleness. Vincent, though not at all convinced, found himself nodding.