The Arrival | The House of Voices #3

Seven - Never

Never

 

Darren:

The touch hadn’t been a friendly one; it hadn’t been platonic.

From the pained look on her face, it was clear that October knew that – had felt it. And, on some level, Darren knew it too. But a larger, louder voice in his head insisted that he’d meant it in a purely comforting manner. Just someone showing concern for a friend.

But that wasn’t it, was it? When he’d reached out to hold October’s hand, Darren hadn’t been offering comfort, he’d been searching for something. He didn’t know what. Maybe a sign that she felt the same way on some level, he supposed.

When her eyes had softened and she’d given him a small smile, he’s assumed that she did – that she thought of him more than just her previous therapist and sort-of friend. But then her eyes had suddenly gotten distant and distracted, as if she was only with him in body but nothing else. Not in heart or mind. And that’s when Darren knew that he’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she told him pulling her hand from his and shaking her head slowly. She blinked rapidly, causing the tears that had brimmed her eyes earlier to spill onto her cheeks, “but I can’t.”

In the second that followed, Darren felt his emotions swirl around inside him. He was shocked, at first, at how she had just yanked her hand away. It wasn’t characteristic of her; it wasn’t something the mild-tempered, fair-minded October would do. If she had slowly taken her hand out of his and mumbled and apology, he wouldn’t have been so surprised. But this? He didn’t know what to make of it.

Was she that repulsed by him? So averted to the thought of even touching him…? No. They’d touched before. Brief gestures without any or much emotional connection linked with them. And she’d been okay with those. So was her reaction just because she’d felt that he’d touched her in more than a friendly manner?

And then Darren remembered that October had never treated Parish this way. In fact, she’d been the one initiating most of the physical contact between them the last time he’d seen the two of them together.

She had smiled and laughed while she’d playfully poked Parish in the arm and casually rested her hand on his shoulder. She’d given him reassuring and comforting squeezes and had even drawn her chair close enough to the boy that their legs had touched.

Was that it, then? October had no interest in him, was repulsed by him, because she had eyes for Parish?

“It’s Parish, isn’t it?” He asked her, ignoring her apologies.

“What?” Her expression was one of confusion. But Darren had seen the slight flash in her eyes when he’d said Parish’s name. The way her pupils had dilated for a fraction of a second before her eyebrows had knitted together in a confused frown.

The soft voice in his head argued that he was being unfair. That he’d known all along that the two were getting close; that he’d done something she was uncomfortable with and should be more understanding. But in that moment couldn’t help but be consumed by how unfair it was to be rejected in favor of the dangerous, emotionally unstable boy.

“I don’t get it, October. How can you have such a hard time trusting me, but have no issues whatsoever with Parish? You don’t even let me touch you for more than a brief second, but you can’t stop touching him whenever you play the boyfriend-girlfriend card?”

“I—”

“He’s emotionally and mentally unstable, is prone to fits of uncontrollable anger, has lashed out at you during his episodes, is physically and verbally violent during these attacks, and yet he’s the one you’re more comfortable with? He’s the one you trust?”