A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Three

"Everyone wants to be the sun to lighten up someone's life, but why not be the moon, to brighten in the darkest hour?"

            For weeks, Brock and I began to get close to each other. It started out with us talking whenever we had class together, and spending time together during our spare period. He was funny, and intelligent, and kind. Every possible positive quality you could ever have in a person. Except, he wasn't happy. I became more aware of it with every passing day. At first, it didn't seem like much of a problem. But the sadness in his eyes continued to grow, manifesting itself into a bigger problem with each week.

            He assured me he felt fine. Told me that the world had become brighter the moment I walked into his life. Even though, if we were to become technical, it was him who walked into my life. Quite literally. I couldn't describe what I felt inside. Pity, or genuine curiosity. A genuine want to get to know him. I told myself it was the latter. That we were meant to be, if only just as friends.

            September finished, as did October. Leaving us in November, where the last hints of autumn faded away into an early winter. Snowflakes danced to the ground, thousands of tiny white dots against the gloomy sky. I pulled my coat tighter around me as I walked toward Brock's car, waiting in the dim morning. Things had been getting worse for him, I could tell. Yet, he denied what I could see was the truth.

            "You don't have to pretend," I said.

            He faked a smile, rubbing my hair in an affectionate way. "Oh, Claire. You worry too much about me. I told you, things have been a lot better. I'm fine, I swear."

            A large part of me felt guilty for being so invested in his well-being, while hiding the way I was feeling from him. The way my day brightened up the second I saw his face, or how it was always him that I would fantasize about in class. But he was broken. And so was I. Two broken pieces did not make a whole, no matter what people believe. Especially not if they are two different cuts. Where Brock was interesting, a beautiful masterpiece, I was dull. An amateur painting at best.

            Zoe gave me an ultimatum after two weeks. Brock, or her. I chose Brock. Zoe and company sneered in my face. They claimed hanging out with the loner weirdo would make it all the worse for myself. They didn't know the truth. That I was his moral support. Trying to be the lone light in a world full of darkness.

            For a few days, I found myself thinking about him more. So much that even when we were right beside each other, I wanted more. To not just be the new best friend. I broke every single rule in my mental notebook. Never get too close to anyone; too late. Don't befriend a person suffering major depression; a no-go. I was developing a crush. There were no doubts about it.

            "Your birthday is coming up soon, right?" Brock turned to look at me when we hit a red light.

            The mask he wore had cracks in it. I saw more of him slipping away every day. Whether it be the frown he thought I didn't see, or the unconscious tracing of old wounds. Long since healed.

            I didn't trust my voice to remain steady, so I nodded in response.

            "What do you want to do for it? Seventeen is a pretty big deal."

            We both knew that was a complete and utter lie, but neither said a word. I'd been planning on staying at home, watching a cheesy romantic-comedy while eating a tub of ice cream. I told him that, earning a chuckle in response.

            "I'll join in."

            Thinking of spending a night so close together in proximity made my heart beat faster. In the past month, I'd become more aware of Brock's appearance. While it was true that he was no major hunk, he was cute. Maybe even leaning toward being beautiful. Not hot, but attractive in a way that went beyond physical appearance.