A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Four

"You wake every morning to fight the same demons that left you so tired the night before, and that, my love, is bravery."

            Caring about someone with any form of illness isn't easy. That became painfully clear to me when I realized the truth of Brock's situation. He tried the entire time to hide the scars, the wounds that he inflicted upon himself. I wasn't sure if I felt angry or upset. Love would be a strong word to describe how I felt about him, but there could be no other way to explain the feelings I hid deep inside.

            Feelings never treated me well. I loved Brock. Not in a romantic way. As a person. Maybe I felt romantic attraction toward him, but my love for him as a human trumped any other emotion. The edge of a scar peeked through his sleeve, and I tried to swallow the lump rising in my throat. Lies. I knew something had been bothering him.

            "I was thinking we could brainstorm ideas about what to watch tonight," Brock said, taking his eyes off the road a moment.

            A forced smile tugged at the corners of my lips, becoming painful after a moment. "Yeah. That sounds great."

            He watched me, looking back to the road only when it became necessary. We had a terrible habit of keeping secrets from each other. I hid the truth of my ever increasing nerves, and he hid the wounds he still gave himself. Deny as he may, the scars peeking out the sleeves of his shirts told me otherwise. The thought made me sick. I tried time and again to understand how someone could harm themselves, but I just couldn't. It made no sense to me. To hate yourself so much you could destroy yourself on both the inside and out.

            Brock hit a red light and we sat in silence. I felt angry. Betrayed. He told me every day that he felt fine, happy even. But I was beginning to realize that it was all a lie. No amount of friendship, or love, could fix that. Two months of knowing him told me that much. I hated to know this and not be able to help him.

            He was a comet crashing to the ground. Time would mean nothing when he hit the ground in a blazing fire. Thinking of the inevitable day sent ice coursing through my veins. I loved a ticking bomb, and when he exploded; I would be incinerated.

            "Why do you seem so unhappy? It's your birthday! You should be happy." He squeezed my knee. "Cheer up, Claire. No need to be so down today."

            I turned to watch him. My heart gave a great lurch at the sight. Most girls wouldn't give him a second look. While it may be true that he was no model, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He became more beautiful with every passing day. Not for the way he appeared, but for the way he treated me. I never felt unwanted around him.

            The light turned green and we sped off. Brock's hand remained on my leg, helping a bit in warming my frozen body. Snowflakes fell on the windshield, sparkling in the morning sun. I'd made sure to get my parents out of the house for the night so that we could be as loud as we wanted without their complaints. Though, now I felt like the night might not go as planned. I wanted to confront him about what was really going on, even if he ended up not speaking to me for days afterward.

            "Why don't we check out the bookstore? I'll buy you whatever you want." His voice brought me out of a haze.

            I frowned. "You will do no such thing. I already got my present from you."

            He laughed, giving my knee another light squeeze. "I have way more money than I can spend. It's not a problem."

            Having people buy me stuff had never been of much appeal to me. I preferred to pay for myself, instead of accepting gifts all the time. Something about it just felt wrong. And he spent an absurd amount of money on me.