A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Five

"Hearts are wild creatures, that's why our ribs are cages."

It took three hours of being at home before my parents arrived from work. Mom smiled at Brock, but vanished upstairs almost immediately. My father was the same. Less than an hour later, they left to go out on a date. They told me they wouldn't be back until past midnight.

I noticed that Brock put the act back on the entire time my parents were in the house. The second they left, he relaxed. The smile fell, and he slumped back on the couch, staring at the television.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" I asked, scared to turn toward him.

Brock shrugged, eyes never leaving the screen. "We can cook something. I'm not really hungry."

In less than ten minutes, all his pretend happiness had faded away. I didn't understand it. During the school assembly about mental illness, the speaker had mentioned that depression wasn't black and white. The person suffering wasn't sad. It was an inexplicable emotion that they felt. Never having been there myself, I couldn't relate. And that's why I knew Brock didn't want to talk to me about it. He had demons in his head, a war raging on inside of him, and a girl like me knew nothing about that. I could sympathize with him, but it wasn't the same thing.

"I'm sure we have some macaroni and cheese, or something." I gathered up the courage to face him.

He ignored my watchful stare. "That'll do, I guess."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk? Brock, you're starting to scare me."

Finally, he turned to me, tugging his sleeves down by force of habit. "I have someone to talk to, you know. A psychologist."

"That's not the same thing as talking about it to someone who knows and cares for you," I said, wringing my hands.

Brock took a deep breath, tilting his head back toward the ceiling. "Want to start making the food now? We can do the cake at around eight, three hours from now?"

Changing the subject was something he excelled at. Whenever I tried to get even the slightest reaction from him, Brock would shut me out. It made me question why he'd ever told me in the first place about his illness.

I wanted to help him, I really did. But I didn't know how. Hours were spent thinking of a way to let him know I was here, that I would do anything to take away his pain. An answer never presented itself.

"When do you want to watch that comedy?" I stood from the couch, making my way to the kitchen.

The sound of Brock's following footsteps groaned throughout the house. "After the cake. We can watch something else until then. By the way, what time can I stay until?"

I turned back to him. "Until you want to leave. My parents know we're just friends, they aren't exactly concerned we'll do anything while they're gone."

"Sounds like your parents are too trusting."

A snort escaped before I could stop it. Cheeks flaming, I knelt to find a package of macaroni and cheese in the lower cupboard. "I've never been in a relationship, they know there's no reason to be worried."

"Yeah, I'm the same way." The ghost of a smile appeared when I stopped to look up at him. "Huge surprise, right? Who could ever resist this hunk?"