A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Eight

"You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop."

            Like batting an eye, the week passed by. Before I knew it, it was already the twenty-third of December, and the night I was supposed to go to a movie with Brock. We continued to talk through text. I missed hearing his voice, seeing his face.

            I also felt grateful for the distance. As horrible as it sounded. It gave me the opportunity to clear my head, to focus on other things besides Brock's gray eyes. Or those scars that lived beneath the sleeves he used to keep them hidden. Being around him made it impossible to think straight. We fed off each other's negative energy, creating a vicious cycle of destruction.

            The truth of the matter was, I knew Brock wasn't good for me. He'd turned into my drug. The one thing that had the power to destroy me, but also the one thing that made me feel like maybe I wasn't as inhuman as I thought. He made me believe there were others out there that felt the way I did.

            "Are you sure this isn't a date? Because you look awfully nice." I turned to my mother, who raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear your hair like that."

            She had a point. I'd tried to dress up nicer than usual, thinking this may very well be the last time I ever hung out with Brock. It wasn't anything special, I still wore jeans and a sweater, but I'd put some effort in my makeup and hair.

            "Mom, Brock is my best friend. That's it." I finished patting down, well, attempting to pat down, the flyaway hairs and put on my glasses. "He won't even notice."

            "I remember when Zoe was your best friend. What ever happened between you two?" Mom took a seat on my bed, looking my outfit up and down. "Did you two get into a fight?"

            "No. We still talk, just not as much." I couldn't tell her about how I'd always felt left out before. Not without bringing light to the countless other issues I had swirling around my head that only I could see.

            My mother sighed. "Claire, honey, do you think hanging around Brock is a good idea? You seem...different. It's like he brings you sadness, not happiness."

            "You're wrong, Mom. Brock does make me happy." I turned to face her. "Do I look okay?"

            I could tell she wanted to say something. Every time I got myself in a situation she didn't see having a positive outcome, a certain look appeared in her eyes. She would then grow quiet. As if she knew I wouldn't listen, even if she ended up being right. Every single time.

            "You look beautiful, like always."

            "I think beautiful is pushing it, but thank you." I heard a horn blare outside and my nerves made a return. "He's here."

            Mom's frown slowly turned up into a smile, and she shook her head. "Sure doesn't seem like a date. Not at all."

            We went down the stairs together, the open blinds showing nothing but darkness, and in the middle of it all, Brock's car. He honked again. I grabbed my coat, giving my mom a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing my purse and running out into the cold. For late December, it was surprisingly warmer than I'd have expected.

            The blast of heat that hit me when the car door opened was a relief. I sighed, sliding in the passenger's seat. Brock had a giant grin on his face. The sight surprised me, the last time we'd seen each other in person having had a completely different vibe. Tonight, he seemed happier than I'd ever seen him. And it was so rare to see Brock happy.