A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Nine

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are sealed with scars."

Christmas. 'The most wonderful time of the year.' And, for the first time in years, it was. It didn't matter what presents might be under our small tree, not when I knew I would be going on an actual date with Brock in six days.

We'd been spending the past two days dancing around the subject of our feelings, too scared to mention them. Once more, we reverted to the old ways of talking about books. I never took much care to pay attention. All I could think about was the end of our failed 'date'. The way Brock had leaned in, looking for all the world like he wanted to kiss me. The idea both dazzled and terrified me.

On Christmas morning, I opened my gifts for my parents and stuck around a total of forty minutes before throwing on a coat and running across the street to Brock's place, still in my pajamas. Mrs. Ruskin had wide eyes when she opened the door.

"Claire, hi. It's eight in the morning on a weekend, what are you doing here?" She had the same eyes as Brock. Beautiful, but sad.

I considered giving her a hug, but in the end, stayed frozen to the spot. "Hello, Mrs. Ruskin. Merry Christmas! Is Brock awake?"

"I'm not sure." She glanced backward, to the stairs. "I think he might be—"

"Yes, Mom, I am awake." Brock's head appeared at the top. When he saw me standing in the doorway, he grinned. "What are you doing over here so early? And are you wearing your pajamas?"

Mrs. Ruskin moved to the side, placing a hand on my back as she guided me into the house. She shut the door behind me, hugging her arms around herself to protect against the cold.

I watched as Brock descended the stairs, still wearing his own pajamas. As would be expected, his arms were covered by sleeves extending down to his fingers.

"It felt appropriate to rush over here in my pj's to say Merry Christmas to my best friend."

Brock smiled, shaking his head as a laugh tumbled from his lips. "Well, thank you for being so considerate."

"Brochan, are you going to offer to take her coat?" Mrs. Ruskin stood in a corner of the foyer, looking like she wanted to go back to sleep.

"Yeah, of course." Brock turned back to look at me, extending an arm. "Can I take your coat? Hang it up, perhaps?"

I tried not to snort, shrugging the heavy fabric off my shoulders and handing it to him. The smile seemed a bit strained today. I prayed his depression wasn't returning already. Not after just two days of living without it being a constant burden.

Brock's mother gave me a slight smile before heading to the stairs, disappearing up them without acknowledging her son at all. There were times, such as this, when I started to wonder just how deep mental illness ran in the family. Though Brock had never mentioned it, part of me knew his mother must be suffering her own silent battle.

Whether that be the knowledge she had a depressed and suicidal son, or something more, I did not know.

"Merry Christmas," I said, standing right beside the door, still in my boots.

Brock smirked. "Take off your shoes. Stay a while."

The second I stepped out of my boots, and farther in the house, he wrapped me in a hug. I tensed a moment before relaxing. Physical contact had always made me uncomfortable, even if I was close to the person. I hated people invading my personal space. It didn't matter if they meant no harm or ill-doing.