A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Eleven

"None of your scars can make me love you less."

Life has a way of making you think everything will turn out okay, right before it shatters that hope into a million pieces.

Brock and I continued to kiss long after the fireworks died out and people began to empty from the city square. The night had grown quiet when we finally pulled away from each other, the distant lights from far below casting shadows across our faces. I couldn't stop smiling.

Until I saw the hesitation in his smile, the small flicker of that sadness in his eyes. The moment already started to fade away, replaced by the constant worry tugging in the back of my mind. Brock's depression was returning.

I could cry. Two weeks of happiness was all we'd had, the only slice of bliss that would be offered to us.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, fearing the elevators would stop, leaving us trapped atop the building.

Brock shook his head, dropping from the concrete slab and helping me down after. "It's nothing. I'm just tired, is all."

It would be wrong to call him a liar, even if that's what he was. The excuse of being tired had grown old after a week of knowing one another. No amount of reassurance would ever convince me he was just sleepy. That restless nights would result in the scars he bore on his arms. For all I knew, there were more scars on other parts of his body. Angry red lines etched into ivory skin. Scars that would take decades to fully fade, and even then, some would remain.

To think we could be happy had been foolish on my part. I'd been telling myself for months Brock wouldn't magically get better because of me. Yet, it had been nice to believe for even just one tiny moment that I could help vanquish the demons.

"Can you believe we have to go back to school in two days?" Brock wanted to change the subject. He didn't want me to interrogate him about the returning depression.

My head told me to let it go, but my heart said to find out what was wrong.

"Brock, you can talk to me. I'm not—"

He turned to face me. "Please, Claire, I'm not in the mood. Let's head back home, okay?"

Frustrated tears welled in my eyes.

Why couldn't he just tell me what was bothering him?

I knew it couldn't be easy to live with depression, to spend every day at war with yourself. But I also knew keeping all those emotions trapped inside couldn't be helpful. Sometimes, all a person needs is to know someone cares. That they aren't alone in the world. That people love them and will be there for them, no matter what.

I wanted to be that person for Brock. The one he knew he could go to if he was struggling, the person who would never leave him alone in his greatest times of need. He made that impossible. No one could ever get inside that head of his, figure out just what kind of battles he had to face in silence every single day.

"I'm here," I whispered, a cold wind sweeping past.

It ruffled my hair, chilled me to the bone. The wind picked up in speed, snow beginning to fall all around us. A storm was on its way. Snow gathered in small piles all over the roof, coating the ground with a thin layer of frozen water.

Brock reached out for me. "We should get going. It's not safe to be downtown so late at night."

Words refused to make it past my lips. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to tell him. None of the thoughts could form into proper sentences.