Pieces

14. Young, Brave and Selfless

There was a soft knock on the door, jerking me awake. I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes, and looked at the clock. It was five. 

"Hey, you okay?" Antonio's head popped out of the door. His hair was all messy, a soft crease on his forehead and there were dark circles under his eyes. He reminded me of the way dad looked every morning after he'd just woken up. Half-asleep, but determined to stay awake. 

I smiled and nodded lightly. Then I got up on my elbows, as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. 

"Look, I-"

"When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" I blurted out. I knew what he was about to say. But I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to talk about it. 

He'd been patient. He'd given me my space and we hadn't talked all the way home, after which I'd resorted to my room and he'd let me. As much as I was grateful for that, I still wasn't ready to talk about her. I knew I was overthinking things and it was something I shouldn't even care about. And yet I couldn't help but hurt. 

He sighed, clearly disappointed, but he let it go anyway. "I don't know..." He said, running a hand through his hair, never meeting my eyes. 

I didn't know what to say, so I just kept staring at him. The silence must have been awkward and uncomfortable for him, but to me it was just pure bliss. I was aware that we were alone here. And for the first time, when I looked at him, I wasn't seeing him as someone I'd met through a friend. Or someone who shared the same loss as me. Instead, I saw Antonio, as in who he was. The boy from the picture. Though he'd lost a large part of him, changed a lot, but there were certain actions, small habits that went unnoticed until you looked closely, that I bet were there even before Marc. 

Like the way he ran his hand through his hair whenever he felt nervous. The way his eyes twinkled when he smiled. The way he walked, the way he laughed, the way his eyebrows joined together and his eyes turned black whenever he was mad... 

"When was the last time you sang?"

"What?"

"I saw the guitar..."

Silence.

"I... Does it matter?" He said, finally, looking up at me, a pained look on his face.

"It does." I said, honestly.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Because it's who you are." 

"You don't know me." He said, sternly, then his expression paled, his eyes pleading, "Wait, shit-I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"No you're right. I don't. And I'd like to." I was surprised by the words coming out of my mouth. 

He just stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to figure me out. Eventually, he gave up and then shrugged. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" I asked him, out of pure curiosity. 

"I..." He said, then sighed. "Not now. Maybe someday. I'm just not ready yet."

I reached over and squeezed his hand, gently. "It's okay. It's just... I'd like to hear you sing." I said, quietly, looking down at our hands. 

"Come with me." He said, entwining his fingers with mine. 

I looked up at him, wondering whether he realized what he was doing. But he was. He was staring at our hands. I didn't shake away. "Where?" I asked. 

"Just..." He looked up at me, then back at our hands again. "Just, come with me." He said, as he stood up, still making no attempt to leave my hand.