The Fragile the Broken and the Brave

5. Bonding

7.20.20

I'd like to say I didn't get lost, but... What floor am I on again? Everything looks the same, but I think I've passed that same vase 7 times. When I looked at the clock, I saw that it was 7:30 already, and my stomach growled loudly. You know, maybe I want to be alone. People probably don't want me, the orphaned boy with only one connection, to be hanging around them. I soon found myself right back at my bedroom, and I opened the door. I closed it behind me and locked it tightly before sliding a piece of furniture in front of it to keep everyone out.

My defenses were tearing themselves down, and I was exposed to the ugly truth beneath my skin. The thing is, my emotions also got in, but I couldn't... I couldn't be weak, they wouldn't want to me falter. However, I really, really want to be able to let myself be sad. Stupid emotions, stupid car crashes, and painfully stupid me! Before I could register my actions, my foot slammed into the wall. The sensation of power if brought made me feel in control of something, and I did it again.

It only took a few kicks for me to lose myself to the emotions rolling through my mind, and it felt like I blacked out temporarily. When I came back to the front of my mind, I was sitting on the carpet in the center of my room. There was matress fluff caught in my blonde hair, shattered wood and glass scattered around me, and a gaping hole in my chest. A quiet knock sounded on the door, yet I ignored it. I don't want pity right now; I should have died instead. Little Sammy didn't deserve to be laying there on his death bed at 7 years old.

The door opened slowly with an unmistakable squeal of the old hinges, and I heard a loud gasp. There were audible footsteps crunching on the ruins of my room, and someone crouched down next to me. "It's okay to hurt, Benji." I jumped at the voice, and I realized it was that short man from earlier. His eyes also had a reminiscent hue of sadness, and I somehow knew he wasn't pitying me. He was here not to tell me how bad he felt, but to share his experiences. Not sympathy... Empathy. Making me feel like my response is okay.

"When I was your age, my life was a bit... Well crazy is an understatement. I was trying to cope with unplanned pregnancy, my partner wasn't a very kind man... When I finally had my children and brought them home, I was ready to give that man a second chance. That day... I found him dead in a pile of his own blood. He died alone, without anyone knowing his plans. He was crashing, and I ignored the signs. That wasn't the worst thing though."

I leaned on him slightly searching for comfort, and he just let it happen. "In his note, it said one thing that made my stomach swirl. He was my soulmate."

"What do you mean soulmate?"

"Oh, you don't know?"

"No?"

"Unimportant, then. Anyways, I never got to feel that relationship with someone ever again, and I was left to raise twins on my own. They're beautiful people now, and I couldn't imagine my life without them. I can't help but think, though. What would have happened if their dad was still alive? That's my story, do you mind sharing yours?"

"It was so, so sudden. One second I was going into school thinking we would go get ice cream later, and the next I was being drove to the hospital to say my final goodbyes. My dad always told me to stay strong, but I don't want to anymore. I need to let it out, and I guess the room took that anger. How am I supposed to explain this?"

"Don't worry, Dev will understand. When I was still grieving, I broke Connor's crib on accident. I'm glad that he wasn't in it; Dev wouldn't have forgiven me if he was. I then got mad at myself for getting mad, and I punched a window. P.S. don't punch windows, I still have scars." I looked at the man's extended fist, and there were scars crisscrossing the knuckles. It looked really cool, but the story was dark.

"What kind of an idiot punches a window," I joked with a heavy heart, and the man's lips curled into a smile. I've always done this; blocked out problems with jokes. I guess it was nice to talk about my feelings with this random stranger, though. At least he wasn't judging me.

"This kind of an idiot. An to be fair your fist is bleeding too."

"Oh, you're right!" I looked down at the red dripping from the knuckles, and I was kind of fastinated with the drips as they fell from my hand. "It was the mirror."

"I can tell. Now you're going to have bad luck."

"Don't think it can get much worse."

"Hey, idiot, I told you to find the boy, not have a bedroom pa- what happened in here?" Papa looked around at the shambles of my room, and his eyes finally connected with my bloody fists. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

I followed him out of the room, and my eyes turned back to look at the man on the floor. His eyes had a ghost of the past in them, and I realized that he had never really let it go. Poor man.

"Sorry about him, Jack can be a bit... Intense sometimes."

"I didn't mind. It was nice to see someone talk to me like I was actually a person and not some piece of glass poised to shatter."

"Oh, so you two are similar in that sense. Honestly, there are a lot of similarities between you both... Whatever. Sit down on the bench." I sat down, and he soon returned with bandages and alcohol. "This may hurt just a bit." He dumped a bit of the alcohol onto a cloth, and he smiled a bit before pressing it against my knuckles. I gasped quietly at the sensation before squeezing my eyes shut, but it had to get clean before it ended up infected. He lifted up my hand and carefully looked for glass, and he seemed to be satisfied with the lack of particles. I got confused when he rubbed a lotion like substance on my hand, but he wrapped the knuckles carefully with a bandage before I could ask.

I flexed my hand gently, and I found that the pain had decreased slightly. "Thank you, sir."

"Please, call me papa. I used to call my adoptive dad by his first name and it drove him off of the walls. I can see why, now."

I got off of the bench, and I smiled at him. "I should get to bed."

"I have an air mattress I can set up in Conner's room."

"Thank you for being so patient."

"It's my pleasure."

"What are you, a Chick-fil-A worker?"

"Probably, or I'm just old."

"Definitely the last one."

"Hey!"