A Million Shattered Pieces

Chapter Nineteen

"The strongest people are not those who show strength in front of the world but those who fight and win battles that others do not know about."

For four hours, Brock and I stayed at the point overlooking the city. He told me the stories about his childhood, before the depression came, and I told him about the adventures of Zoe and Claire when we were younger. Between kisses, we told each other all our secrets. I opened myself up to him in a way that I never had with anyone else before me.

Sometime after the first hour, time ceased to exist. Three hours into our discussion, and we left it all behind in favor of time spent without words. We cuddled for a long time. The only sound that of our combined breaths. I had never felt more at peace, able to leave the voices behind for one brief moment. I knew the doubts would come back the second we left this small paradise, but I didn't care.

"I think I might go to a therapist just to make my mom happy." I said the words while we sat in the back seat, staring off through the trees to the skyline ahead.

Brock pulled away enough to look down at me. "If that's what you want to do. No one will force you. You're allowed to say no."

Biting my lip, I tilted my head backward to meet his eyes. "I know. It's just—well, I've thought about it, and maybe there will be a way they can help. I'm not exactly happy about it, but it might be worth it to check it out."

"It's always scary the first time. When they made me go at twelve, I sat there for the entire hour without saying a word."

"Is it anything like the movies?"

He laughed, tugging me closer to his side. "A bit. It's basically a problem-solving session. You discuss what's going on in your life, and they listen. Then, they give suggestions, or they might ask you what you think is causing those thoughts. I've had to create goals, and try to achieve them. It might be different for you, though. Just know you have no reason to be afraid."

"I'm still scared."

"Claire." Brock met my eyes again, concern in his own. "You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. I can't help you the way a professional can. If you think you have a serious problem, it's best to seek help. Never be ashamed about the thoughts in your head."

I sighed, lacing my fingers with his. "It's just hard. I have to constantly live with these voices in my head, telling me things that I know aren't true, yet I listen to them. I live every day of my life in fear that everyone's judging me. And, when it's not worry over others, the thoughts refuse to leave my head. I sit around all the time over-analyzing everything."

"You once told me that the scars on both my body and soul could never make you less me less. The same goes for you." He turned so that were now faced each other. "I don't care about the thoughts that haunt you all the time, they don't define you. Your mental illness is not you. It's a part of you. It always will be. And I accept that. I accept every single part of you, the good and the bad." Brock took my face in his hands, tilting my chin up. "You don't have to be perfect. I don't want a perfect person, I want a real person. Someone I can share my hopes and dreams with. Someone who can look at me, see all this darkness, and still choose to stay."

"I feel the same about you," I said, the tears beginning to stream down my face.

Brock's lips curved up in a smile, and he leaned forward to brush his lips against mine.

After a few minutes, we pulled away, the silence of the car deafening. Not too long after we got in, the music had been turned off. The tales of our childhood took over. I found myself wishing I could returned to those days, when the biggest worry in the world was getting home in time from school to watch the afternoon kid's shows.