Down to the Riptide

| T H R E E |

 
"Trying hard to speak and, Fighting with my weak hand, driven to distraction, so part of the plan,
     When something is broken, and you try to fix it, trying to repair it, any way you can.
      I'm diving off the deep end, you become my best friend,
      I wanna love you, but I don't know if I can,
     I know something is broken, and I trying to fix it, trying to repair it, any way I can."
                         -X and Y, Coldplay.

     His heart was squeezing as he watched her make hot cocoa. His mother used to do that for him when he was little. That was before Sarah lost Jacob, and when she met Greg.

     She finished, and brought him a large, steamy mug of hot cocoa. She smiled, and although her eyes crinkled, they remained dull and lifeless.

     "Thank you."

     "It's my pleasure."

Silence ensued.

     "David?"

He turned his head towards her, "Yes?"

    "Why don't you want to go home."

Her question was simple, although a hint of worry edged her voice, she was worried about him. And she was genuine. It seemed as though her heart, wasn't dead. It surprised her how much she felt for the boy who sat next to her on the couch.

    Was it the scars and cuts on his wrists? Or the broken look in his eyes? Or maybe the fact that his blue eyes held so much pain and sadness? No. It was because he reminded her of herself. His eyes lacked innocence. He had seen, and felt, and experienced things, that he shouldn't have.

     And she hated that.

   Her innocence had been stolen, along with her virginity, and naïveté to the world. She had seen and experienced the world. That was where she lived, and where she made her living.

     He could see the pain in her eyes. The distant look she had on her face, was heart wrenching. And the worst part of it was; he understood. He knew that kind of pain. And he felt an uncanny connection between them. An understanding, that they both felt as the looked into each other's eyes.

     It scared him.

   He was t e r r i f i e d. Because he had been hurt so many times before. The scars on his wrist were reminders of that. It was his fault, his fault that Jacob left. His fault that Greg beat him. His fault that Sarah drank. And he was scared that he would be hurt, and she would be hurt. And that it would be his fault.

     He wanted to trust her.

But he couldn't.

    So he didn't answer her question.

He drank his cocoa. And remained silent.

     She didn't ask any more questions, and together they thought. Alone they felt pain. And s i l e n c e  remained.