Need Me

Millie's mom died three years ago but she still goes to the hospital every now and again to visit the kids. It's not an every week kind of thing; she couldn't possibly bear to be in a hospital that frequently, but it was enough that the hospital clerks still remembered her face. Not that they could ever forget.  

She's halfway to her car, walking through the unusually chilly night air when she hears it. The unmistakable sounds of a half-scale mental breakdown. From the far end of the lot, she observes a man just under one of the street lamps.  

He is out of breath, his chest rising and falling under his thin cotton shirt and beating the absolute crap out of a trashcan. Millie is close enough to see that his cheeks are red from crying or anger or sadness or all of the above. But Millie doesn't care. Or at least that's what she's trying to convincer herself.  

The truth is, Millie doesn't want to care. What she wants is to get to bed and actually sleep for once in her life instead of being up all night practicing routine after routine or working her ass off at the diner. And the selfish side of her almost wins out when, suddenly, the man completely stops.  

There is no sound-no sobbing or banging of fists and feet against metal, because the man is sitting on the curb of the sidewalk with is his elbows rested on his knees and his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking with silent tears and in an instant she understands that this is the important part; the real breakdown in which a person retreads into their minds and over thinks everything and anything; the most dangerous part. 

Yanking a hand through her hair she looks to the black sky, curses at herself, and starts walking toward the man.  

She thinks to herself that this isn't her place. Who is she to go up to a random stranger and...and what? Make conversation with someone who obviously wants to be left alone? Absolutely not. But something inside of her told her to go over there. Not because she want to be a hero or play therapist, but because she knows.  

She knows.  

"Hey," Millie says when she finally gets close enough. Her hands are stuffed in the pockets of her warm leather jacket so he doesn't pick up on her nervous habit. When he looks up she's kind of surprised at how gorgeous this stranger is. Dark blue eyes, brown hair, pouty lips. She wasn't expecting him to be beautiful, but then again what was she expecting?  

"What do you want?" His voice is deep and scratchy. She doesn't know what to say next. And it's silent again.  

"Is there a reason you came over here?" the man snaps at her and now she really doesn't know what to do. Millie has never been very good at dealing with angry people; her mind goes blank and she can't form the correct words very quickly. All she can think is that now she's just made this poor man's night even worse and that is was a mistake to even have come by.  

"It's just.... I saw you freaking out and I got it into my head that I should go and ask if you were okay and if you wanted to talk. But I guess that's not the best idea cuz you look kinda mad. So I'll just..."  

Millie doesn't finish but instead turns around and heads back toward her car. But there's still this feeling in her chest like she should do something more. Before she can tell herself not to, she's finding a Post-It note in her bag, writing down her number and giving it to him.  

She tells him to call her any time, in case he ever wanted to talk and when he looks up at her, his eyes are saying please help me at the same time his mouth tells her to fuck off.  

And she's smart enough to know his means it.