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The van came to a stop sign.
As I stared down at my lap, Jakes hand came to rest on my knee. "Wanna talk about it?"
A long minute passed. A horn honked from behind us and Jake sighed, slowly taking off and pulling over into the first parking lot he came across. Putting the van into park, he shut off the engine and set his hand back on my leg.
An inch above my knee.
My mind said to move, move, move away, but I could swear that the constant hollow in my chest shrank a little. Not much, but enough for me to notice. So I didn't move.
"I've been told I'm a good listener."
I set my elbow up on the windowsill. As I began to run my hand through my hair, to pull the long black strands off my sweaty neck, Jake grabbed my forearm and jerked it towards him.
"You're bleeding. What happened?"
His question and the shocking amount of blood that had dribbled from my elbow onto the side of my shirt caught me off guard. Too surprised to think up a lie, I set my lips together.
Jake cursed; smacking his hand against the glove compartment mounted in the dashboard. The small door fell open. He kept one hand firmly locked around my elbow as he reached for a plastic baggy inside the glove box. He mumbled some curses while I watched him pull out a package of tissue and clean the crusting mess from my arm. Then he squeezed a thin line of greasy ointment over the small, but deceptively deep cut I'd given myself, and then sealed it with a bandage.
"What the hell are you doing to yourself?" He shoved the plastic baggy full of first-aid supplies back into the glove compartment and slammed it shut.
He was pissing me off. Who the hell did he think he was, getting all self-righteous on me? I didn't ask for the damn ride or the pity.
I was about to tell him where to shove his indignation when he closed his eyes and opened them again, suddenly holding a different expression. He didn't look mad. He looked soft. Like he was anything but angry. His forehead was crumpled, his eyebrows knit together. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth.
The expression made me feel naked. I took my bandaged arm from him and covered myself.
"Why?" He set his palm against my cheek and stared.
The raw emotion that seemed to surface with that one word made me want to apologize. But I didn't. "Because I need to feel better."
He closed his eyes again, his features relaying the feeling hidden beneath his lids. He was hurt. "What I mean is, why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends who talked about this shit."
"We are . . . friends." The word felt weird coming from me. I didn't care to have friends. One reason being they were always asking questions. "But I won't talk about it."
My voice carried off when he leaned closer and took my bandaged arm in both of his hands. "Friends don't judge. They listen . . . and maybe make fun of you later on." Jake offered a fake grin, trying to lighten the mood as he continued. "But they can't do that if they don't talk to each other first."
Jake extended my folded elbow. "Friends help each other heal." He leaned down and set his lips to the inside of my arm, kissing at the edge of the dressing.
I tugged my arm back. "How could you help, Jake?"
He straightened, looking me in the face. "Any way you'll let me. If you need to talk or whatever," His brow scrunched again when I fidgeted. "For whatever you need, I'm here."
He sounded so sure and sincere. Considering the way he looked at me and his attempt to help, I decided it might be okay to be friends with Jake.
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16
-Angel
The first time I ever talked to Avery, we were standing over the body of a dead kitten.
She had found the thing and showed me. A black and white bag of bones, covered in fleas, abandoned by its' mother; a stray cat that hung around the apartment complex we both lived in at the time. She'd showed me to an alcove behind the complex, where the trash was kept, and took me back to a dark, stinking corner where the rest of the litter laid lifeless. Four kittens in all; only one had found the strength to make it out into the grass near the playground only to meet the same fate. We cried over the tragedy and gave each a proper burial.
I used to look back at that day and find comfort in the fact that two small girls with so much working against them were able to stare into the face of death and forge a friendship.
Now I look back and see it for what it really was: nothing.
