"Come here, I'll help you."
She didn't say those words. Instead, a question asked in a genuine puzzled voice came from her mouth. "What's wrong?" Her big blue eyes were on him, genuine curiosity reflected in it. He could have sworn he saw a tint of concern in it, something she tried to keep away from him.
She didn't say those words, but that's how it sounded in his ears. She gave him a question, she allowed him to speak up, she offered her hand to him, she will help him. She was being honest, she meant it, she really meant it, he could tell.
It actually hurt.
Her question—it hurt him.
Not because of the question itself, but the fact that she said that in the first place. He tried to keep his breathing steady, even when his lungs were being squeezed hard. His eyes stung, he refrained himself from blinking so the tears starting to well up in his eyes wouldn't fall off. It hurt. He didn't even know where to begin.
Everything, he would answer. But of course he wouldn't. He couldn't. Everything was so wrong that he couldn't even let the words out. And what if he say it out loud? She would only question him further.
But he couldn't say it. He couldn't say that he was breaking inside. He couldn't say that he was tired of everything. He couldn't say that he had enough of living. He couldn't say that it hurt him. He couldn't… He wouldn't.
Maybe she did care. Maybe she wanted to help. Maybe she could pull him out from his misery. Maybe it would finally end, on a positive note. Maybe. Nobody knew. But maybe she did not care after all. Maybe nothing would change. Maybe the pain wouldn't be gone.
He should try to say it, there's nothing wrong with trying. No one could tell if he didn't try. But he couldn't. He just couldn't tell anyone—especially her—that. He hated it. He hated his life. He wanted to end it all. He couldn't tell her that.
It was his own problem, after all. He shouldn't drag anyone into it. He shouldn't let anyone know about his honest feeling. The pain was his alone, no matter what. No matter if her words were genuine, he wasn't… he wasn't going to let her share the same pain. He couldn't let that happen, even if it hurt him even more.
Maybe he wasn't worth her help. Maybe he wasn't worth being saved.
That sounded just right.
His chest hurt. Everything hurt. But he couldn't tell her. He wouldn't tell her. He didn't even know anymore why he was doing that to himself, but… it didn't matter.
He pulled a smile (it hurt), trying to reassure her that he was all right (he wasn't) as he brushed her question off (a voice deep inside of him pleaded, he wanted to be saved)—
"Nothing."