Part eight- Splinters

He places a consoling hand on her shoulder as he walks by- and she realises she was wrong to try to link him to the little boy within her own imagination. There is no weeping child within him and he didn't need consoling. He was hurt and grieving and a little messed up, like everyone else, but he was getting through it in his own way.

It was she who needed the reassurance, couldn't go on without it, needed it more than any of the others could see or ever hope to provide and yet he saw it and gave it to her (or at least tried to whenever she would accept it).

She knows that she's broken- just by how much that hand on her shoulder helps, like she was in pain without ever realising and it's brought pressure to the wound, stopped the blood loss, given her a momentary relief. She's cracked and damaged, probably beyond all repair, but he's trying to fix her. And he could probably do it, if she let him come closer, if she met his gaze just now and helped him find a way to complete this task without a sacrifice. And yet she looks away.

She realises that she opened herself to him to get closer, that she was searching all along for some sign of the dream boy, for a weakness in him that she could recognise and comfort to give herself a strange sadistic kind of strength. She swore she'd never let anyone else get this close to her, be grieved by her death- but she did with him against warnings and better judgment, just to keep herself going. And this is going to hurt both of them and yet she goes on with this journey and avoids his gaze until he moves on.

She's like broken pieces of glass, and somehow she's being pieced back together, but she has to go on. She'll probably leave him as broken as she is now- but they both know she has to do it. She's been broken up too much by this decision to make another one and she's not strong enough to do anything but follow through with it. Both he and the make-believe boy knew she had to do this, like her father before her. And it doesn't look as if this one is any better equipped to handle it.

But he's here and he's offering strength and he's keeping his word to stay, no matter how much it's afflicting him to watch. And it's unconditional aid, not only to be administered if her mind changes, but regardless.

But she can't accept- because it was wrong to ask him to linger with her, wrong to ask any of her friends to come this far- even if she couldn't have made it without them. He's not quite broken yet and she can't let him contribute any more to her self-righteous suicide than he insists on playing. He's struggling so hard, but it's not within his power to save her- and she can't drag him down with her.

She's lost and she's broken- and she can't let herself be saved.

--

A/N: A little strange. It made sense when I first wrote it. Now... it still does, to an extent. Anyway, review if you like.