To the readers and reviewers: I am currently on a quest to invent a word that encompasses your overall greatness :)
Findings
She sat there, looking at me with wide, glassy, red-rimmed eyes, her breathing ragged and deep, as if she had gone a while without breathing properly. Her gaze remained shifting, to my eyes, down and back up again, and I waited. Waited for her breathing to return to normal, for her to collect herself. And the minutes I spent waiting were agonizing.
The sight of Chloe crying was not only worrisome—triggering some ingrained, panicked male responsiveness whenever confronted with tears—but also heartbreaking because she looked so sad, so defeated. It was altogether wrong, unbearable even, and as uncomfortable as I may feel—not because I didn't want to comfort her, stop the tears in their tracks, but because I didn't know how—I knew that I was the one that needed to pull her from whatever puddle of despair she was in. Who else would? I just hoped I'd know, or at least have some semblance, of what to do, that I didn't say something asinine. It's not like I had any experience with the sort of thing—there had unsurprisingly never been a girl who had taken as much of my time as Chloe had—does—and Tori, the only female I had to interact with, wasn't exactly a crier. Tori didn't get upset. She got even.
Finally, breathing almost under control, she looked back up at me, her gaze having had drifted downwards for quite some time, probably in an attempt to put up a front, regain what composure she could and save face.
Her sapphire blue eyes were still filled with anguish and I couldn't take it any longer—I couldn't help her if I didn't know what the problem was.
"Chloe," I asked softly—afraid that any loud sounds or unexpected movement might induce more tears—hoping at least to ground her. And while I wanted to know the reason behind her unraveling, I wasn't about to push her. I realized, hardly with any astonishment now, that I was willing to sit here for hours if I had to.
Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, ""My mom died in a car accident when I was six. It was raining, hard, and my dad was driving. I was in the backseat. The car came out of nowhere and he didn't have time to swerve. He didn't have time to do anything, really. And today… That car that came out of nowhere just reminded me of that night. It-it's stupid, I-I know. But I couldn't help it," she finished, shrugging her shoulders and looking away, trying futilely to slyly wipe away the few tears that had escaped.
This all came out in a rush, as if she thought that the more quickly she said it, the more quickly she'd be able to lock it back away.
She kept her gaze down and I was thankful for I was stunned into silence. Of all the things it could have been, that hadn't even crossed my mind.
Her family dynamic now had an explanation, though I felt not one iota of satisfaction of having discovered something else about her because it was not something I wanted to be true, wanted to be a reality for her.
The hollowness of her house suddenly made sense, why she seemingly spent so much time with her aunt and her dad, as she had said, was 'always away on business'—the foundation of her family had been ripped away from her, there one second and gone the next, and her aunt had stepped up to the plate when her father, who I'd bet either didn't know how to cope or didn't know how to raise her, found solace in his work, putting Chloe on the back burner.
Life was unfair, even cruel sometimes. I knew that, I had inflicted that. But this seemed excessive, particularly malicious. While nobody deserved that fate, it was made even worse by the fact that it was Chloe, for she was the last person to merit such a thing. She was genuinely a good person and I wondered what justified her having been handed this deal.
I wanted to say something—anything, really—but I didn't know what. Sorry? I was sure she'd heard it a thousand times. What difference would it make? Would it even matter? 'I'm sorry,' is such a copout, the two words everyone resorts to in times of sorrow or regret. Half of the time it wasn't even genuine—it was said because that's what you're supposed to say, what was expected of you to feel. And while I was sorry, truly sorry for the fact that she had fallen victim to such an unfair fate, I didn't want her to think I was just another jackass who was saying it because he thought he had to. However, eloquence failing me the one time I needed it, I was forced to settle.
"I'm sorry, Chloe. And I know you've probably heard that before. But..." I trailed off, again at a loss for words. What else could I say? How could I further elaborate when dwelling on the subject was probably the last thing she wanted.
Her eyes met mine, filling with tears once again, though she didn't look quite as desolate. She was still sad, but she also seemed grateful. She steeled herself against them though, letting one lone tear escape before expelling the rest. And with that, with her vulnerable frame and heartbroken eyes laid out in front of me, something inside me, whatever resolve I had left, cracked, and I no longer cared about lines I was worried about crossing or boundaries that risked being broken. I was certain our relationship—our acquaintanceship—hadn't followed a norm, so what was another idiosyncrasy? Chloe needed comfort that words—or at least any words that would come from my mouth—couldn't provide and I was determined to supply her with just that. So, acknowledging both the general risk and the risk to my mental well-being, I reached my hand out towards her, pushing away the inexplicable nervousness I felt at doing so, and took her chin in my hand, using my thumb to wipe away the tear and ignoring how soft her cheek was.
Her eyes were wide, but not afraid or repulsed. She simply looked at me evenly, as if she were waiting to see what I'd do next. Fingers long enough to detect her pulse, I felt her heart rate slow, and I took that as a sign that I was on the right track. I carefully moved my hand from her chin, skipping over her neck, down her shoulders and finally to her back, where it stayed firmly in place. She visibly sagged against the feeling as I could have sworn that I felt the tension leaving her body, enabling her to relax. She seemed to lean into my touch and she turned her body towards me, resting her head against the seat.
"Are you still home alone," I asked seriously. It wasn't as if we could stay in her car, but at the same time, I wouldn't let her go home to nothing. Being alone would probably be the worst possible thing for her, even if it was what she may want. If she were alone though, I was again at a loss for what to do. I couldn't exactly say, 'Well, wherever you're going, I'm going too,' –how creepy would that be—and it wasn't as if I could invite her over—Tori, Simon and dad were sure to be home by now and she didn't need to be made a spectacle of, didn't need the attention Simon was sure to drown her with, or risk falling prey to Tori's unpredictable moods.
"No, I'm going to my aunt's house," she replied softly.
"Do you want me to drive you there," I asked. I wasn't sure she should be driving in the condition she was in—what if something happened to her?
"I'll be fine," she said, declining my offer.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said with certainty. I was adamant about letting her out of my sight, worried about what could go wrong and what would or could happen during the car ride to her aunt's house.
"Derek. I'm fine. I will be fine. You just caught me at a weak point. Thank you, really, but I can do this. You don't need to look after me. You've already done enough."
She didn't want to be weak and she didn't want other people to see her that way either. But I didn't think she was feeble or incapable; contrarily, I admired her tenaciousness and resilience. I wasn't prepared to believe the front she was putting up though. After all, 'I'm fine' were the other two words that people always turned to, even when they weren't true.
Seeing my hesitance she narrowed her eyes at me, conceding her point. Rolling my eyes, I nodded my head, letting my hand drop regretfully away. She was determined to have things her way and she wasn't about to give in.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, not wanting to directly ask for a confirmation of whether or not I'd e seeing her and wanting to convey that I felt she shouldn't use this as a reason not to come to school-God only knows her absence would spike my anxiety.
"Okay."
Getting out, I paused to look back at her, remembering something she had said early on in the telling of her story.
"It's not stupid, Chloe," I said before shutting the door, wanting her to know that she shouldn't be ashamed about feeling the way she did, especially since she had every right to.
I stayed rooted in place, watching as she drove away until she was out of sight and too far for me to even imagine her trajectory.
For the rest of the week, I saw Chloe at school and regarded her from afar as had become routine. I wanted to talk to her, wanted to see if she was okay, but I didn't know how to approach things. Would she even appreciate my concern, or would she resent me for dragging it back up to the surface? I didn't know how or if things could or were supposed to go back to the way they had been—it felt as if something had changed between Chloe and I, something I hadn't realized until after it happened.
She had shared something personal with me, had been unhinged in my presence, and it seemed to be something that bound us together. She could never return to being just another girl in my eyes once I was done tutoring her for I was aware of such a big part of her, one that I wouldn't be able to forget. I no longer knew solely small things about her; I knew something important as well, something I couldn't ignore. The change though, the game-changing moment, one that I had realized with some dread though less—if I was being honest—surprise, was that I had grown to care about Chloe during my time wondering about her. Making the realization was odd, practically foreign, and I needed time to process and evaluate it without her clouding my perspective—caring about her could lead to serious complications for myself that I wasn't prepared to make. So, for the rest of the week, I, miraculously, managed to keep my distance, all the while continuing to watch her, this time with renewed curiosity for there was now so much more to consider.
So this chapter was kind of hard to write-I didn't want Derek sounding redundant about Chloe's mom or too angsty, but I don't know if I skimped a little in an effort to compensate for my worry... R&R is appreciated :)
