Caring

“I’m fine,” she said.

The emptiness in her eyes told a different story. They were dead and lifeless, just like the smile she was lying to me with now. Shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, she stared across the deserted park as her fake smile faded.

The gray clouds seemed impossibly low, their cold breath raking the landscape. Naked trees scraped their branches together in a cacophony of shrieks as a crow screamed from its perch in their skeletal branches.

“Aubrey, if you ever want to talk, I’m always here. And if there’s ever anything to need, don’t you dare hesitate to ask,” I said quietly. Her spiritless eyes met mine and my heart shattered inside my chest.

I remembered the night Claire called me from the hospital at somewhere around two in the morning. I remembered springing out of bed and putting on some clothes, racing down the stairs, and practically diving into my car. After a quick explanatory text to my still-sleeping parents, I had sped to the hospital, praying the entire way that I wouldn’t get pulled over or wreck in the rain. Arriving at the hospital, I’d hurried to Aubrey’s room as quickly as possible. It had been difficult to keep from breaking down altogether in front of everyone; as it was, I had been unable to keep the scalding tears from leaking out as I walked into the hospital room.

Aubrey had been on the bed, oxygen tubes in her nose, IV in one arm. It had been nearly impossible not to stare at the bandages concealing the cuts extending up the inside of both forearms as I knelt next to her. I don’t remember how long I held her hand and cried with her that night. She was never the same afterward.

The façade had long since been demolished—she no longer cared whether people thought she was happy or not. Well, except for those closest to her. The ones who cared the most Aubrey tried the hardest to shield herself from. I guess she didn’t want to feel as if she were dumping her issues on Claire and I.

Aubrey nodded.

“I will.”

She was losing weight and it was beginning to show. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her eat anything at school and it wasn’t a stretch to assume she wasn’t eating much at home either.

“Do you want to come to my house for dinner?” I asked. I knew what her response would be before I even asked, but it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway.

“No, that’s okay,” she said, voice so soft I could barely hear her. “Mom’s getting off in two hours and she’s bringing food home.”

The November wind stiffened, shifting her long brown hair to reveal a new dark purple bruise near her temple. Rage began to boil inside my chest. How could anyone hurt their own daughter like that?

Before I could keep myself from doing so, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. At first, she was stiff from surprise, but she quickly returned my embrace.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she squeezed tighter, tears soaking into the shoulder of my jacket. Her body felt thin and frail, shaking from both from crying and from the cold. Tears of my own began trickling down my face.

This is all so wrong, I thought. I wanted to say something to comfort her, but there was nothing I could say that could ease her pain. Guilt twisted in my gut, threatening to strangle me from the inside out. The only thing I could do was to protect her, wrapped safely in my arms.

I held her for so long my fingers became numb from the cold, but I didn’t care. I would never let go until she was okay.

“I don’t want to go home,” she sobbed into my shoulder.

“You don’t have to. You don’t ever have to go home again. Come on,” I said, rubbing her back, “come with me.”

Aubrey drew back and nodded, wiping her eyes as she tried to stop crying.

Placing my arm around her shoulders, I guided her down the street toward my home, just as the first of the town’s Christmas decorations sprang to life in the gathering darkness.