It's cold outside as he pulls me to his car. But does that really matter? How cold it is? Not really. The cold is nice. It's how my heart feels except engulfing me from the outside rather than the in. He unlocks the car with the clicker remote deal, and opens the passenger door.
"I'm wet," I mutter hopelessly.
"It's leather," he says and pushes me down gently and shuts the door. The boy climbs into the car from the other side, and, after reclining the chair a bit, he turns to me. He catches my gaze and holds it captive for a long while. I don't care enough to count the minutes. All I know is someone who doesn't even know me is treating me like I matter. I don't though. Otherwise I wouldn't have this horrible condition. This condition is merely someone's sick way of eliminating me.
Then he reaches out and puts his hand on my cheek. I don't shudder at the intimate touch and my eyes don't follow his hand like would happen if this were yesterday. Today, it doesn't matter. Today, while I feel more broken and fearful than ever, I also have acquired a recklessness that makes it seem like I'm a little braver. What caused that recklessness? A passionate ignorance and the rise above caring about anything in particular. And if I don't care anymore, why should anything stop me?
"Can make a personal promise to you to change that?" he asks, his voice as smooth as the rain drop rolling down his forehead. It was...cute. Again the trivial things warmed me.
But I give him a puzzled look. "My wetness?" My voice cracks.
He laughs quietly and shakes his head. "No. You having nothing to live for."
"Oh." I look down at his seat belt buckle and let the world take me over. The rain pitter patters on the roof of the car, the windshield doesn't allow anyone to see us or vice versa. The soft black leather seats aren't harmed by my wet clothes, or his for that matter, and the car is cold. Can I tell this complete stranger to have at trying to make my life better? Can I tell him to go ahead and attempt to give me something to live for? Outside in the rain it might seem more ridiculous. Impossible even. But here, in this strange boy's car, his hand on my cheek, it seems almost probable. I almost feel hope again. Almost.
"You can try," I whisper, meeting his eyes again.
He smiles a little a smile that makes my heart begin to thaw. It isn't just a burst of warmth that heats me up a little but enough to make the ice crack. My eyes haze over from the pain that the cracking causes. I know it should feel relieving, but it only burns. But with that burn, I feel darkness seeping out of the depths of my heart and pouring out through the cracks. I feel the rush of goodness that being here with this boy whose name I don't even know brings to me. And I feel the impact of that perfect little smile and a single tear falls from my left eye.
He catches it with his other hand and then he whispers, leaning a little closer, "Thank you." His breath, peppermint and cherries, drowns me. My two favorite scents, as of three days ago, fill me with a release so sweet I fall forward a little.
A hand holds my neck softly, and lips touch my cheek. Fire burns beneath my skin, and the place where he kissed me is left tingly when he pulls back.
"By the way," he says casually, putting on a flyby voice, "I'm Aiden."
I know were the situation any different I would laugh but all that happens is the very corners of my mouth turn up a tad, but so little it's hardly noticeable. I want to laugh, I want to feel the funniness of what he's said and I want to just be me, but me's practically gone. All I feel inside of body is a little piece of a shattered person that I've never met before. The only thing I know anymore is that Aiden is talking to me, and I'm sitting in his car. And that's taking a leap because there's a chance I'm dreaming all this while lying on the bleachers in the rain.
