Wings

April 12, 2013

For the past week, I've only talked to Adam in AP, and only about the project. I didn't expect it to be different I guess. I just thought that he might actually give a shit about me.

The bell for lunch rings, and I trudge outside. It's cold, but I could really give less of a shit. I walk to the same place I do every day, to a park two blocks over from school. There's a bench there, and I've sat on it practically every day for the past three years. I found it Freshman year, and it turned into my place to relax, a place to breathe. I sit down on the cold gray metal, and fish out a cigarette from my jacket pocket. It's a shitty habit, I know. But it's all that keeps me sane in the day. The feeling of the smoke curling into my mouth can stop me from panicking, can stop me from crying. It can stop everything. 

I hear the frozen ground crunch behind me, and I turn around. It's none other than Adam Bretter, in a black peacoat with his hands in his pockets. He smiles and sits down next to me. I stare. "How the fuck did you find me?" I snap.

Adam shrugs. "I may or may not have followed you, Syd."

I keep glaring. "And why is that?"

He smiles sheepishly. "I didn't want you to be so alone." His eyes flick to the cigarette in my hand. "Really, Syd, really?" 

I cock my head. I look stupid as hell when I do that. Shit.

"What, Adam? Am I not the perfect person you thought I was?"

He sighs. "You know those things will kill you, right?" I nod. "Then why do it?"

"Yeah, they could kill me Adam," I start. "But at least I'm controlling my death. With smoking, I can go when I please, not some prolonged death that's gruesome and bleak. My life is in my hands, or rather, in this pack of Marlboros."

Adam stares at me for a while, then reaches for my pack. I watch as he grabs a cigarette, putting it in between his lips for me to light. I do as he wishes, and we sit in silence, watching the smoke mingle with our frozen breath in the frosty air.

Suddenly, I feel Adam's hand on my arm. My sleeve has fallen down in the process of smoking, and the hundreds of pale pink scars are clearly visible. I look at Adam with wide eyes. His are wide too, and are brimming with tears. Wordlessly, he pulls up the sleeve of his peacoat, and my heart breaks. Our arms are identical, with matching lines,  showing our brokenness.

Adam puts his hand around my wrist, and a tear falls down his cheek. "Please stop," he whispers. "For me." 

I breathe in deep, and I stare at him. The boy who I thought had it all, who seemed happy and popular, was just as broken as I was. And I know, deep in my heart, that I won't be able to stop, but I take a deep breath and I say what I never thought I would.

"I will if you will."