Color Blind

Chapter Twenty-One

AN: Pearl Jam's 'Garden'. I love this song, I really do. Very pretty and...yeah. If you've been muting the music until now, do yourself a favor and un-mute this one.

* * *

Nancy wasn't expecting Cole to come in looking like death warmed over, and she certainly wasn't expecting him to just flop into his chair and put his head between his knees. Was he about to throw up? God, she hoped not. She didn't feel like cleaning up puke today.

"Cole? Are you okay?"

"Tired."

He sounded it.

"Do you want to call it off today?" He shook his head so fast his hair became a little halo around his head. "If you say so."

"M'okay."

Something was wrong. She knew it. That was how she acted when she'd had a really bad day. Had he and his dad had an argument or something?

"Is it about your dad?"

He shook his head.

"It's nothing. C-can I have a cough drop? Please?"

Sick again? That would explain his voice.

"Cherry or honey-lemon?"

"Honey-lemon." She gave it to him. "Looks like an undercooked egg."

"It'll help."

He took it and was silent until he went in to see Dr. Grey.

* * *

Cole really wasn't okay. He was pretty certain that most of his body was bruised or worse, and Sean hadn't given him a fix since Sunday morning. He would have gone home, but it had taken a lot of effort to pry the window open and break back in downstairs. He still had no clue why he'd gone to the trouble, but there was no point in wondering about it now.

It was cold outside and he was grateful for his gloves. Granted, they got him a lot of funny looks, but at least they hid the scars.

He was exhausted. He hadn't slept well for the past few days-puking tended to do that-and right now he just wanted to pass out on the table.

"Cole?" He raised his head. When had he put it on the table? "Cole, are you feeling all right?"

God, he wanted to tell her.

"I..." No. He couldn't. "I'm fine."

She didn't look convinced. Too bad. He reached for his coffee cup and his sleeve inched up. Had he lost weight again? Really? Great. He had enough trouble finding clothes as it was.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That scar on your wrist."

Oh, shit.

A few years back, he had attempted suicide. He might have succeeded, too, if his hands hadn't been shaking so damned badly. He'd damaged his wrist permanently and now a long scar snaked in amongst the ones caused by the needle.

"Accident with a knife..."

"Cole, I'm not stupid." He knew that. "Tell me the truth. Did you try to kill yourself?"

Her voice was shaking and he found he couldn't make eye contact with her.

"I was being stupid..."

"Why."

Her tone left no room for argument. He took a deep breath and said a mental good-bye to whatever may have happened between them.

"I don't have a very good home life. My dad and I don't..."