FOCUS ON ME [h.s.]

chapter two

She hadn't even registered the thin stream of tears engraving a trail down her cheek. The view from her eyes is blurred and she frantically attempts to blink away the tears, only to make more fall from her waterline and stain her skin. She brings up a shaky hand from the steering wheel, wiping below her eyes with the heel of her palm as if trying to erase any trace of having allowed her composure to slip away in the first place. She can see the glisten of her tears on her eyelashes, the droplets sticking to her vision with as much stubbornness as the frown upon her lips; she feels the corners of her mouth tipped downwards, stuck there despite her attempts to wipe that away, too.

A humourless chuckle escapes her throat. "I'm sorry, I'm s-such a mess." Her thumb traces the bag beneath her eye, flicking away the last of her tears. "I'm terrible under pressure," she adds.

A noise of discontent passes through the air from the passenger seat. "Stop apologizing, it's not your fault."—He readjusts his position in his seat, shifting his body in search of even the smallest amount of comfort—"You can't help it."

She steals a glance in his direction, meeting his eyes once more. They've changed, his stare laced with something deeper; an unreadable shade of green. They pierce into the thin silence around them, speaking louder than the sound of the road beneath them. From her lips there are no words, no mumble of disagreement or excuse. There's merely understanding; unspoken but engraved in the quiet and the blur of cars outside the windows as they speed past them.

As she returns her eyes back to the road, the man speaks again.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" She blurts before she can think about what she's saying. Her glance is cast back in his direction, her neck tilting almost as though she's turning her attention completely towards him, if her eyes weren't supposed to be focused on driving.

He continues when she looks back to the road. "You must've fallen when we ran into each other," he says, "are you alright?"

Her expression is unreadable; her brows creased together in contemplation yet eyes unmoving as though she hadn't even heard him. Her hand instinctively slides across her forehead, brushing back a stray lock of her golden hair behind her ear. From across the car, the man can still spot a line of tears she'd missed earlier, dried to a matte along the side of her cheek.

It takes perhaps a second or two before he sees a smile break upon her face, the hint of a giggle releasing through her lips. Her laugh sounds unsure as she shakes her head, only slightly contradicting the honesty written in her glowing cheeks and the crinkles at the side of her eyes.

"Yeah, I did," she chuckles, "but I'm okay."

When they reach the hospital, she does not drive up to the front set of doors, but instead circles the hospital, pulling the car to a stop at a curb that runs along a windowless wall. Shifting the vehicle into park, she releases her keys from the ignition while her eyes skim the rear view mirror; they are edged along the employee parking section, cast under the late morning shadow of the building. The scene doesn't move, even as she huffs out a rushed breath and turns to meet the gaze of her curly-haired passenger.

"Um, okay," she starts, "I'll be right back." Her eyes are on his but her focus is elsewhere; perhaps on her absent search by her console for her sunglasses or on her left fingers tapping against the steering wheel just because she needs something, something to do with her hands.