He threw her to the floor and watched as she curled into a ball and cried. He felt sorry for her, but he had no idea how to comfort her. He had not meant to push her down so hard, but it scared him when she tried to hug him. He was not used to how warm and empathetic she was.
Now that he looked down upon her, he realized how harsh he had been and nearly bent down and touched her. But he did not. And he would not. Not as-long-as his heart was cold. Not as-long-as his heart was encased in ice.
He had never known a place that held warmth and comfort. He had never lived in a home with a close-knit family. He was not used to hugging or being loved. He lived in a house. An ice cold, depressing, separated household. Not a home.
He watched her cry. Her shoulders shake with every sob. He wanted to pick her up and hold her. But the image in his mind never fulfilled itself. He was not a nurturer or a comforter. As-a-matter-of-fact, he was the complete opposite. A cold, hard-hearted, loner.
He had been made that way.
Taking one small step back, he turned to leave.
Pausing for a moment, he silently threw over his shoulder a soft apology before he turned and made his silent departure, leaving the girl to weep in solitude upon the cold, hard floor.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of Short Stories
Short StoryDo you like to read but you have a short attention span? Then you're in the right place! Beyond this point are short stories that I have written over the years that I have no current plans of expanding.
