La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

29. I Don't Believe in Fairytales

"My father was a good man, my mother. . . It's complicated," he began. "But they were both religious and God-fearing. So why'd God let so many bad things happen to me? First he took my father, then he took my mother, then he took away my childhood. Why?"

I only said the first thing that came to mind. His blue eyes staring intently at the road ahead of us were full of pain and sadness, and in that moment I just wanted to hold him in my arms.

"I don't know," I told him frankly. "Life, suffering. . . These are all tests to see how strong we are."

"I just want the pain to go away," he told me, his voice soft and mellow.

We were quiet for a while, until Leslie abruptly broke the silence.

"Sorry about that," he said, trying to recover with a nervous chuckle. "Enough about me. This trip was supposed to be about you."

"If you still have things on your mind I don't mind listening," I said to him.

"Gosh I really don't deserve you," he chuckled. "Even after everything I did you still stick around."

"Maybe it's because I don't have anyone else to choose from," I teased.

I immediately regretted saying that, the look on his face genuinely hurt and surprised. Sometimes, in some aspects, Leslie was more innocent than I was.

"I'm kidding," I told him. "Sorry."

"O-of course," he stuttered, his cheeks glowing red. "I knew that."

"Well, if you really want to know," I said. "You're really warm and caring, but sometimes you just don't want to admit that."

"Oh," he replied. "Yeah, I guess."

Conversations with Leslie always ended up with the occasional awkward moments of silence, but to be honest I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Right," he suddenly blurted out. "I uh- I picked some meadow flowers back there. It's in the back seat, I folded them in those napkins."

"That's so sweet of you," I said, reaching out for them.

Inside the napkins were a few stalks of forget-me-nots, as well as a few loose petals and heads of flowers.

"They're really pretty," I told him. "I like them."

"Thank goodness you do," he said, chuckling nervously. "I-I just thought that since you're the girl in this relationship and girls like flowers right? But a-at the same time you're not a girl, you're a boy, so I was really nervous that you wouldn't like the flowers-"

He stopped when he saw me raise an eyebrow.

"Did I say something wrong?" Leslie blurted out. "I-I'm sorry."

There he goes again, that bundle of awkwardness. Sure, if you didn't know him what he said could've raised a few eyebrows, but I knew he never meant any offense. As inappropriate and strange as what he said may seem, it was still a cute gesture.

"No," I told him. "You didn't. And I really appreciate it."

That's when the young man's lips broke into a thin, awkward smile. It was the first time he did ever since he began talking about his past just earlier. I knew it was always hard to talk about it, but who else could he talk to besides me? I was just glad I could be there for him.