Identifying Sara

Chapter Fourteen

"Where do I begin?" He laughs lightly, scratching the back of his neck and keeping his eyes trained on the table, searching for an answer.

"Wherever you'd like, I'm all ears for this one," I try to keep my eyes off his face, but I can't help it. I don't want to be that creepy girl in the books who can't keep her eyes away from the love interest; it finally occurs to me why they have such a hard time doing just that.

"Well that's a first." He remarks smirking. I roll my eyes Leave it to him to try and make this easier then it looks for him.

"Get on with the story already!" I tell him eager to hear what he has to say.

"Patience missy, someones a little eager." He says. He runs his thumb over the top of the cup of his hot chocolate keeping his eyes off of me. His breathing has somewhat quickened in the last minute, and I almost feel bad for him, I want to just tell him he doesn't have to tell me just so he doesn't have to feel this way, but the selfish part of me knows I don't want to miss out on this.

"Well, let's see. It all began when I was 8. I had noticed my mother acting up lately, I barely saw her as it was; she would come home tipsy, sometimes full out drunk. She had a stressful job, she worked full time as well as my dad just to pay the expensive bills. They both tried to care for me as much as they could but it didn't always worked as planned. I would end up with a babysitter longer then planned or my aunt would have to come over and be with me for nights at a time.

Anyway, my dad took less hours for work so he could be with me. I became depressed because I felt so alone, sure I had friends at school and all, but rarely seeing your parents really had an affect on you."

"Tell me about it." I whisper so he couldn't hear. I feel like I can relate to all of this even though my story has a completely different plot. I feel like the other half of me is sitting right here.

"My dad tried to spend time with me, tried to get my mom to come home and have family time. But there was always excuses, like she had to work later, or she had meetings, was invited to a dinner, having car troubles. It was always something. She began to come home completely drunk more often and she would stumble and fall as she would walk around the house. She would say things I didn't understand and things that never made sense. Even when she was off of work, she always had a hangover and would never remove herself from the bed. This really had an affect on my dad as well, because before I was born, my parents were madly in love. High school sweethearts, almost torn from college, but my dad managed and saved their relationship. And now all of a sudden she's leaving for days at a time doing who knows what.

One Night, my mother, she came home more drunk then I ever recall seeing her." His tone has completely changed to something I don't even recognize anymore; he hides his face in his hands, sighing and continuing to speak. I'm at a loss for words, the story he is telling me could go one of two ways, and I have a feeling I know exactly what's coming up.

"But moments after she stumbled in, a guy walked in behind her just as drunk as she was, just a little more stable on his feet. At the time I was sitting on the couch with my dad watching a soccer game, when the guy had come in my dad yelled for me to run upstairs. I didn't listen though, I ran behind the couch and watched what was happening. The man-he was furious, saying things about my mother and how she betrayed him because he didn't know she had a family or something. My dad stood between them trying to calm my mother who was nearly sobbing and the guy who was yelling so loud you could see the veins in his neck. The man pulled out a gun and pointed it at my mom. My father tried to jump in front of her and save her but-"

He stops and I gasp so loud that some people turn to stare at me before returning to their coffee. I feel my stomach drop and my eyes keep their place on Carson; he keeps his face in his hands slowly breathing in and out. I don't know what to feel, the fact that his actions can completely hide his inner broken soul tell's me so many things. He's been so brave; he told his past to a stranger for crying out loud! This all makes me feel weak, it also makes me feel like I should be comforting him, but I'm not sure that's what he would want. That's not what I would want. My eyes sting but I don't let them go any further then my eyes, I don't want him to think I pity him. It makes me think that this boy may just have it so much harder than I do. I try and want to say something, but I am speechless.