I want to calm the anger in his eyes, to tell him I am sorry if I hurt his feelings, and that there is nothing more I want in the world than to speak to him, to touch him. Nothing, save for our mutual well being. My head hurts. Not my head, perhaps, but my conscious. The me that lives inside myself is getting fuzzy on me. Perhaps it is merely exhaustion speaking, but I feel like the world is not relating to me as it should. I cannot concentrate.
I try to open my mouth, but find the effort nearly impossible to commit to. I do not know what I would say in any case.
He looks at me with disgust, pity, and what looks like a wounded heart. "Fine." He stands up, looking down at me. "Be that way. I- I'm tired of trying to get through to you." He turns stiffly and begins to walk away.
My bottom lip is trembling. I am weak, I am alone, I am hurt. My dry lips part and I call out, "Wait." before I think better of it. My voice sounds like I have recently swallowed razorblades mixed with broken glass and diesel fuel. "Please wait. I'm sorry. I can't- I don't- just, help me. I c-can't stand on my own. I didn't mean- I only wanted to-." I realize that I am blathering, and force my mouth closed. I try to shove my pain out of my mind, to bury my shame and weakness so that I might move.
I feel arms circle my waist and pull me to my feet. I am not a small girl, and he grunts in effort. I try to help him as much as I can. When we are balanced, he ducks his head under my shoulder, and we begin walking towards to road, so that we may move faster on the harder ground.
I do my best not to look at him, and answer in monosyllabic words in order to direct him to my condo. No cars pass us, and we walk in near silence for most of the trip. What might have been a five minute walk stretches out to ten or fifteen minutes at our drastically slowed pace. It is not necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it is very heavy. Still, some small stupid part of my mind keeps commenting on how nice it is to have his arm around my waist.
I try to open my mouth, but find the effort nearly impossible to commit to. I do not know what I would say in any case.
He looks at me with disgust, pity, and what looks like a wounded heart. "Fine." He stands up, looking down at me. "Be that way. I- I'm tired of trying to get through to you." He turns stiffly and begins to walk away.
My bottom lip is trembling. I am weak, I am alone, I am hurt. My dry lips part and I call out, "Wait." before I think better of it. My voice sounds like I have recently swallowed razorblades mixed with broken glass and diesel fuel. "Please wait. I'm sorry. I can't- I don't- just, help me. I c-can't stand on my own. I didn't mean- I only wanted to-." I realize that I am blathering, and force my mouth closed. I try to shove my pain out of my mind, to bury my shame and weakness so that I might move.
I feel arms circle my waist and pull me to my feet. I am not a small girl, and he grunts in effort. I try to help him as much as I can. When we are balanced, he ducks his head under my shoulder, and we begin walking towards to road, so that we may move faster on the harder ground.
I do my best not to look at him, and answer in monosyllabic words in order to direct him to my condo. No cars pass us, and we walk in near silence for most of the trip. What might have been a five minute walk stretches out to ten or fifteen minutes at our drastically slowed pace. It is not necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it is very heavy. Still, some small stupid part of my mind keeps commenting on how nice it is to have his arm around my waist.
