The Art of Breaking

The car ride home was silent. Jasper stared angrily at the road in front of us as he drove. I glanced at the speedometer. The needle was pushing past 100.

“I’m sorry,” I barely whispered and watched as his face began to soften. The car finally stopped and I looked out the window to see my house. I turned back to Jasper but he was already out of the car and opening my side door.

I fumbled with the seatbelt and I felt his cold arms effortlessly pick me up. “Jasper, I can walk,” I protested a little but he didn’t say anything. He just continued to carry me. he finally stopped and placed me on my bed. Then he turned and walked, more like glided, over to the window gazing out into the overly green forest.

I sat up and looked around the room. The walls were repainted a light gray. Black picture frames held a few of my black and white sketches and paintings. The one I made for Jasper was hanging straight across from the bed. This room used to belong to my parents but now it held almost no resemblance to its former appearance.

I looked at Jasper once more. He was still staring off into space. Maybe he wouldn’t talk to me ever again…maybe he never wanted to look at me again. I felt the despair from those thoughts hit me like a ton of bricks.

Jasper was at my side as soon as the first tear fell. “Lacey, don’t cry. Please,” he said softly and was about to pull me into his arms but he hesitated. More tears fell from my eyes, trailing down my face. Jasper’s eyes widened and he raised his hands to touch them but stopped short before doing so.

“I’m sorry,” I said and started to cry harder. More tears pooled from my eyes. I felt them hit my paralyzed arm like rain falling from the sky.

“Oh my God,” Jasper whispered eyes wide. I looked up at him and saw shock and disbelief in them. A last tear fell onto my unfeeling arm; it was warm and seemed to grow warmer as it touched my skin.