Blossom for Me

He slipped into the booth beside her and delicately placed his hand on her back. Her head was tucked into her arms on the table, muffled sobs escaping her lips every few moments. She had been sitting like that for ten minutes, every second more torturous than the first. The tears hadn't stopped running; it almost seemed like it had gotten worst. Her cell phone was sitting on the table beside her ear, a small message announcing that their conversation had ended some minutes ago flashing across the screen. The waitresses had felt uncomfortable and scared to approach her, so they had left her alone at the table, only passing by to quickly refill her glass of water when she first came back into the diner. Before she lost it, one red-headed waitress, a nice girl with sympathetic eyes, offered to serve her, but Callie declined and sat languidly in the booth. She finally lost it when another waitress came and offered her their special deal that morning—an endless stack of pancakes. If she hadn't been so stupid and lashed out at Garrett, they would have been enjoying sharing the endless plates of fluffy buttermilk pancakes now. But Callie had been stupid, and she had let all those hateful words tumble out of her mouth. She regretted every word that passed through her lips, everything that had cut right through the boy. She wanted to swallow back down what she had said, everything she had said, all her accusations, and lies. Garrett wasn’t pathetic; he wasn’t whipped or stupid. He was in love and Callie was just jealous, she was just envious beyond belief. She was the stupid one. She was the pathetic one, she thought hopelessly.

“Callie,” he said in a soft voice, patting her back gently. Like an automatic reaction to his touch, Callie leaned all her weight on the boy, allowing him to wrap his muscled arm around her small frame. She buried her face in his chest, drowning in his ever-present scent—bath soap and Axe, something that just couldn't compare to Garrett's sweet smell. But it still managed to comfort her. He always managed to comfort her. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her face as close to him as possible, until her nose was pressed flat between the two of them. He tightened his grip on her waist and pulled her close to him, taking his other hand and running it through her thick, blonde. He could feel her salty tears seep into his thin tee shirt, but he barely minded it. He cooed in her ear and managed to end her crying.

By the time one of the waitresses noticed him now sitting beside Callie and came to their table to offer to take an order from him, Callie was merely sniffling with only an occasional hiccough slipping past her lips. He ordered two mugs of coffee and a plate of French toast with strawberries and powdered sugar—Callie's favorite, he knew—and wiped her eyes for her, brushing his calloused fingers across her cheeks to catch the tears that clung to her flushed skin.

“Who do I have to beat up, Sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his eyes darting about her sullen face. He looked like a nervous parent, surveying his child for injuries, desperately hoping nothing serious had happened to the minor. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, getting a better look at her. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lip still trembled, but she looked better than when he first saw her. He let out a long sigh and frowned at his friend’s broken state, because Callie was broken. She looked like it, she felt like it, and she was. It angered the boy, to see his girl look so upset. He didn’t like to see her like this, eyebrows scrunched and eyes half-lidded. Why would anyone want to hurt Callie? Why would anyone want to make her cry? She was one of the sweetest gals he knew. It made his blood boil at just the thought of someone causing her so much pain, enough to make her cry like they’d broken a million of her bones. She didn’t deserve that at all.

“It…It was my fault, Kenny,” she whimpered. “You should beat me up. It was all-all…all my fault.” She buried her face in her hands and let out a loud bout of sobs again that made the small group of people in the diner turn to look at them. He paid no mind to them and wrapped his large hands around her tiny wrists, pulling them away from her face so he could look at her. Tears cascaded down her red cheeks like rivers and Kennedy wanted more than anything to make it all stop.

He shushed her and wrapped his arms around the petite girl, engulfing her into him, and ran his hand through her wheat-colored hair. He petted her head, allowing her to cling onto him and sniffle into his chest, leaving a large spot where her tears had fallen on his t-shirt once more.

“What happened, babe? What did you do? Why are you crying?” he questioned in a rushed voice. He wanted to help her. He wanted to make her tears stop running. He wanted to fix everything—even if it wasn’t his fault. He hated seeing her like this. He felt helpless, just allowing her to cry into his chest. Maybe she needed to cry, but it didn’t help a thing for his conscience, with his heart. It was being pulled apart with every snuffle that escaped from her mouth. It was torturing him to watch the girl look like such a wreck. He’d never seen Callie look so fragile before—look so much like a porcelain doll that could easily smash with one light push to the ground. Callie was strong-willed and stubborn and that came to her advantage because it gave her the determination to do anything. She wasn’t always sociable, but she knew when the time was right to speak her mind and she definitely called the guys out on their shit when it was appropriate. But Callie had a way of doing it kindly, or saying it nicely in a way that most people had trouble doing. It came out like a suggestion, like a small observation, but it had a large impact on the guys when she spoke her mind about their actions or decisions. Callie was smart, she was clever, and she was too kind for words.

“It’s all my fault,” she wailed. “I-I was…I—Kenny, I was just so…stupid. I can’t even believe—I don’t know why…Why did I do it? I’m so—” she broke off and pressed her face to his chest again, clutching onto his torso again with her tiny hands.

“What’s your fault, babe?” Kennedy asked her helplessly, stroking her hair to calm her crying. “What’s your fault?”

She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and tears still pooling out from her dark lashes. Her hands held on tightly to his t-shirt, tiny hands clutching onto the soft fabric until it tore. “I…I was so mean, Kenny. What I did—it was awful. He hates me now; he’ll never forgive me.”

“No one could ever hate you, Callie,” Kennedy cooed. “You’re too sweet and loveable. Who could ever hate you, Sweetheart?” He looked at her with concern scrawled all across his face. His brows were furrowed so much they were touching and his lips had formed into a straight, tight line.

A waitress approached their table slowly and uncertainly, carrying a plate of French toast and two mugs of coffee for the couple on a plastic tray. She gave Kennedy a sympathetic smile and set the mugs on the table. He put his hand up and asked her to make it to-go, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience. She smiled another pitying smile and took the tray back to the kitchen, leaving the mugs of coffee on the table. He watched her walk to the back, and then turned his eyes back to his friend. The waitress was cute, tall, and leggy with long dark brown hair and eyes like caramel. He probably would have been flirting with her, sending her his signature grin and trying to strike up a light conversation before getting her number had his friend not been crying in his lap. He might have asked her to go to a party some weekend, and then asked her later on if he liked her enough to go out to lunch with him. She was pretty, but Kennedy couldn’t pay much mind to that. His attention was diverted back to Callie just as quick as it had left her when she let out another sob.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, pressing her closer to him, and whispered words of comfort into her hair. He shushed her, running his fingers gently up and down her back. It managed to soothe her and by the time the waitress was back with the boxed up French toast and Kennedy had paid the check, she was only sniffling once again. Her cheeks were flushed, glowing a bright red, and her nose was the same. Her eyes burned and felt swollen. They were red and dilated and she had trouble keeping them open. Tears still blurred her vision as Kennedy helped her out of the booth and out of the diner and into his awaiting car. She curled up into the seat, clutching onto Kennedy’s right arm, so he only had his left hand to hold onto the steering wheel.

He drove the two straight to her house, where he knew he could comfort her and where he could take her to Pat’s quickly for he knew better than to not allow Callie’s best friend to be there for her. Pat might have been the only one who could possibly get through to her.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back,” he assured her.

She nodded her head meekly and curled back into the seat. Kennedy ran across the lawn towards the Kirch house and knocked loudly on the door. He waited anxiously before the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He knocked again after a short moment passed, yelling, “Pat! Pat—open up! Pat!”

The door swung open as Kennedy’s fist made to hit the door again and a tired-looking boy in his sleepwear with long brown hair looked up at the frantic adolescent standing before him. He rubbed an eye sleepily and peered up at him with a confused expression. Kennedy’s impatient eyes bore into the other boy’s blobs of brown and pulled the half naked boy out of the house. He wrapped his hand around Pat’s narrow wrist and tugged him across the lawn.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Pat asked him bewilderedly, trying to pull away from the older boy’s grasp. “What’s going on, Ken?”

“Shut up—look.”

Kennedy shoved Pat towards his car parked haphazardly on the street. Pat stumbled over and into the white Honda with an oomph and saw the crumbling little girl on the other side of the glass. Pat put both of his hands on the window and looked closely through the glass with wide brown eyes. His brow furrowed greatly and his lips turned south in a sad, pouty frown. He tapped the window once and gained the girl’s attention. She turned her head around, meeting Pat’s chocolate eyes with her green ones, and unlocked the car door. Pat yanked it open and quickly scooped his best friend into his arms, cooing into her ear and stroking her back with his shaky hands.

“Cal, what’s wrong? What happened, Sweetie?” he asked worriedly, much like Kennedy had earlier but with more hysteria. His arms, wound around the girl’s small middle, tightened when a small sob escaped her lips. He pressed her body close to his until she was molded against him and shushed her gently.

He took her into his house, Kennedy following quietly not far behind. She cried silently into his chest while he kept his arms wrapped around her and took her into his room. There, he tucked her into bed and went back to the living room where Kennedy was waiting, leaving her to hug a pillow and calm herself under the sheets. Pat closed the door and stomped down the hallway towards the boy one year his senior with a serious demeanor, something that told Kennedy that he meant business. Pat wasn’t one for being the serious type. He usually lightened the mood when things got tense and uncomfortable. However, at that moment, Pat looked as if he wanted to kill. It didn’t surprise Kennedy as much as just the fact that Pat could look so scary did. This matter involved Callie—Pat’s best friend, practically his sister. Kennedy was just as concerned as Pat was, but Pat made him feel small and frightened, even if he was almost five inches taller.

“What the hell happened?” Pat demanded angrily.

Kennedy cowered as he tried to form an explanation. “I-I don’t know, man,” Kennedy responded solemnly.

“What do you mean you don’t know? I’ve got a girl in my bed who’s crying her eyes out right now. My best friend looks like a fucking wreck! Why, Kenny?” Pat’s normally soft eyes were dangerous, narrowed and burning with rage. His fists were curled and his small body was shaking.

“Pat,” Kennedy started. “First, chill out alright—I’m upset that Callie’s upset and I’m worried, too, but she…Callie didn’t tell me anything. She called me this morning crying and asked me to pick her up at the diner by the school. When I got there she was crying her eyes out, but she wouldn’t tell me why. Everything she said was broken. She kept saying it was her fault and she was being stupid...She said that he would never forgive her. I don’t even know,” he recalled, scratching head. He squinted an eye at Pat and gave him an unsure look.

Pat raised an eyebrow at the older boy and frowned. “Who’s he?”

Kennedy’s face fell and he scratched his arm absentmindedly. “I…I don’t know,” he replied.

Pat let out a heavy sigh, his chest heaving up and down. He put a hand to his forehead and heaved another loud sigh. Shaking his head, he plopped down on the sofa and stared at his lap. Kennedy followed and dropped into the arm chair beside him. Pat looked up at Kennedy and suggested, “You should go home. I’ll call you later, but I’m gonna watch over her.”

Kennedy nodded desolately and got up. He walked towards the door and, before he left, he turned around to point a finger at Pat and said, “You better call, okay?” Pat nodded. “And Pat—take care of Cal.”

Pat gave him a half-smile and went down the hallway to his bedroom. He walked into the room and saw Callie wrapped in the sheets, her back to him. Her hair cascaded down her back in dirty blonde waves and her body rose slowly with every calm breath she took. She looked peaceful, much like the night before. Pat slipped into the bed and brushed her hair away from her face. She turned around and curled into Pat’s side, breathing lightly on his thin cotton shirt. He draped an arm around her petite body and pulled her next to him. Pat looked contemplatively at the girl beside him with her arm wrapped around his torso and her face pressed to his chest.

Thousands of thoughts swirled around his head and different scenarios flashed across his eyelids every time he blinked. He was stressed that something awful had happened to her this morning. Did she have a fight with her parents? Was it because of a boy? Was that boy the ‘he’ Kennedy was talking about? He raked his memory for any mention of a boy. He hadn’t heard anything about any boy recently. What if it was just her parents? Did they tell her something horrible? Was she moving away!? Callie couldn’t leave Pat, she couldn’t move. Or maybe she had encountered someone from school? One of the girls who didn’t particularly like her? Could it have been Willow? Everyone and God knew she had it for Willow. Those two girls hated each other.

What if it was someone he didn’t know? Someone she didn’t even know. What if she had been—Oh, God, he couldn’t even imagine that.

Pat was going crazy. He couldn’t stand seeing her this way. He was dying to know what was wrong and he wanted to make it all better. He couldn’t bear to see his best friend look like such a mess. He wanted to ask her, make her tell him what was the matter, but Pat didn’t pry. He wasn’t one to ever. She needed time to relax and calm down and Pat was going to let her. He would wait for her to tell him what was up and try to help solve the problem like any best friend would. He just hoped she’d tell him soon, so he could kick the ass of the asshole who did this to her.

“I love you, Patty,” Callie whispered.

He looked down and met her mossy green eyes, red and glossy. He smiled warmly at her and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. She tightened her grip around his torso and curled closer to his side.

“I love you, too, Cal.”