I Can't Help You Fix Yourself But At Least I Can Say I Tried

I stared at the old worn out table beneath my fingers. My fingertips slipping into all the grooves that'd been notched out by previous occupants. I felt like the table. Used and worn. A lifetime of wear and tear thrust upon it despite it's young age.

"Anything else I can get you?"

I lifted my head as the waitress set a bowl of tomato soup down in front of me.

"But I didn't - "

"I know you didn't sweetheart," her eyes were soft as she looked me over. "Leave him honey, it's not worth it."

I was a little stunned but I managed a smile as I watched her walk away. People like her were few and far between in Orange County. Down here, the attitude floating amongst the sun loving occupants was that of 'every man for himself'. It was unfortunate really.

I picked up the spoon cast off to the side of the bowl. The reflection in the tarnished silver caught my eye. I held the spoon as still as I could for a moment. Staring at myself. This isn't who I wanted to be. No one dreams of this.

Disgusted with the bruised being staring back at me I dipped the spoon into the hot red liquid causing the steam to rise up and enter my nostrils. Comfort food. God knows I needed it. I ate quietly. Watching other patrons enter and leave while occasionally stealing glances at the clock. If he didn't hurry up, I was going to leave.

I finished my soup and quietly pushed the bowl aside as I carefully lowered my head into my hands so I could think for a moment. Everything I owned was packed into the trunk of Ehrin's car. I could, but didn't want to live with Danielle. I could never return to the place I'd called home for the past eleven years. And I could never return to the club that most of my 'friends' still went to.

I had to start over, and I had to be careful about where I did that.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was. His voice, was etched into my memory, as was his face. The chisled lines of his jaw leading into a well defined chin that was covered with short black hairs. His soft lips that often thinned into a gorgeous smile. His pierced nose. And his eyes. Oh god his eyes. The whole window to the soul thing, was definately true with him. They were soft and gentle. He lived life to his own tune, feeling and taking in everything around him. He lived life with a passion for it.

"Myranda?"

He slunk onto the old bench across the table from me. The plastic covring the seats screeching beneath him.

"Yeah," I muttered, removing my head from my hands and finally looking up at him.

I knew what he was gaping at. I knew why he wasn't talking.

My left cheek was bruised and swollen and sporting a black eye. I'd left my hair down in the hope to shield myself from the stare of the average citizen. But even with that help, no make-up in the world could cover up what my face had endured. And honestly, I was sick of talking about it. Even though I knew it was going to happen one more time.

"What the fuck happened?" He reached out instinctively to touch my cheek but I shyed away.

"Myranda, who touched you?"

I made the mistake of locking eyes with him. They were full of sadness now. He either truly cared, or he knew deep down what'd happened.

I sighed heavily and regained my composure. "I told you I wanted to thank you," I replied coldly.

"Anything else my dear?"

We both glanced up to see the waitress from earlier. She picked up my dishes and eyed Syn carefully.

"I'm okay," I smiled at her softly. "Thank you."

She nodded her head and slowly walked away.

"As I was saying, your little kidnapping to help me stunt, nearly cost me my life."

He looked like he wasn't sure what to say exactly. Which was alright with me. He did however continue to try and touch my face. Finally succeeding on his latest attempt. His warm palm caressed my cheek ever so gently causing me to shut up immediately.

"Myranda, seriously, who touched you? Talk to me, I'll help you."

The sadness that I could see in his eyes had been replaced with hatred.

"I think you've helped me enough," I whispered as I sat back, pulling away from his gentle touch.

He sat back into his own seat finally, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on Myranada. If not I'll just go to Danielle. No one touches - "

I don't know what he wanted. To hear names? So what? He could go kick someone's ass? Right. Nothing like bringing a knife to a gun fight. He'd walk in sure, but he'd never walk out.

"Jesus, this isn't your world Syn. These people work very differently. They have their own rules. Their own law. And their own way of enforcing it."

I didn't know how else to explain it to him. I wanted to tell him that he needed to stay away. If not for his own safety, then for me.

"And that makes it alright for them to beat the shit out of you?" His voice rose and fell within the same sentence. He was angry.

"I fucked up Syn," I pointed to myself as I tried to emphasize my point. "I knew the rules."

He was shaking his head now. Trying to understand where I was coming from but I knew he never would. Unless you lived it, you really had no idea.

"So why did you call me exactly?" he asked suddenly, a seriousness in his voice.

To be completely honest, I wanted to see him one last time. To tell him, that this was the last time.

"To tell you to forget about me," I ran my fingers through my hair before looking up at him. "I'm not worth your time."

He sat there quietly for a moment. Simply staring at me. Occasionally flexing his hands, causing the muscles beneath the tattoos on his arms to ripple. Suddenly, he broke eye contact and got up from the table, making a straight line for the front door.

I was startled to say the least. No goodbye. No nothing. He just walked.

"Fuck," I muttered before grabbing my purse and standing up. I slung the strap over my shoulder and stopped at the counter long enough to say thank you to the waitress that'd been so kind.

I stepped out into the warm, polluted air of the city. The door clanked shut behind me causing me to jump slightly. I wasn't sure why I was so nervous.

"What's it going to take for me to understand where you're coming from?"

I snapped my head to the side. Syn was leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette in hand.

"What's it going to take?" he repeated.

I shrugged. "To live it."

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. "We can't just spend time talking about it?" he asked before walking towards me.

"Talking about it, is only going to let you see it from one person's perspective," I said exhasperated.

"Then let me in. Show me what it's like. I want to help you."

I was shaking my head. He didn't know what he was asking me. He didn't know, what he was getting into.

"I can't let you Syn. I'm not going to be the one that get's you into this world."

He stepped closer yet, cupping my face gently in his hands making me look at him. The gentleness of his face was gone.

"I'm not leaving you Myranda. Either you help me. Or I learn about everything myself."

I closed my eyes. Holding back tears. I knew he'd do it. He'd been good to his word thus far. And I wasn't about to let him jump into this world on his own. He was going to need my help.

"Alright," I whimpered finally, opening my eyes and staring up at him.

I'd agreed, even though I knew that by the end of this, we were both going to need help getting out.