We Used to See with Wide Eyes

Brendon was true to his word. When I got there the next morning he was sitting in my booth, with a superhero coloring book and a box of those smelly crayons that you can get high off of. I wouldn't recommend it though. You don't want to be smelling "clean shirt" for the next week. In my tween years we were trying to be rebellious and I suffered through it once, and let me tell you, it was not a pleasant experience. Luckily, we grew out of that phase pretty fast.

As those familiar bells jingled as I walked through the door of the diner, Brendon turned around. When he saw me, his face lit up with his trademark, toothy grin. Something told me that today he would be chatty, because when I slid into my booth and guardedly met his eyes, I couldn't see any hint of the masked pain I had caught a glimpse of yesterday.

"Hi!" he said excitedly in a voice that actually made me feel less reluctant to partake in this activity with him.

In a polite fashion that conveyed I was talking to an acquaintance I said, "Hello."

"You want to know what?" he asked, clearly begging me to respond with the socially expected "what?" I obliged him and pulled out my own trusty Star Wars book.

"I haven't colored in a coloring book in about twelve years," he told me in a hushed voice, like it was a secret for the two of us to hear.

I shot him a pointedly skeptical look and asked, "Really?"

He nodded his head so fast and violently that I was surprised it didn't just snap off his neck. I found myself studying him, again, as he flipped through the pages deciding between and batman picture and a superman picture. He wisely chose the Batman one.

I felt an innate curiously regarding this boy. For one thing, he dressed to his own accord. Even I could see that his modern vintage clothing was expensive, but he wore it so casually that any normal observer wouldn't notice them. They, I could tell, would be more fixated with his features because he was, without a doubt, attractive. No, my heart didn't beat any faster when my eyes met his and there were not any butterflies fluttering in my stomach when our hands brushed reaching for the same orange scented crayon, but I could see the qualities that were sure to make other girls grow weak in the knees.

One thing was certain, this boy was a heart breaker and I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a clue.

"You don't talk much." He hadn't looked up from messily coloring Batman's cape but he made me stop my silent evaluation.

"Well," I said in an offhand way, "I'm more of the silent coloring type; it would probably help your skills if you tried it out."

He gasped in mock offense. Did I just try to make a joke? "Are you insulting my artwork?"

"Only if you were insulting my vocal cords," I bantered.

He laughed, which is something that seems to come easy to him. "Then I guess we can still be friends," he paused, "Ok, all done!" He held up his drawing; it was basically just dark scribbles.

"You have true talent," I proclaimed solemnly, trying to keep an amused expression off my face.

Then as he wrote on the picture, he spoke, "To: Parker. From: B-don." He shoved it towards me, "For you."

I had to fight hard not to smile and he knew it. Damn him and his cheerful nature. "I'll hang it on my wall," I told him and found myself actually willing to do so. I couldn't help but crack a small smile as he made a sound that could very well be classified as a giggle.

As I looked at him laughing, in all his boyish charm with a twinkle in his eyes, I realized that I was opening myself up to this person who I didn't even know. My smile quickly died and a hard frown took its place.

He was observant, I'll give him that, and he noticed the change in the direction of our conversation or whatever you might want to call it the instant it happened. I thought it was about as obvious as a twenty degree temperature drop. I didn't know where to go from here and I didn't know how to end this before it got too complicated
.
"Is that why you don't talk?" Brendon asked with a tone of dead seriousness.

"What?" I fiddled with a smelly crayon trying to pretend that I didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"Is whatever happened to you why you don't talk?" He studied me. I knew that his eyes caught the automatic wince and tensing of my shoulders that came along with mentioning my past. He restrained himself from saying more and calmly looked to me for an answer.

I was now on the defensive. "How do you know something happened?" I asked carefully.

"You don't exactly hide it well," he said simply.

He had no right to ask that question, so instead of answering him, I said in a surprisingly harsh tone, "Is whatever happened to you the reason you talk so much?"

Hurt instantly flashed across his face before he recovered, although that sorrow in his eyes was now painfully obvious, "No. I've always talked this much." As I gazed stonily at him, he grabbed his coloring book and stood up, "I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry I bothered you." He walked toward the door and as he was about to push it open he turned back to me and called quietly, "You can keep the crayons."

The door swung shut and glancing down, my hands were clenched so tightly together that my knuckles had turned white. I looked up to see Brendon's retreating figure chuck the coloring book into the trash just outside the diner. Only now did my self-righteous anger start to fade as I realized that I had really hurt him.

A knot started form in the pit of my stomach, I felt really guilty. I mean, yeah, it was a personal question but didn't have to go all Darth Vader on him. I don't think I've ever bitched out someone like I just did; it was not a habit I wanted to start. I could be sarcastic and I had every right to be bitter but I didn't have a right to bring up this guy's painful past and use it against him.

"Dammit," I moaned and let my head fall to the countertop with an unpleasant thud. Now accompany my shame, my head hurt.

What the hell was I going to do about Brendon? Staring at the roan tabletop pattern wasn't proving to be very inspirational, but I didn't know what would be. Scratch that last thought,now I feel even stupider than I did banging my head on the table, Mac.

I stood up so fast that all the blood rushed to my head, creating white dancing splotches, momentarily blinding me so that I just had just enough time to trip and hit my shin on the edge of the booth before my vision cleared. Yep, just like I thought, someone has it out for me.

Grumbling obscenities, I limped back towards the kitchen where Mac was sure to be located.

He looked up as I hobbled through the push doors that always reminded me of ones at a saloon, "What do you need?" he asked and then gestured to the two plates that he was heaping food on, "I was about to bring these out to you two."

Mac knew me well enough that when he saw me shift my weight and don a guilty expression, something was up. He didn't press me, which I'm grateful for, but instead waited for me to fill him in.

I scuffed my shoes against the worn tile, hesitant to open the floodgates of disappointment, but steeled myself and managed to get out, "He left."

"Brendon left?" Mac asked, as if he hadn't heard me correctly the first time.

"Yeah." Cue more scuffing of the shoe.

"Why?"

"Well," I took a deep breath still fixated on the tiles, "He left because I said something I probably shouldn't have." Except, from a result of my nervousness, it came out more like, "HeleftcuzIsaidsomethinIprobablyshoudn't'ave."

He got the message, even through my garbled delivery, "What did you say to him?" His shoes appeared in my field of vision.

"I, uh –"

"Parker!" The sharp note his voice had taken startled me and I looked up into his dark eyes that usually held warmth, but now I only found seriousness and maybe a little anger. I can only ever remember seeing Mac angry at me once and I have to say it was well deserved, (Lee and I almost burned down his kitchen when we were ten, it was an accident), but it wasn't this type of anger. This was protective anger.

"Ok, so he asked me about you know and so I got really mad and so I basically spit his question back out at him… except different."

"Which was…?"

"Something along the lines of: Is what ever happened to you why you talk so much?"
Mac flung his hands up the air, "Why would you even say that? I thought you were better than that!"

I was starting to get exasperated, I mean yeah I said that, but Brendon was not innocent in this either. I was about to tell him just that but he started talking again, "Parker, I don't think you realize how much that is going to affect him."

This caught me off guard, was there something else? "What do you mean?"

"I want you to know that I'm not mad at you or anything, but –" he pulled me over to one of the barstools and sat me down, "Brendon's been slightly unstable lately."

"Like suicidal?" I asked, shocked.

There was a pause.

"Not really."

"What do mean not really? You either want to kill yourself or you don't!" I was starting to feel frantic, what if he went home and killed himself because of what I had said to him?

Mac sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, "He said things once or twice that made it seem… I don't think he was actually ever going to… there was… No, he's not. Not anymore," his gaze softened as he saw the panicked expression etched on my face, "Don't beat yourself up about it."

My eyes dropped to the chipped black polish coating my nails, "I hurt him though, and… and I know that. I feel awful." My throat choked up and the guilt was burning in my stomach.

"Oh, Parker," Mac pulled me into a big bear hug.

I don't think I've ever felt quite as pathetic as I did in that moment, and quite frankly, I was disgusted with myself. Here I was, a "grown up" almost having a melt down because she hurt someone's feelings. I know it's more complicated than that. I know that I'm no more mature than when I was sixteen because I have no recollection of anything after that. I know that this thing with Brendon goes a bit deeper than hurting his feelings. But I feel the need to simplify it, because then I can tell what I need to do. I need to apologize to him. Right now.

"Mac?" I said, pulling away from him slightly and brushing my eyes to check if any moisture had escaped (none had - as expected), "Can you ask him to come back? I mean, it doesn't have to be today or anything - tomorrow would be good but I just really really really need to tell him that I'm sorry."

"I can do that."

I blinked up at him and let out the breath that I had been holding, "Thank you," I said tiredly and rubbed my eyes. It was only 10:45am and all I wanted to do was to go home and sleep. This has been a messed up day. Why can't my life be normal? I sighed, I could answer that for myself, because then it would be too easy and we just couldn't have that.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said to my back as I walked from the kitchen.

"Bye Mac," I replied wearily before heading to my booth to grab my stuff.

I can't ever remember feeling this bad, although, that's not really saying much since I don't remember most of seven years of my life. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, no point in dwelling on that since apparently I can't do anything to help.

I slung my bag over my shoulders, weighted down from the extra crayon load and aromatic to a point where it made me dizzy. I started for the door but my head started to –

Rain ran down the window inches from my face distorting the yellowish light filtering in from the street lamp and it beat down on the Bug's soft top. Green lit numbers on the dashboards informed me how late it was and the music came so softly from the speakers that it was only background noise, much quieter than the rain. The motor was running creating a steady and soothing vibration that usually calmed me down, but not tonight. Tonight my fingers drummed nervously on the gearshift and my foot bounced up and down in some form of anticipation.

- pound and my legs wouldn't –

I could see their silhouettes inside the house. He was pacing, his hands making wild gestures to help him get his point across. She stood there, head in her hands, but every so often she would retaliate and then her hands would help her do the talking. Then he stopped, right in front of her. Their shadows cast on the curtains almost touched, whatever he was saying made her resume her attempts to keep him but he would have none of it. Every hand moving to his hair or his arm was deflected and then he was gone, her silhouette sunk to the floor.

- support my weight. They crumpled beneath me and the tile rushed up to meet me as I blacked out.

He was at the door, yanking rapidly on the handle until I could unlatch it. Stupid old car.

"Go," he ordered the second he slammed the door shut, barely able to force the words out of his mouth, "Just go."

I didn't need any urging. I drove. There was no destination only the need to take him far away from there.

Only when the rain came down so hard that the wipers weren't clearing it enough so I could see, did I stop. I pulled into an empty shopping center parking lot lit by neon store signs and cut the engine but left the power on. For the first time, I took a good look at Liam. His blond hair was dripping from the few seconds he was outside and it released streams of water onto his face… or where those tears? It was hard to tell. He was shivering slightly and his hands were stuffed under his arms. His eyes flickered towards me, he was aware I was watching him but said nothing.

I only wanted to hug him but I knew that's not what he wanted right now and so I refrained. It pained me to see him hurting this much. Nothing like this had ever happened to either one of us and I almost wish it was me experiencing this instead. Fate had decided to deal it out this way though, so we had to figure out a way to deal with it.

After ten minutes in silence I needed to say something, "Lee…" I put a hand on his arm and I took it as a good sign when he didn't shake it off, "What did she say?"

He didn't respond for a few moments but then took a deep breath and after pulling his red shirt away from his skin said, "The usual excuse you would expect: it's not what it looked like. I just blew up, what other way could I take seeing her in bed with another guy? What other interpretation is there?"

I think I was just supposed to listen and so I did but I couldn't help but be shocked at the cold tone Liam took, every hint of his normal sunny disposition was gone. Then again I couldn't blame him; you couldn’t turn a cheating girlfriend into a joke.

"Did you love her?" I asked. It was something that we never really talked about... love, I mean. We've both gone out with people and dated at least one person seriously but we've never talked about how serious they were. Personally, I haven't been "in love" with someone.

He met my gaze and his gray eyes were sad, "Almost," is all he said.

That look more than anything made my blood boil. How could she do this to him? Any girl would be lucky to be with Liam. He was smart, sweet and funny… not to mention good looking (and I say that purely on an observational level because that would be gross otherwise.) What other guy could possibly be better than him? She had always seemed so nice and although she wasn't one of my best friends or anything I still had always liked her… until now. Now I just wanted to go over and shout at her and tell her what a horrible person she is.

Liam must have caught the malevolent glint in my eye because he warned me, "I don't want you going and starting something with her. We're through – on my terms and I just want this whole thing to be left behind and I can't do that if you are constantly picking a fight with her." Damn he knows me well.

"I promise," I said seriously and he turned the volume of the radio up so that we could actually hear the music. It was his way of telling me that he was done with the heart to heart.

I stared out my window letting everything fall from my mind and only hearing the music which drowned out the downpour from the sky.

"While he’s having a smoke
And she’s taking a drag
Now they’re going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it’s all in my head
But she’s touching his—chest
Now, he takes off her –"

We both dove for the radio dial at the same time, desperate to change it. I was only wishing I had caught what song was on earlier. That song is so overplayed and even though I liked it at first, it's starting to get on my nerves. It definitely wasn't helping in this situation.

Lee managed to switch it to a CD so now some inoffensive Modest Mouse was flowing through the sound system we had installed. I sighed a breath of relief and let my forehead fall softly against the window on my left. The cool glass felt good against my skin and I felt myself relaxing just a bit.

"As life gets longer, awful feels softer.
Well it feels pretty soft to me.
And if it takes shit to make bliss,
then I feel pretty blissfully.
If life's not beautiful without the pain,
well I'd just rather never ever even see beauty again.
Well as life gets longer, awful feels softer.
And it feels pretty soft to me."

I was contemplating the irony of this song when I felt an arm slid around my waist and pull me into a hug. Finally. I returned the gesture and pulled him closer, aware that his shoulders were shaking ever so gently like he didn't want me to know. I sure as hell didn't care that his wet shirt was making mine damp so I held him close, comforting, until he was ready to pull away wiping his face. I ignored his muttered apologies only sending him a small reassuring smile and giving his hand one last squeeze before starting the engine.

For the cliché effect, the rain had stopped as we hugged and we were able to go home now. Thank god that Vegas only has quick but hard rain… I don't think I could stand it raining all the time.

Lee's voice stopped me from putting the Bug into gear, "Thank you."

"I'm here any time." It's true, I would do anything for him.

"You're the best, Parks."

I smiled, "For the record, you're the best too."

"Parker!!" Mac's face swum in an out of focus as I regained consciousness. Right above my left eye hurt, probably from the impact of hitting the tile but otherwise, the pain brought on by the flashback was gone. "What happened?" Mac asked, his voice laced with concern as he helped me off the floor.

I laughed at myself, trying to sound convincing, "You know me… I tripped." I'm not sure why I lied. Maybe I can't take what the doctor will tell me… I hate that I'm a coward.

He eyed me like I might be lying but my nonchalance put him at ease, "Just be more careful next time."

"You say that every time," I reminded him.

"Well you obviously don't listen."

We exchanged goodbyes again and I managed to get through the diner door without a hitch, stifling a huge yawn. I'm going straight to bed when I get home, but I won't fall asleep for a long time. I never do.