Eight

Pain is the only thing that’s telling me I’m still alive. -Unknown

Callie

Brandon must still have had alcohol coursing through his system this morning, because he used the word perfect to describe me and then pulled me into the most genuine hug I've ever been given since my mom.

I listened to his heartbeat with my ear pressed to his chest. It was racing fast, probably due to April's unexpected visit. I could tell he wanted to cry after closing the door in her face; I didn't know him long, but I knew what heartbreak looked like. I knew what it felt like. I assumed he lost feelings for her long ago, and maybe he believed that as well. However, when the end of something is solidified, it hits you hard.

I thought I was prepared for my mothers death, I truly did. I prepared for months before it happened to avoid the pain that I'm going through now. Then, when it actually happened, I went into complete denial. I talked to her as if she would answer me, only to be responded to with a chilling silence. I left her eyes open for a while because if I closed them, I knew I would never be able to look into them again. What if I forgot what they looked like? What if I forgot the golden hazel color?

If I closed them, it solidified that it was real. And Brandon closing the door on his first love reminded me of that painful moment.

The worst is the silence after you do something that breaks you, because you realize that you're going to be completely alone and there is no turning back time. There is no opening back a dead persons eyes.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and the answer is very crucial to this friendship." Brandon says, putting the laminated menu down on the table in front of him before resting his chin on his fists.

I lift a brow and smile nervously. His eyes looked so tired, so drained. After our embrace, he went on pretending that nothing happened. He didn't mention April, or even the night before when I swore he was going to kiss me. It was just because he was drunk, but I'd be lying if I said I'd reject him.

"Waffles or pancakes?" He narrows his eyes at me like my answer would make or break us. I hold in my laughter and tap my chin, pretending to think really hard on the decision.

"Definitely waffles. Pancakes get too soggy." I scrunch my nose and he throws his hands in the air dramatically.

"I'm sorry, I can't be friends with someone that doesn't like something as precious as 24 hour diner pancakes."

"Well maybe I can't be friends with someone that likes soggy bread." I smile, trying to act serious like he was, but failing miserably.

"Also, waffles have the little holes that hold the syrup and butter perfectly. Totally convenient." I add, seeing the waiter nearing us from my peripheral.

"Good morning, what can I get started for you guys today?" The waiter says, his voice deep and groggy as if he had just woken up. I look up at him, noticing that his reddish brown hair was all over the place and he was stifling yawns. He looked tired, probably arrived late to work.

He looks down at me first, awaiting my order. His eyes slightly widen, but he looks away quickly and focuses back to his notepad with his pen pressed to it.

"Just the waffle combo with bacon, please." I say, shooting Brandon an amusing glance.

"And I'll do the pancake combo with sausage. An extra stack, please."

I laugh and shake my head, handing the waiter our menus after he finishes scratching our orders down. His rough fingers accidentally graze mine as he takes them from me, and when they do, I look up at him again. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he was really handsome. Not nearing Brandon's level of handsome, but attractive nonetheless.

Jesus, what was wrong with me?

"We'll get that right out for you." He says, his stare not leaving mine. His thick brows were scrunched a bit as if in thought, and I think he is about to say something else until he turns on his heel back towards the kitchen.

I look back to Brandon who is sat across from me and smile, but he doesn't quite match it.

"Do you know him?" He asks, taking a sip of his ice water.

"No, I don't think so." I shrug. "So when do you go back to the hospital?"

He groans and leans back completely in the booth, running a tired hand down his face.

"Tomorrow morning- another twelve hour shift."

"Damn." I say, feeling sorry for him, but at the same time feeling proud of him. Working a twelve hour shift after a breakup is certainly not for the weak.. I couldn't do it, but I am weak. He is strong. I hoped to one day be as strong minded as Brandon, but for now I am the depressing opposite. I frown.

"When do you go back to school?" He asks, pulling my from my thoughts.

Ugh- school.

"I haven't really thought much about it, honestly. I've been on a break from classes for about a week now, and while I don't want to waste the money I spent towards it, I don't exactly want to go back."

Brandon nods slowly, taking in my words one by one. I notice that he never breaks eye contact when speaking, which was something that made me both uncomfortable and envious, for I hated the premise of eye contact. We're told from a young age that looking someone in the eyes is so important, but if it is then why does it make me want to crawl out from under my skin? It feels too intimate, too personal.

I ignore his gaze and fumble with my fingernails again, pulling at the cuticles.

More silence.

"Why did you choose the world of dentistry?" Brandon folds his hands on the table and leans a bit closer. He smells like he needs a shower and a toothbrush instead of just toothpaste across the tongue, but somehow he managed to still look mesmerizing and hypnotic.

Those words have only ever made sense when being used to describe the right person. It never made any sense before- because how could a simple human being be described as something as beautiful as the word mesmerizing.

"Well," I clear my throat. "I googled fast technical college courses, and it was either what I'm doing now or massage therapy, and I don't think I can memorize all of the muscles for that." I laugh, thinking back to my horrid time in high-school health class.

"You have to memorize a lot of things for dental assisting, too. Sounds to me like you just want something quick and easy."

"And is something wrong with that?" I challenge, not especially liking how his tone sounded. I've went through high-school absolutely despising it; I skipped so many classes that it was a miracle I could graduate. So why would I waste money enrolling in expensive courses for years to have the same experience?

Of course it had to do with me wanting to spend more of the precious time I had left with my mother, for that was time I truly could not get back. Now though, even in her death, it feels the same. I don't have passions anymore.

"Not necessarily, I was just curious if maybe you had other dreams."

I scoff. "I dream of my mother being alive to meet her grandkids. I truly do not dream of work."

"You have to do something though, right? We all have to survive somehow, might as well survive doing something you love or at least find tolerable." He cocks a brown and I roll my eyes. I was annoyed- both because he was kind of making sense but also kind of pissing me off.

"I'm just trying to be realistic, Brandon. Sure, maybe I would have loved to be a photographer back then, but that's not quick and easy money like I need right now." I finally meet his constant agonizing eye contact. "Not everyone has that luxury."

"Photography?" He presses, completely ignoring everything else I had said. "Do you still have any photos you may have taken when you wanted to pursue that?"

"Yes. At home." I play with the cuticle I pulled off of my finger, hating the terrible habit. My fingers looked like a boys. I clench my hands into fists to hide them as I notice the waiter approaching.

"I'd like to see them sometime." Brandon says softly just as our plates are placed in front of us.

"Does everything look okay? Any condiments?" The waiter asks with his hands intertwined. I focus a bit closer to the red and tender skin on his knuckles. He had multiple bandaids on with visible cuts and scrapes still revealing themselves from underneath the bandage covering. I noticed them earlier, but when my eyes focused on them, they couldn't leave.

Maybe he was in a fight? His face didn't look scratched up or bruised, it was only his hands that took a beating.

He must notice my staring, because he suddenly puts his hands behind his back.

"No, I think we're all good." Brandon answers for me. We watch as he nods and forces a smile, meeting my gaze once more before turning away.

"Kinda wish he had gloves on." Brandon laughs and begins drowning his pancakes in syrup. I fake a gag at the sight and am pulled away from the thoughts of our server with the beat up hands as soon as I look back at the man in front of me. I'm watching Brandon stuff his face like a child as I pull my phone out and open up the camera.

"You mind?" I ask, and wait for the approving nod before snapping a photo. His cheeks were full of pancakes and he was looking into the camera with a funny doe-eyed expression.

"So," he swallows his food and wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Do you have a dad?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I reply, knowing what he meant, but wanting to prolong the inevitable conversation.

He rolls his eyes. I smile and shake my head, taking a bite off the end of my bacon strip. He watches me closely, waiting for me to go on.

"He died when I was ten. Snake bite."

His eyes widen, and I take a drink of water to avoid seeing the look on his face. I was very used to the same reaction people get every time I tell them how my father died. I wanted to believe the wounds from his death were healed up now that I'm older. Either because it's been so long ago or because I've literally had to push it to the deepest part of my brain. Probably both. Either way, it didn't matter. I have new wounds to heal.

"Shit. Im sorry, Calliope."

I shake my head. "It's fine. It was a long time ago, it's just unfortunate that he had to go that way. All because of a fucking reptile and some venom."

Grief tries to swim it's way to the top of my head to take a breath of air, but I push it deeper and let it drown. I didn't want to think about it anymore- it will stay buried until I'm buried.

"What about other family members? Siblings?"

"Only child. I was an accident, my parents originally didn't want children." I smile, fiddling with the red straw in my cup. I wasn't upset that I was an accident, hell, most children almost always are. I wasn't meant to be, but I became, and now I'm here alone with no parents or siblings.

"Mom ran away from home at a young age before she met my dad. She was basically disowned so no grandparents, none that give a shit anyway."

"What about on your dads side?"

I frown, hating that every answer I had for him was depressing. I didn't want pity from him, not from him.

"Drug addicts all around. My dad sobered up for my mom and I, but it didn't even matter in the end."

Imagine going through so much pain to become sober, and then imagine actually succeeding at it, feeling that freedom.. it must be a hell of a feeling.

And then, then you get bit by a fucking snake.

"Life fucking sucks." Brandon says, matching my thoughts exactly. I nod in reply and look back down at my phone to see his photo I just took still lit up across my screen. I smile down at it.

"Let me take one of you."

"Look at me, no way." Heat floods my cheeks at the thought of him wanting to take a picture of me.

I don't have photos of myself in my phone except for some old selfies that I had set for my Facebook profile years ago. It didn't even look like the same me; I had flat dark brown hair and a toothless smile because at the time I had braces. It was almost impossible to get me to truly smile with my teeth. The habit drove my mother crazy, and the habit still stuck after the braces were removed, unfortunately.

"I am looking at you. I've been looking at you." Brandon leans closer to say the words, and I stop breathing when his eyes meet mine. They're stern, they're serious. They're an iceberg floating in the ocean, but they also hold the same heat that I feel in my chest when he tells me these words.

I try to say something, anything, but silence consumes the table until he reaches his hand out for my phone. I frown and slowly hand it to him, trying to flatten some of the frizz down afterward. He notices and shakes his head.

"Stop that." He orders with a lifted brow. "I love the purple, by the way." He hesitates before reaching a hand across the table, nearing my hair.

"It was my moms favorite color."

He smiles a dimpled smile.

"Can I?" He asks in a whisper. I slowly nod and flutter my eyes closed as he softly grasps my hair and moves it to the front of my body, letting the black and purple strands fall down to meet my breast.

He lingers for a moment with his hands still on my hair, his fingertips running down the length of it until it meets the end.

Brandon clears his throat, pulling away just as I open my eyes. The phone is in his hands and he's pointing it right at me. I'm not sure how to smile or what to do with my hands, so I keep my hands in my lap and smile a dimpled smile.

Click

He takes a moment to stare at it, and I look away in embarrassment.

We spend the rest of the time laughing and eating, me mostly laughing and him mostly eating. I get silently disappointed as I realize it was time to leave, for I knew I would be alone again soon. It liked to wait until I was alone.

As he pays for our meals at the front counter, I notice a help wanted sign taped to the cash register. If I had a job, I could be out of the house more. I could crawl out from my pit of sorrow and maybe, just maybe my mother would go into the damn light instead of haunting me with her presence.

The fear I felt when I see her is something I never felt from her human form; this was different, this was darker. I believed that it was a form of my imagination because of the loss, but part of me couldn't help but think it might be real..

I ask for an application just as Brandon puts his debit card back into his wallet, and we walk out into the morning air with our hands grazing with every step we take.