Compassion
Before when he’d had a bad day, he’d go drinking with friends while cursing insurgence before stumbling back to his room and sleeping away the rest of the night and whatever emotions still lingered. If the next day he still needed to vent, he’d write messages to his parents, ones he never intended to send.
Now everything was different.
What did you do when the very few friends you had were the ones who were gone? What did you do when only an empty chair was expected to be the other half of the conversation? What did you do when you could no longer drink yourself drunk due to obligations that had been thrust into your lap. What did you do when the messages that weren’t ever intended to be sent only reminded you of those who were gone?
You suck it up. You go to your home with a brave face and you do the duties expected of you. Even if it is late.
But what do you do if instead of finding the only other person who knew you, the only other family in your life was instead awake and waiting instead of asleep as she should have been? What do you do if she sees through all the layers of professionalism and asks you what’s wrong?
What do you do when she steps up as the adult and tells you it’ll be alright. That she’s there for you and that it’s okay to cry?
You cry harder.
