He sees her. Or more importantly he sees into her. Sees her for who she is in that moment. Broken. She's sitting at the bus stop, eyes glassy with unshed tears. She's holding them up by sheer willpower. It's something to marvel at actually. His route will take him straight past her and logic dictates that is what he should do, go straight to the gym lest he be late for training. Strangely enough, the energy she carries around her is far more indelible than that of his angry coach. His steps are weighted with intent as he moves toward her, toward her compelling energy he can't yet understand.
As he sits she stiffens and sucks in her breath sharply. He can see her weaving a façade of false bravado but he sees right through it because he's no stranger to facades. Usually, he can't tell where his facades end and where he begins but sitting next to someone who he thinks is just as broken as him, he feels raw like his glamour won't work around her.
He knows it's not the time or place but he's a man and her presence…her essence is something he's affected by. She smells like diamonds and a perfume he can't afford. Her long legs extended in front of her and crossed at the ankles allows for his eyes to rake her form, her contours, highs and lows. And so he wonders why this force is alone at the bus stop trying not to fall apart.
She turns her head toward him, full eyebrows knitting together. He knows he must come off creepy but he's curious.
She gives him a once over quickly, her eyes linger on his wrapped hands and rough knuckles before climbing back up to his face. He must have passed her test because she nods slowly.
"Something like that," she says. Her voice is low and raspy.
"I don't suppose you wanna talk about it?"
She scoffs before meeting his eyes again. She looks again, properly now. Perhaps she sees all the things he sees in her. A kindred spirit.
"I'm not much of a talker," she says. Her words dismiss him but her eyes are inviting. They linger on his lips before looking away with a coy smile.
He doesn't expect to be tangled in her Egyptian cotton sheets, that were more expensive than his apartment, hours later.
She did say she wasn't a talker after all.
He grins to himself as he gets flashes of them stumbling into her apartment hours earlier. His heavy muscles remind him he had hauled her onto her kitchen counter. There's a splinter in his left arms from slapping a vase off her side table. He smiles up into the dark room as he remembers her surprised gasp when he tore her stockings right off. He looks over at her, sheets artistically draped over her naked body. Where'd she get so much energy to keep up with him he wonders as she stirs awake.
Dark brown eyes hold him captive the moment they blink open. She stretches contently with a soft smile.
"Do you make a habit of falling into bed with strangers?" he asked.
She turns on her side and he mirrors her with a sheepish grin.
"Can't say that I do,"
She tips her chin slightly in deep thought.
"Are you okay?" he tries again.
She sighs and snuggles deeper into her cool sheets. "You know my friends tell me I'm too blessed to be depressed. I'm not permitted to be pessimistic with all I have.'" she says in a statement kind of way that he knows she's not looking for a response. But now he knows her hurt runs deeper than a break up or a fight with a friend.
He wants to hurt with her right in that bed.
But he also wants to heal her, take away her pain.
She stirs beside him and brings him out of his reverie.
"Do you like bringing broken things home?" she asks simply without accusation in her tone.
She doesn't wait for him to answer before she says, "if you do, that says more about you than it does about me."
So she can see through him just as well as he can through her. Focusing on someone else's pain is easier than focusing on your own. And it's not fair to her but he wants to hold on to her and this feeling for as long as she will permit.
"You should go now," she says. She rises up from the bed holding to sheet to her body.
"Did I do something wrong?"
She looks back at him with a sympathetic smile. "Silly boy, two broken pieces don't make a whole."