Oct. 30 | 3:00pm | 46 days before the deadline
Jack was not in his best moments. He snapped a week ago and he had not been able to say anything. It was difficult for him to open up to anyone, let alone someone he had met some days ago. He had been skipping classes, he stopped going to the café and completely ignored Sophie's messages. There were at least 50 "I'm sorry Jacky" messages. It seemed like he didn't care at all, yet pain and remorse were eating him from the inside. He wanted to apologize to Sophie, but he was an idiot. Years of repressing feelings ended in a sad skinny boy™. He was trying to find the perfect words. The perfect string of thought. The ideal way of saying, "I'm sorry, I was a dick, and you were being friendly." (The boy needs therapy.) At last, he sent a text, "I'm sorry, meet me at the café, we need to talk xx."
After sending the text, he went to take a shower, with the belief that that would clear his mind. The only thing it did was giving him more doubts that security about being so vulnerable with someone he had just met weeks ago. He finished his express shower and went to the café. Sophie was already in their table when he arrived.
—Jacky! I'm sorry, I was thinking about myself, and I didn't think about your feelings.
—Hey, that's okay, calm down a bit, I was the dick in the situation, not you.
—Are you sure?
—Yeah, I am
—You said that you wanted to talk about something, what is it?
—It's kind of an apology, sort of an explanation. I mean, if we are going to be working together and we are going to be friends you need to know this.
—Okay, whenever you are ready Jacky, I'm going to be by your side always.
—It's difficult, to begin with, you know my father died when I was 3, and I yell at you that I wanted to have something to feel that void. But I don't know why I have that void. I mean, yeah, I grew up without a parent, and mostly alone because my mother was working all day. Yet I never knew my dad. I don't know what he loved to do, or what was his favorite song. A person which my only memories with him are those that have myself in pain is nothing worth having, right? My problem was not with you, but with myself. I tried to have a bond with the void, instead of weakening that bond to have a stronger one with the ones that are with me. So, what I want to say is that I'm sorry I was so self-centered when you were nice to me.
—Jack. Are you dumb? Bond with the void? Weaken that bond? You are talking about your deceased parent. You cannot be so simple about that. You are going to hurt yourself, and in the way, you will hurt others. Maybe it will be your mother, or maybe it will be me. You need to stop and think again that. Those decisions are not to take easily. At least not in a week. He is your father. Your own blood and you are going to forget him only because he is dead?
—I am not forgetting him, I'm trying to get away from that pain, and you know that blood is not a bond. I can create my own family away from blood, and I will. It's a way of not being caught up in the past, in that pain. It's an endless pit that I don't want you to be part of.
—I want to be part of that. Your pain is part of you, and you cannot deny yourself and expect to be healthy. You cannot put a knife in and take it out halfway and call it progress. You still have half a knife in. If you are in pain, you will need to take the knife out first in order to heal. The void is part of you, deny it, and you will deny yourself.
—You might be right, but I already made my choice. And I will face whatever that choice brings to my life.
—You are not at the level of being so handsome that being stupid is allowed. You will need help if you want to be hurt by life. So, expect pain and suffering, but expect me by your side, helping you heal. And waiting for the "You were right" moment.
—That's not going to happen, and you know it.
They both laugh after that. Jack was, in a way, relieved and in other, even more worried. Time was slipping away between them, but at least they were not by themselves. They were just experiencing the calm before the storm. A storm that neither of them expected.