Silence clung to the slow passing minutes we stared at each other for. And when Simon's lips parted without room for a response, I grew anxious. Did he still crumble inside, hesitant that I could not be a strong enough glue to piece him together?
Or perhaps he was unsatisfied with my response? Had I unknowingly belittled his problems? I repeated the words in my mind, now somewhat embarrassed at the possibility that they hadn't made any sense. I knew well that I wasn't a proficient speaker. Advice was not something others should come to me for, and yet, I had given it. Where had it come from?
"I'm sorry," Simon whispered. The silence retreated and removed its knives from me.
My brows lifted. "Why are you sorry?"
He tried to scoot closer, but our connected knees wouldn't allow it. He leaned forward instead. "For making you talk about last night. That wasn't my intention. I saw how…broken you were."
