Table of Contents [Report This]
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Thank You
I’ve always wanted her respect, but never like this. Maybe recognition for finding a file, or bringing her coffee or pills for her headaches. Little things would be nice, but not this.
It wouldn’t mean as much if she said it all the time, everyday, for the little things. But she doesn’t. In her eyes, the little things don’t mean much. It doesn’t matter that her father took her out for lunch when he missed her graduation. A candied heart means nothing after being glued to the floor for three hours.
Maybe she thinks about it, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe her pride’s too strong. It doesn’t matter.
It’s sad that she can’t, or doesn’t, and I feel bad I can’t answer her now. The one time she says it- and means it. I know what I’m supposed to say, according to proper English. But I can’t. It just wouldn’t be right. I can’t accept gratitude from her for helping her look into the death of her boyfriend. Lover. Love. Whatever he was. He meant something to her.
It’s personal this time, solely to her. Everything else we’ve ever looked into was sent by way of Jarod. Clues, breadcrumbs, keys to the past, were all sent by him. And somehow, whether it was her life or not, it made it our business, not just hers.
But this isn’t our business. None, whatsoever. She shouldn’t have to search this place for answers to this loss. She shouldn’t have to be on edge, shouldn’t have to think that everyone is suspect until proven otherwise.
This is not how I wanted to prove myself. So I stay silent and bow out of the room.
Because some thank you’s are better left ignored.
+ + +
end
Thank You
I’ve always wanted her respect, but never like this. Maybe recognition for finding a file, or bringing her coffee or pills for her headaches. Little things would be nice, but not this.
It wouldn’t mean as much if she said it all the time, everyday, for the little things. But she doesn’t. In her eyes, the little things don’t mean much. It doesn’t matter that her father took her out for lunch when he missed her graduation. A candied heart means nothing after being glued to the floor for three hours.
Maybe she thinks about it, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe her pride’s too strong. It doesn’t matter.
It’s sad that she can’t, or doesn’t, and I feel bad I can’t answer her now. The one time she says it- and means it. I know what I’m supposed to say, according to proper English. But I can’t. It just wouldn’t be right. I can’t accept gratitude from her for helping her look into the death of her boyfriend. Lover. Love. Whatever he was. He meant something to her.
It’s personal this time, solely to her. Everything else we’ve ever looked into was sent by way of Jarod. Clues, breadcrumbs, keys to the past, were all sent by him. And somehow, whether it was her life or not, it made it our business, not just hers.
But this isn’t our business. None, whatsoever. She shouldn’t have to search this place for answers to this loss. She shouldn’t have to be on edge, shouldn’t have to think that everyone is suspect until proven otherwise.
This is not how I wanted to prove myself. So I stay silent and bow out of the room.
Because some thank you’s are better left ignored.
+ + +
end
