Page 20 of Holding On

"But you didn't finish."

"No, but I will eventually. Maybe in a few years."

"Why'd you quit?"

"For personal reasons. I'd rather not talk about it." She mops in front of the TV, positioning herself to the side so I can still see the screen.

"I'm not watching it," I tell her. "You can go in front of it."

She nods and keeps mopping. "You watch a lot of TV?"

"I guess I do. I don't really keep track. Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered. You said you didn't get many visitors so I just wondered if maybe..." She shakes her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't ask."

"Ask what? Go ahead and say it."

She stops mopping and turns to me. "I haven't seen you around town since the accident. I just wondered what you do all day. But it's none of my business, so just forget it." She continues mopping.

For some reason, I feel like telling her. Telling her how I hate being stuck here at home. How I hate feeling so alone. So isolated. So helpless, bound by the limitations of my broken leg.

But why the hell would I tell her that? I don't even know this girl.

My heart is pounding, my head urging me to keep quiet. Then just as the words are about to spill from my mouth, my phone rings.

I'm relieved. Thankful for the interruption.

Telling her would've been a mistake. I don't want her knowing how I feel. How I struggle to get through each day.

That's none of her business or anyone else's.

This is my problem to deal with. My own personal hell. My punishment for letting Jason drive that night.

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