I sigh, "I don't even know where to begin..."

Cruz's gaze falls on me, steady, unwavering. He seems invested in what I'm about to say. I bite my lower lip. The attention is flattering and nerve-wracking at the same time. I decide to start with the easier parent, the one who I don't have any emotional attachments to—

"Well... I guess... it's a pretty cliché story. My dad bolted when my mom got pregnant with me. I never knew the guy. He's married now. His new wife doesn't want me around, so he asked my aunt to look after me."

Cruz mutters, "Shit, that sucks."

Now, it's my turn to stall. I stay silent about the other parent, the one I miss with all my heart.

Gently, he prompts, "What about your mom?"

I take in a deep breath. The air releases from my lungs in a slow, trembling exhale. I mutter in a halting manner, "She, um, died. It happened a few years ago."

His eyebrows shoot up in shock. I shrug and give a noncommittal grunt. My chest feels tight and achy as I tell him, "She left for work one morning and never came back."

"What happened?"

I push out the words in a pained rasp, "A fucking drunk driver."

He whispers, "Damn."

We remain quiet for a while. Everything suddenly feels heavy and cheerless. I don't have the emotional bandwidth to bring up Persie. Not tonight. We barely talked about my mom, and I'm already drained.

To my surprise, Cruz doesn't rush to offer his condolences or sympathy. Instead, he stays silent and simply reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, as we lie side by side in bed.

It's kind of nice.

Unhappy thoughts about my mom, his mom, Chrissa, and Brody fade from my mind. It reminds me of our time in the park. I think touch is his way of comforting me, and I appreciate it. Words are nice but kind of useless. 

My mom is dead. 

Nothing anyone ever says can bring her back, and I've learned, after a while, there's only so many times you can listen to someone say I'm so sorry and I'm here for you before you want to scream. Then, the heartfelt sympathy and tearful words fade away as they get to move on with their lives, leaving me, stuck, to deal with the sadness on my own.

As the minutes tick by, Cruz's body leans towards mine, and I find myself sidling up against him. Lightly, his cheek falls on top of my head.

"Do you think of her often?" he asks.

"Not really," I admit, "I try not to think about her at all, actually. It's... depressing."

"I don't like thinking about my mom, either."

I squeeze his hand. "It makes you miss her more, huh?"

Cruz glances over to me with soft eyes. "Yeah, it really does."

I look up at him. "I miss my mom like crazy, too."

In gruff tones, he starts, "Sometimes..."

I wait for him to continue.

When Cruz speaks again, he chooses the rest of his words carefully, "I think... missing someone... simply means that... the love was real. Loss can't exist without love, right? At least, this is what I tell myself, so I know I'm not sad for nothing."

I take a moment to process his words. "Does it help? To think about love and loss that way?"

He laughs quietly, but it's not exactly an uplifting sound. "Some days it helps. Other days... it feels like bullshit."

"I guess, no matter what," I muse softly, "the more we care, the more it usually ends up hurting."

"Life's fucked up like that, huh?"

"So fucked up," I echo.

"You know, it's weird," he drawls in low tones, "I never feel like talking about this depressing shit with anyone."

I can't help but smile through my sadness. "I know, right?"

"But, with you, it feels... normal."

Our gazes lock in the darkness of my room.

At this moment, I feel as though we get each other completely. Each in our own ways, we're both sad, depressed kids at heart.

"It's nice to have someone," I reveal in murmuring tones, "understand. For once."

He grunts gently, "Yeah?"

I nod. "I feel like, by now, everyone expects me to be okay about my mom, but..."

Cruz finishes for me, "It's tiring to pretend like everything's fine when you don't feel that way."

My breath catches before I reply, "Exactly."

His gaze darkens with emotion. Suddenly, Cruz shifts closer. His arms wrap around me. He pulls me to him, and I rest my head upon his bare chest. His skin feels smooth and warm under my cheek. It all happens so fast and so naturally that I don't question it.

My shyness is gone.

Cruz makes me feel understood, instilling me with a sense of calm, and a little light shines through the heavy black void inside. A part of my heart flickers open, and my innermost thoughts unleash in a stream of rambling consciousness.

"You know what?" I mumble against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"We're kinda badass."

Cruz blinks. "We... are?"

"I think so."

"In what way?"

"Maybe it's better to struggle like we have. To know what it's like to be hurt."

He chuckles, "You sure about that? I think most people would be happier without struggling at all in life."

"No, no, hear me out!"

"Okay..."

"Without the struggle, it's, like, you end up with a whole chunk of your heart missing. They say 'hurt people hurt people,' but, I think, people who have never known struggle hurt people even more."

Cruz tilts his face towards me. "What do you mean?"

Bitterly, I think of Chrissa and Brody. "People who have always had it easy don't know how much it sucks to be on the receiving end of life's bullshit."

"Yeah, that's true," Cruz agrees slowly, seeming to catch my drift. "I guess, our school is full of assholes who have had a pretty easy life."

"Right?"

He growls, "I can think of two fuckers in particular."

A stab of dismay hits my chest.

Fuck Chrissa. 

Fuck Brody, too.

My mind drifts toward Persie as I babble on, "Maybe... this is why... everyone needs something or someone to care about. If you give a fuck, and someone gives a fuck about you, then there's a reason to try to be a better person."

When I'm done, I feel lowkey embarrassed by my outburst. Luckily, Cruz doesn't give me a hard time about it. He simply grunts in acknowledgement before stealing a look in my direction.

Cruz proceeds to ask, "Is there someone you give a fuck about right now?"

"Of course," I answer without any hesitation, thinking again of Persie.

I gaze at him with a self-possessed expression. My response seems to catch him off guard. His eyes grow wide.

I probe, "What about you?"

A slow smile spreads across Cruz's face. "What about me?"

I throw the same question back at him, "Is there someone you give a fuck about right now?"

He keeps his reply purposely vague, "There might be. She's someone I never thought I'd be interested in, though."

Shit.

He likes someone?

A pang of jealousy strikes me unexpectedly, but I push it aside. I guess Cruz really meant what he said in the park. Nothing will ever happen between us.

In grumbly tones, I offer, "She's a lucky girl."

I mean it, though. I never thought I'd feel this way, but Cruz is genuinely a great guy.

"Thanks," he mumbles, his eyes never leaving my face. "For the record, this lucky girl, she's, ah... pretty amazing."

"Oh, yeah?"

He smiles at me. "Definitely."

I frown. I don't like how we're suddenly talking about other girls. I shouldn't be bothered about it, but I am.

I cough. "Well, I hope things work out for you two. Maybe you can ask her to go to the winter formal or something?"

Cruz's eyes narrow and his arms grow tense around me.

For some reason, my reply seems to annoy him?

He grimaces. "I don't think so. She's kinda... clueless. Plus, she's totally off limits right now."

My curiosity blooms some more.

Who is this bitch?

I want to know, but I'm also scared to ask. I don't want to put a face and name on Cruz's "amazing, off-limits" crush.

Because I know I'll never measure up. I remark sullenly, "Aw, I'm sorry, man, that... sucks."

The corner of Cruz's mouth quips. "It's okay, I'm happy just being able to... be around her... for now."

Glancing over again, I can't help but gape at him in awe. 

Damn. 

He's so incredibly sweet. I wish I had a guy feel that way about me.