7 - You Matter

                                    

                                          
I brought the mug to my lips, liking the way the creamy, sizzling chocolate liquid hurtled through my throat. It gave much-needed heat to my chest.
                          
Forrest stole sips of his coffee, leaning back into his chair. His long-sleeved shirt still clung to his skin, but he was drying - just at an awfully slow pace. I was also, but I wished the process would hurry up. It wasn't very comfortable to be sitting in damp bottoms; I couldn't imagine or believe how Forrest was coping with it.
                          
Although I kept a hopefully-impassive face, I was starting to feel rather overwhelmed inside. This was so weird. It was extremely difficult to accept that this was actually taking place. I was just casually in a café, having a drink and pancakes, with someone I wasn't close to at all - and he just happened to prevent me from dying. Definitely just another completely normal Tuesday for sure.
                          
I coughed, placing my mug down. "Uh," I made a gesture to the pancakes, "will we be sharing this?"
                          
Forrest blinked at me before he replied. "Oh, no. It's all yours."
                          
"Are you sure?" When he nodded, I decided not to insist. "All right then." I pulled the plate closer to me and grabbed the fork and knife. As I cut a piece, he set his drink down too.
                          
I focused intently on what I was doing, but from the edge of my vision, I could faintly tell that Forrest was watching me. If I said it wasn't unnerving, I would be lying. I never understood why some people watched others while they ate - could they not sense the discomfort? Not really wanting to acknowledge him, I kept my eyes down towards the pancakes, even while I took the first bite.
                          
Wow. Actually, wow was a terrible understatement. Hot, fluffy sweetness unfolded in my mouth; satisfaction spread through me quickly. I had eaten pancakes before - sometimes made them myself - but they could not compare to what was in front of me now.
                          
Although I was still somewhat self-conscious, I couldn't help but lift my gaze to Forrest. "Okay, um, you weren't kidding when you said these were good."
                          
Confusion ran through his face. "Why would I ever kid about pancakes?"
                          
When I realized he was kidding right then, I snorted. After that, I didn't even bother responding; I just went in for another bite. Again, I became a bit too aware of how his stare never left me, but I shrugged it off. If he wanted to look at me, fine. It wasn't like I could flat-out tell him to stop.
                          
Off at the coffee bar, Perry was wiping the counter while whistling a breezy tune. Besides that, no other people entered the café.
                          
After how-many minutes, three-fourths of the pancakes had gone into my stomach, and I was thoroughly enjoying them. I stayed quiet, taking time to chew. Every time I risked a glance at Forrest, he would seem to be lost in his head. Always coming off as somber, I wondered what he was thinking about.
                          
Eventually, I no longer had to wonder. He opened his mouth and slowly said, "We need to talk."
                          
Oh. I paused. Although he didn't even start, I already knew what he meant. In the back of my mind, I'd actually been anticipating for this to happen - because you didn't just stumble upon a suicidal person without speaking to them about it. Naturally, it was what any decent human being would do.
                          
I heard this kind of talk before, though. People always said the same things - as if these words could easily fix what was wrong. You're not alone and you can get through this and of course, my personal favorite: It could be worse.
                          
The thing is, I actually used to believe in that last one. The words would echo in my mind every day, strictly reminding me that I should be more thankful. But I eventually came to the realization that no matter how fortunate I knew I was, it didn't change my problems or the way I felt. So what if other people experienced worse? Thinking about it weighed me down with guilt, but that was it. It didn't truly help. It was as if I didn't have the right to my own feelings, like just because I didn't have the absolute worst life, I shouldn't be depressed. "It could be worse" so I was automatically supposed to be happy. Right?