connie:

    and she prepared herself to tell the life long story that
    seemed to only take a few minutes. there was so much
    that she couldn’t keep it short and even in her attempts
    to make it short, there was still a lot of information left.

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    a vivid dream that morphed into a new reality? a new world
    that shielded them away from the blandness of this
    unjustified one? 

    sam doesn’t know what to say; his mind keeps reeling up
    questions as connie’s story goes deeper to now. it sounds
    too surreal, teeming with a bit of impossible factors that
    has him NEARLY question its validity. he doesn’t think she’s
    capable of it, lying, especially by the way her face contorts
    into an image of genuine sadness. 

    there’s no way this is made up.

    death. betrayal. separation. while it sounded somewhat
    positive in the beginning, this was no upwards progression
    into happiness, but a sad one, leaving off where the two sat
    now. 

    reality tethers them down in this life, not that sam understands.
    as connie finishes, the tears ensue. sam frowns. what does he
    do? what can he do? a simple i-understand assurance can’t
    stand for this because he DOESN’T understand. the urgency
    to help is what surges in his thoughts & prompts him to
    approach where she sat, regardless of not experiencing all that
    she’d gone through.

   “h–hey,” he softly speaks up, a hand of reassurance propped
    on her shoulder, “i’m.. sorry this all happened to you.” he bites
    his nether lip, trying to ebb away hesitance to continue, “honestly,
    i’m .. not good with these kind of things, but i’m here for you. you’re
    my friend & i’m sorry. if it helps.. i care about you. & .. i wanna help.”
    what can he do, though? HE’S NOT SURE HOW. he’s only
    FOURTEEN. a kid without much to offer on his plate.