His eyelids began to flutter. Ben looked away, straight into the wall they were seated beside. His vision blurred with water and he squeezed his eyes shut, keeping them tightly closed while the food runner returned and delivered their bread.
Ben didn't know how to do it, how to properly convey the things he felt interiorly. His father had taught him too well. Damn near years of Ben's life had been spent perfecting the numb exterior that had become his safe cocoon. The emotions that did find their way out were only the most simple: frustration, anger, the desire for sex. Juliet had been able to coax love out of him. But remorse? Crying? Pain had always been the most difficult, because every time his eyes blurred with tears, he began to mistake innocent objects for his father's hand flying towards his face.
But now, he was holding too much back, and the usual tricks weren't working. He pressed his napkin against his eyes to catch the overflow. The need to cry was drowning him.
He knew he deserved it, to be at the break of a flood in the midst of so many spectators. He could feel the eyes from the surrounding tables boring into his skin. No, he had to get somewhere private, immediately, or else he would find a way Dammit! to fight through and survive, yet again.
He stood up. "I... need a moment..."
But as he took a step in the direction of the restrooms, he pulled on Juliet's sleeve. He wanted her with him, not even remotely to show off or prove himself, but because he'd seldom been more frightened in his life.