#bfd

His voice is gruff and yet less audible. It pained him to speak, the words bobbing in his throat with a hard swallow as he rubbed the raw stubble on his neck with his other hand. “Don’t say that.”

The hand that still held yours tightened its grip, squishing your small joints together almost painfully. Yet, you don’t pull away. You welcome the pain, wanting him to squeeze your little fingers until they crack.

He graces you with his gaze, not lingering on your reflection in the rearview mirror. No, his eyes connect directly with you with a deep opal blue, dark with emotion and shimmering with dips of light shining from a nearby street lamp. “Please. Don’t apologize.”

A glimpse of yellow flashes beside the road, reflective stickers shining with the onslaught of his headlights. His foot flies down towards the brake, pedal slamming down against the floor and the truck lurching forward with a hard creak. You're thrown against the seatbelt, the rough fabric locking against the sudden jerk in movement.

It was instantaneous, the tearing of his fingers from your smaller digits as his hand spreads out ahead of you, the hard muscles of his arm bracing your body as you nearly slid from your seat.

The world stood still, loose hair falling forward in front of your face as you reached forward. Your fingers find his bicep, veins extended under your soft touch as his limb strains from how quickly he found his place in front of your body.

The car, an awful yellow oncoming without care, sped past across the nose of his truck. Like a jet it flew by, his back bumper clinking against its ass.

“Shit. You ok?!”

His head is turned to fully face you, eyes empty of their previous discourse and filled only with adrenalized concern from the way you’d jerked against your seatbelt.

You nod back quickly, pupils wide but nearly unnoticed in the darkened cab of his truck.

His arm slowly fell away, folding back over the center console. His thick fingers bumping over your palm before gripping your hand, both for comfort and reassurance of your safety.

He reached for you this time, finding you in the dark, steadying himself with your touch as the adrenaline bled from his body.

“People don’t know how to fuckin drive.” He said gruffly, eyes turning back to the road as he took his foot back off the brake carefully before pressing the gas with equal diligence.

You're speechless, focused on keeping your breathing from both becoming too rapid and stopping altogether. You only want to hold him as tightly as he gripped your fingers.

The tires on the truck bumped against the uneven road, making the whole body bob up and down as the asphalt melted into dirt and rock. Your home came into view through the trees, a house of beige and blue with stained siding and a few loose shingles. Lawn art with paint of faded red and rust flowers buried in long, unweeded flowerbeds.

The rain had dimmed, sprinkling the windshield in single drops. The truck rolled into the muddy driveway, stopping as its back tire sat in a puddle-filled pothole.

The calming feeling doesn’t last, his fingers slowly detangling from your smaller digits as he reaches to open his door to hop out.

You swallow thickly, the saliva in your mouth having built into a pool beneath your tongue. There's still warmth left on your skin from where his fingers had squeezed your smaller hand.

Reality dampens the moment, taking you from this small reprieve as your eyes follow his movements around the truck.

You quickly fumble for your seatbelt, popping it apart clumsily just as he reaches your door and opens it to let you out.

You hopped down, backpack slung over your back after yanking it off the floor by your feet as you exited the truck. He pushed the door closed behind you, metal clinking against hard plastic as you turned towards the house.

You waited, hovering beside him like a lost puppy, until his hands went into his coat pockets and he nodded his head towards the house.

“C’mon, doll.”

You let him lead you to your own abode. Shoes tapping shallow puddles until you reached the concrete slab of the covered porch. He didn’t cross that stone threshold, keeping a small amount of distance between you and him.

“You gonna be ok, doll?”He watches you, waiting for you to be tucked safely behind your front door.

“If…if you finally want to talk about everything? Yell at me? Bash a brick over my head? I’d deserve it.”

“No, oh my god.” You chuckled back awkwardly. “Thank you for taking me home, Mr. Barnes.”

“Seeya, sweetheart.” He slowly turned, his back coming into view as he walked back up the driveway. He was gentlemanly enough to walk you up to the house but would choose to filter his natural polite charm.

You pulled the key from your bag, fumbling your fingers blindly in the pocket as you watched him disappear back into the cab of the truck.

The key just brushed your fingers before you balled it up in your tiny fist. The door of the car had since been shut, but the tires stayed still. The engine sat idle, with no smoke flowing from the tailpipe.

You finally turn away, the sound of the truck kicking to life with a roar sounding behind you as your key hits the lock and click it open with a quick turn.

You steal another look over your shoulder, watching the body of the vehicle slightly vibrate with the buzz of its running engine.

Soon you're in the house, closing the door behind you when you finally hear the crunch of gravel as he drives away with your back turned. You sling your bag off your shoulder, tossing it onto the couch before approaching the living room window.

You looked through the glass at the damp and cracked pavement of your driveway sitting empty. You felt a wave of relief mixed thickly with the longing left abandoned and unfulfilled. Like a furnace left cold in a crumbling house and yet the soft flickering of its lonesome pilot light.

The house was quiet, not a soul aside from you leaving the sound of soft breathing in your wake. Your mom had taken that weekend shift after all, leaving you a moment to collect your thoughts in silence.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, clicking it on to see the bright white bars of ‘missed calls’ and unread text messages. You bothered to read the last text, “I spoke to Mr. Barnes; I know where you are. I’ll deal with you when I get home.”

With a deep inhale, you clicked the phone off, setting it beside yourself as you fell back against the seat of the couch. Your feet kicking forward so you can push your sneakers off with your toes. You’d rather meet this battle head-on instead of waiting for her to raise her sword. You knew you’d lose the ire to fight if you had to wait, giving her an easy and inexhaustible win.

For now, her absence would give you a short calm before the storm. For now you wanted to busy your mind so as not to mentally linger on the night's previous events. You drag your backpack towards yourself, digging out a thick book so as to finish what little homework had followed you into the weekend. You were tired, but you didn’t want to fall asleep. The drain of your math book keeps you in a strange state of waking numbness.

By the time the door clicks open, you're ready to fall into the textbook face first and bust your teeth against the periodic table.

There is the short shuffle of shoes leaving feet and a coat getting hung up on a nearby hook before your mother emerges from the foyer. Her eyebrow raises slightly at the sight of you.

“Oh, you’re home tonight?” She didn’t look at you as she spoke, tongue clicking against her teeth in displeasure.

“So glad you decided to stay with me. Your mother, if you remember.”

You still stay silent, looking at her as if you only wanted her to finish her tirade and cut you down without delay. Better to get it all over with.

“So you went to Rebecca’s?” She asked rhetorically.

You don’t answer with any haste, looking back at her for a minute before giving her a response. You purse your lips and nod.

She takes your silent answer, balling it up in her head like a paper nuisance before continuing to domineer.

“So..what? You think you can get away with this shit while I’m not here?”

Your eyes leave her as you shake your head, hand reaching for your hair to rub your scalp.

“If I had my way, I’d lock your ass in this house.”

She walks away as she keeps talking, tossing her jacket over one of the dining chairs. “At least then I’d know no one was dragging you around town and getting you into trouble.”

“We were just watching movies! We didn’t even go anywhere after dark!” You yelled back in vain, not feeling heard but fully aware she won’t listen when your voice raises even a single decibel.

“That doesn’t matter.” She batted back, throwing her distaste back at you. “I told you I didn’t want you spending time with that girl!”

“Becky is my friend! Your voice cracked, a wince of a whistle at the back of your throat as you nearly screamed. “My only friend!”

“That wasn’t MY choice!” She swallows back the rest of her shouted comment, steadying herself to better calm down. “I know that you’ve known her for a long time...”

My lower lip wobbled, tears stinging with a well of erratic emotion. It was uncontrollable, and you fought to wipe each stray tear away with a tangle of fingers.

“Jesus…Alright..just..here.” Your mother fumbled from one sentence to another before grabbing a box of tissues and handing it out to you.

“Just…Next time, keep a closer eye on the clock, ok?” She crosses her arms after handing you the box, closing herself off to you. “If you are not home by 7, the deadbolt will be on that door, and you won’t be getting back in.”

Her eyebrows raised, voice raising slightly louder. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You gave a small amount of attitude on the last syllable, and she gives me a knowing look of dissatisfaction.

“You gonna act like this all week?” She says back, finally ending the argument while tempting another.

“I don’t want to see you this sour when I take you out for your birthday.”

“Fun.” You spoke without care, too far in your own turmoil to care about your upcoming event.

You cracked the fridge open as you mumbled back, grabbing the orange juice before going to the cupboard for a cup.

“I wish you’d be a little excited to spend the day with someone who loves you.” Her head swiveled to the side, her tone holding more sass than actual malice as she spoke.

“Have you decided where you want to eat?”

“I—I don’t know.” You mutter back, weak and defeated. You hold your forehead in the palm of one hand. Your mind was already racing; the last thing you needed was more questions. There was already too much agitation and spurred emotions swimming together in your brain like fighting beta fish biting at each other's tails. “I can’t think right now, Mom.”

“Moody this morning, aren’t we?” Your mother muses back with a dejected sigh before taking her juice and leaving the kitchen.

You don’t have it in you to argue back anymore, but you can’t help the huff of disagreement that puffs directly from your chest.

Chapter 7