It’s eight o’clock. I know that’s not late. When your daughter spends all her time in her room, it’s a big deal when she comes home and the sun is down. I don’t even know why I tried to sneak in. She would know if I wasn’t home.
She jokes from where she sits on the couch, “I would have called and asked where you were, but I loved the quiet.”
The news is lightly playing in the background. She pats the seat beside her. Walking toward her, I snuggle under a blanket.
“I’m going somewhere tomorrow,” I confess.
She crosses her legs and faces me. “Spill.”
I tell her all about my day. I tell her about almost dying, which she scolds me for. She gives me an entire lecture of how I shouldn’t have run onto the road for Simba. Then, after I am done getting yelled at, I tell her about watching a movie with the triplets and about my plans for tomorrow morning. To say she is excited for me is an understatement.
And the weirdest feeling of all … for once, I’m excited to wake up and face another day.
FOUR
TRINITY
All these years since my dad’s passing, I’ve felt like I lost all my feelings within. I am empty. Living … but without a purpose.
But as I stand here, looking at myself in the mirror, I feel something … so that means I’m living. I’m alive for a reason.
I should scold myself. I just met him. I can’t already like him. Growing attached will only make the outcome at the end worse.
That’s why when I smooth my long hair down and apply my lip gloss, I promise myself I won’t fall for the mysterious guy I just met.
I won’t … I promise.
* * *
His car is luxurious on the inside. The smell of a new car lingers in the air, making me question whether he just got it or not. It’s spotless. My eyes can’t find a single imperfection, making me second-guess sitting on the black leather seat, worried that I’ll ruin it somehow. For a nineteen-year-old guy, he sure has a nice car. It’s a G-Wagon. I don’t even have my own car. I drive my mom’s Mini. I must look like an embarrassment beside him.
Yet his car isn’t the most stunning feature I see at the moment. It’s him.
One hand on the steering wheel and one resting on the door. He has black Ray-Ban sunglasses on, hiding the brown eyes I sure could get lost in. His wavy brown hair blows in the wind, and a small smile plays on his lips. He wears slightly ripped dark blue jeans and a simple black tee. And the black earrings that I noticed the triplets all wear are intact in his ears.
I look straight ahead and remind myself of the promise I made.
Guys only cause pain.
My instinct tells me something is off. They all seem like they’re holding something back. It’s as if they’re not telling me the full, honest truth.
I need to look at things positively, I think to encourage myself.
His deep voice cuts me out of my thoughts. “Are you always this quiet?”
My cheeks turn pink as I turn my face away from his vision. “I’m not quiet. I just don’t have a lot to say,” I respond.
He hums in agreement and starts tapping his steering wheel. I shift in my seat.
Trinity, don’t let yourself go there. Happy thoughts. He’ll think you’re a freak if you tell him to stop.
A couple of minutes later, he starts humming lowly. As much as I hate it, his voice sounds so soothing and soft.
I wonder what his actual voice sounds like when he sings. Of course, I don’t want to know. All I want to do is stuff a sock in his mouth and tell him to be quiet.
When his long, tatted fingers reach for the radio dial, every bone in my body grows cold. My breath gets caught in my throat when a guy comes on, singing a sad song. What I find weirder is how Leo acts. His eyes widen as he shuts off the radio abruptly.
What was that? Why did he act like that?
