“I can’t,” he chokes.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how.” His voice strains as he forces each word out. He brings his hands to his head, wrapping his fingers in his curls and pulling on them. “I’m horrible.”
“Myles, stop. You are not.”
“I am,” he says, voice cracking. He kicks at the ground, and I know it’s because he’s frustrated with himself. I’ve seen it before. The way he’s so sensitive he has to make sure everyone else is okay because if he doesn’t, he feels their pain.
“Let’s go back. I’ll go with you,” I say.
“I need to get out of here,” he says, tears pleading with me. He starts walking again, quick and chaotic.
I know they need to talk more. This is a conversation he’sbeen putting off and nothing will get better until his mom knows what he’s going through, but I can’t force him to if he’s not ready. He needs to calm down first.
I follow him outside, scurrying down the steps to keep up with him. He walks straight to his car, throwing his duffel bag into the back seat roughly.
His eyes glisten in the light as he fumbles with the front door handle.
I hesitate on the other side of the car. I don’t think he should be driving right now.
He yanks the car door open and gets inside, hurried, like he’s running away.
I’m nervous to get in the car with him like this. It reminds me of myself when my mom left. I shouldn’t have gotten into the car then. I don’t think anyone should get in a car when they’re this upset.
But I can’t stop him, so I take a deep breath and get in despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. I can’t leave him alone.
I buckle, and the next thing I know he’s backing up the car and we’re driving. He’s flying out of the parking lot on the edge of too fast.
His hands are white from gripping the steering wheel. His tears are silent, but that’s how he always was. He keeps to himself so much that even when his heart breaks, it’s quiet.
Somehow that’s a million times worse than someone who says exactly how they feel. I want to know what’s going through his mind, but I don’t want him to shut down more than he already has.
I grip the door as the car turns, bracing for the jolt.
We continue down the road, but I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t think he knows either. He’s just fleeing.
Ahead of us the light switches to yellow, and my pulse spikes when he doesn't slow. In seconds it turns red and we enter the intersection.
“Myles!” I yell as a horn blares to our right with a screech of tires.
A light flashes above us as we pass through.
Myles immediately pulls the car over. He throws it into park and jerks his hands away from the steering wheel like it’s a weapon. There’s no color in his face, and his breathing is quick.
He turns to me with eyes wide, scared. “Are you okay?”
I nod because I’m too stunned to speak. A shiver runs down my spine when I think of how close we were to getting hit.
Myles’s hand covers his mouth and he arches forward until his head rests on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” he cries before hitting the car.
“Myles,” I say, resting my hand on his back. “We’re okay.”
“I almost got us killed!”
“Nothing bad happened.” I peer back at the intersection. “And the other car left, so it’ll be fine. Let’s just try to calm down before you start driving again.”
He moves again, shifting back into the seat, and shakes his head. “I just gave my mom another reason to be disappointed in me.”
