“Stop,” he says. “You don’t have to say—” He turns to me for the first time, and his eyes widen. “Holy shit, Savannah! What did you do to your face?”
He reaches to take my chin, turning me so he can get a better look. The gentleness of his touch is startling. I watch his eyes as he checks me over with concern.
“How’d this happen?” he asks. “You have black-and-blue marks.”
I can’t tell him. This is too much. He already knows about Retha and Travis, about my family; he can’t know how screwed up every aspect of my life is.
“It was a Honda full of bitches,” I say, trying to smile. He doesn’t return it and lowers his hand.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
My smile fades, and I turn toward the window. I’m humiliated. But I had no one else to call. Kathy would have had a heart attack if I asked her to pick me up. I couldn’t give her another reason to think less of me.
“Who did this to you?” Cameron asks softly.
I shake my head, refusing to say. Not wanting to admit how afraid I am.
“Was it the asshole from the truck the other day?” he asks. “Do you know him?”
But before I can answer, I burst out crying. I can still feel the slickness of Patrick’s tongue on my face. His hand on my ass. The pain in my cheeks. Retha and Travis are gone and I have no one to protect me from him. He’s going to kill me.
Cameron reaches over and brings me to rest against his chest as I cry. He runs his hand along my hair and he doesn’t say a word. He just lets me feel and holds me until I stop shaking.
When I quiet, Cameron tucks my hair behind my ear. “Hey,” he says softly. “Can we go to my house for a little while?”
I realize I’m holding on to him, my fingers knotted in his shirt. I’m becoming dependent, and I shouldn’t do that to him. Not when I have so many problems.
“Just take me home,” I say, sniffling and straightening up in the passenger seat. Cameron doesn’t argue.
He drives me home, and when we stop at the curb, I’m surprised to see my dad’s rusted truck in the driveway. He shouldn’t be home yet, and dread coils up in my stomach.
“Is that your father’s?” Cameron asks, looking past me at the truck.
I nod.
“I want to come inside,” he says. “Will he let me?”
Cameron’s bold. I turn to him and see that he’s staring at me differently. Not the way he used to. Not the “whatever you say, Sutton” look. This is more intense. More expectant, like now he has something to fight for.
“He won’t let you,” I say quietly. I want Cameron to hold me again. I want to press my face into his neck as he strokes my hair. I want him to tell me it’ll be okay—I might believe him.
“I should kidnap you,” Cameron says. “Take you to my house.”
“You’re going to rescue me?”
“Would you let me?” he asks, nodding out the windshield. “We can go right now. There are a lot of rooms at my house. My parents won’t find you for days.”
I smile at him. He can’t save me. He can’t change my life. He’s just a guy.
“Thanks for the ride, Cameron. For everything.” I open the door.
“Hey,” he calls. He turns his face and taps his cheek. He’s playing around, but I like it. It’s sweet. So I lean in and softly kiss his cheek.
I get out and walk to my house, and when I reach my door and look back, Cameron’s gone.
I wish I’d left with him.
I enter my living room and find my father in the easy chair, drinking a can of beer. His white tank top has grease smudges, and his jeans are frayed at the bottom near his boots. I keep the side of my face turned away, afraid he’ll notice the bruises.
