1
no one gets what they deserve
Saige, two years ago
I've always been afraid of water. Cold, dark water, like the salty, black abyss beneath me now—so still, it's like a deadly sheet of glass. Like I could fall in, breaking the surface, and I'd just keep falling forever.
But I know that isn't true. I'd hit the water and shatter into a million pieces, and when I opened my mouth to scream, the sea would fill my lungs as the cold all but paralyzed me. Then, eventually, there would be nothing. And that eventuality would probably take far longer than I'd like.
The thought makes my throat seize up.
My steering wheel shakes with a lane departure alert, causing my heart to drop into my stomach. I swallow hard, correcting the wheel with unsteady hands before wiping a tear from under my eye. The bridge from mainland British Columbia to Aurora Cove doesn't seem that long until you're on it, and then it's long enough to get lost on, like I am now—lost in the fear of the abyss, ofthe unknown.
Stuck replaying memories from the last year in my head, wondering how I could have misunderstood. A year that ended in a dark back corner of a café about an hour ago when he said,yeah, I don't really think I can do long distance.
And then, when the shock and the anger turned into a knife in my gut, and I knew the tears were inevitable, I stormed out, passing his car before I got to mine, briefly making eye contact with my best friend, sitting in the passenger seat, who laughed before she ducked out of sight.
That long distance is the forty-five minute drive from our neighborhood in Vancouver to Aurora Cove I'm making now. It's a good metal playlist with the windows down for someone like him and time alone with my thoughts with a side of thalassophobia for someone like me. We've driven further for music festivals and house parties.
I don't know how I fell from the love of his life to lower priority than a shitty keg of beer. I wonder how long it will hurt. They warn you that you can actuallyfeelit—a broken heart, I mean. Still, I was wholly unprepared to feel like this.
Fighting the irrational urge to turn the wheel to the left, with sweaty palms and what feels like a weight at the center of my chest, I finally hit the isthmus I'm supposed to call home. To say I was shocked when I found out my mom married her boss on a business trip would be an understatement. But I'd known they were dating for a while, and Alex seems like a nice enough guy. Still, it's just been the two of us since my dad left and moved to Toronto. The idea of leaving the only town and school I've ever known and moving in with him and his son, whom I've never met, is daunting, to say the least.
And to say I've handled this well or with any kind of grace would make me a fucking liar. I've yelled, screamed; I've treated her like shit. Now my heart hurts, and I want my mom.
I take a deep breath, slowing the vehicle as I roll through the unfamiliar streets of downtown Aurora Cove. It rained earlier, and fog lingers here in a way that it didn't on the other side of the bridge, hindering my vision. I choke back another sob, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. Mascara and eyeliner bleed from my eyes down to my jawline in deep, dark streaks. I went extra heavy on the cat eye tonight; I was supposed to watch his band play at a club they've been trying to get into for a while, and now I just look ridiculous. Before I can pull the sleeve of my hoodie over my wrist and wipe it away, I hear someone shouting.
I look up at the road just in time to slam on the brakes, coming to a screeching stop in the middle of a crosswalk. The guy I almost hit slams his hands down on the hood of my Honda Accord, causing me to jump.
"What the fuck?!" he shouts.
"Sorry," I say through the open window. "I'm so sorry."
"You could have killed me! You could have killed my dog!"
"I know—I didn't see you. I just…"
As he walks around the passenger side of the vehicle, I realize my mistake and panic. I shouldn't have stayed this long; I shouldn't have engaged him.
I should have rolled the fucking windows up.
I try to do that now, but without taking my eyes off of him, and my fingers must find the wrong button, because as I pushit, the window doesn't budge. He reaches through the open space, unlocks the door, and opens it.
I almost hit the gas before realizing the light turned red, and cross traffic is making its way through the intersection. There's a car waiting behind me now, too, effectively trapping me.
I throw the car into park, jumping out of the vehicle and into the street as he climbs inside.
"Come on, Arcadia," he says, patting his leg until the Boxer jumps into my car and onto his lap. Then he turns, looking at me, and adds, "What are you doing? Get back in the car!"
"What do you want from me?" I yell back.
"I just want a ride—it's not far. You almost ran me over. Theleastyou can do is give me a ride."
I get a better look at him now that he's inside the vehicle with the dome light on and find him far less menacing than he was a minute ago. His voice is deep, he's enormous, sure, but he can't be much older than me. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt withRoyals Hockeywritten across the front, and he has a soft cast on his right arm. Damp brown hair sticks to his forehead, and he pushes it away from his face as green eyes framed with dark lashes meet mine, a puzzled look on his handsome face.
The dog in his lap wears a pink studded collar and stares at me, too, as she drools on the center console.
Yeah, he doesn't seem so bad.
