I feel her nodding against my chest.
“Just give me a chance.”
She pulls away slowly and I stroke her cheek, trying to clean away the dark trails of make-up that stain her face.
She nods again and I smile, before drying my own eyes on my sleeve.
“I’ve fucked up again.”
“We’ll work it out. I promise, we’ll sort out everything. You just have to trust me.”
After her unexpected outburst, she asked me if she could go up to her room; she said she wanted to be alone for a while, and I had no objections. I imagine she needs time to collect her thoughts, to process everything that’s happened, and to work through her feelings. I knew it would take a little time before the bomb went off; but I don’t think that yelling at me could ever be enough to help her. But it’s definitely a start. I feel like we’re both finally moving in the right direction.
I grab a beer from the fridge and sink onto a stool in the kitchen, pulling my phone out of my pocket and watching as the screen lights up.
All good?
I smile like an excited little kid.
“I need you to take me somewhere.”
Skylar’s voice almost has me flying off my stool. I didn’t hear her come downstairs.
She’s changed out of her usual black, post-apocalyptic clothes and is wearing a grey tracksuit. Her face is freshly-washed, her hair pulled back into a lazy ponytail; she has no make-up to hide the tiredness of her eyes. She seems so much younger now. So defenceless.
“If that’s okay,” she adds, nervously.
Don’t cry, Kerry. Now is not the time.
“Where do you need to go?”
She takes a deep breath. “I have to apologise to someone. And I want to do it before it’s too late.”
Jordan
My phone vibrates on the living room table, next to the half-eaten plate of macaroni and cheese.
I’m outside.
I jump up from the sofa and yank up the zip of my hoodie, quickly glancing at my reflection in the hallway mirror – I want to check I have no leftover food clinging to my face. All clear. I open the door.
“Hi. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”
He steps aside, and his daughter appears next to him. Her make-up-free face is drawn and pale, her hair gathered half-heartedly onto her head. Her eyes are filled with fear, her posture terrified.
I open the door a little wider and invite her inside; Niall stays in the corridor.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
I smile at him and let him leave, closing the door behind him. I turn to Skylar, whose eyes are already filling with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling. “I don’t know why I said those things. I don’t know why I do stuff, sometimes.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.” She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “I promise, I didn’t mean it.”
I smile with relief. Not because I didn’t agree with what she said about me and her father, but because she’s trying to pull herself out from her pain.
