That chills me to the bone.
I’m staring at the earthy tones of mingled creams and dusty grays that pave a herringbone pattern up Nan’s driveway when Chase cuts the engine to his truck.
The silence that follows feels like an invasion.
The two of us had always had a lot to say to each other, but today, we’d somehow mastered the act of crippling restraint.
And I refused to be the one to break.
Chase’s wrist is hung over the steering wheel, his thumb and forefinger at his bottom lip, pinching the center. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “So, are we gonna talk about yesterday?”
I reach for my bag that’s squashed between my feet. “What’s there to talk about?” I ask with a shrug, hiking the stuffed cotton onto my lap. I turn to look at him. “Take my shit or leave it behind…I honestly don’t care.”
A punctured sound leaves Chase’s throat, as he shakes his head. His chin is pressed to his chest, but then his dark eyes flash to mine.
“That it?” He pushes back into the seat, turning toward me, spreading his legs. “We aren’t gonna talk about…any of it? Your lyrics, what I asked you to do, how you left…ran?”
My jaw stiffens. I don’t trust myself to speak. So, I nod, pretending that what happened between us, the vulnerability wehad shared, was no big deal; that it meant nothing to me even though it meant everything.
That was until I needed air, until I waited outside for him, hoping and praying that maybe this time he would come after me. But when he let me leave in such a fragile state, I was reminded of who Chase was, what he could—and had—done to me, and how good he was at hurting me.
My mother had once told me to never befriend expectations. That they would ruin all and every relationship. Platonic and romantic. I hated that years later I hadn’t learned that lesson, that even after what Chase had done to me, I expected more from him.
Expectation had become my friend, and I wasn’t proud of that.
I turn toward the door. My fingers quivering at the handle.
“Laiken?”
Chase’s voice curls around each vertebra of my spine, and what blood is in my veins simmers against my skin. I squeeze my eyes closed, find a way to swallow the heartbeat in my throat.
He starts, “You’ve never been one to bite your tongue, why are you?—”
I open the door to stop myself from choking. “You let me go, Chase…ag?—”
“Again,” we say at the exact same time.
I snap around, catching the dark eyes of my best friend’s brother.
The thunderous look in them tells me nothing. I can’t see sorrow, or regret. I can’t see anything, and that disappoints me, because the expectations I shouldn’t have were still there.
I wet my lips, biting into the bottom one when it trembles. “What happened to ‘you will survive this. I’ll make sure you do.’” I shove a rogue lock of hair behind my ear. “You asked to hear it, and even though I didn’t want to, I gave it to you.I trusted you. Is my pain that…ugly?” I pause. I let go of my breath. I swallow. I tremble harder than I ever have, and my voice is barely a whisper. “I may have ran, Chase, but you never came for me, when I needed you to, ag?—”
“Again,” we say it again, at the exact same time.
And when Chase sniffs, dips his head and says nothing, I breathe, “I’m done, Chase. My pain…it’s never been safe with you.”
Chase shifts toward the ignition, jerking out the keys and popping open the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice breaking.
He mumbles something beneath his breath, and before I can give myself a moment to decipher it, he’s slamming the door shut, rounding the corner and making his way up the driveway, wrapping his arms around my grandmother.
I swallow, watching them through the side window.
He was only supposed to drop me off.
He wasn’t supposed to stay.
