public wasn’t a good idea. Too many people I know, and too much judgment. And then Callie… being there… seeing her…
Tears threatened to come out of my eyes as I leave her behind at the café and the pain and sadness is making me want to pull over. I can’t let the feelings surface, not when I have no way to turn them off. I’ll have to deal with them and I can’t. But my eyes keep pooling with water and it’s become harder than hell to see. Everything looks white and sloshy and I can’t focus on the road. I need to stop the tight knot in my chest from tightening anymore.
Holding onto the steering wheel, I reach across the console for the glove compartment, hoping my mom will have a screwdriver or something sharp inside there. I just need a quick fix to temporarily turn it off. I keep glancing up at the road as I dig through the glove box. There’s a stack of papers, a tube of lipstick, and a packet of air fresheners. “Fuck!” There’s nothing sharp. I slam the console and sit up just in time to see a small blue car stopped in the middle of the road with the exhaust huffing a cloud of dark smoke into the air.
I slam my foot down on the pedal and my car screeches to a halt. Snow and slush flip up into the air as the back end of the car loses control and glides to the side. It stops sideways about a foot before ramming the other car.
I slam my hands against the wheel as the car inches forward and angles to the side. I’m losing control over everything—over how I feel, and it’s going to end up killing me.
The thing is I’m not sure if I’m terrified about that or relieved.
Chapter 7
#2 Don’t overthink so many things
Kayden
It’s been a little over a week and a half since I got released and I’m fucking pissed. And shocked. And a whole lot of other stuff I can’t sort through. The last time I saw Callie was when I left her at the café. She’s tried to call and text me a few times since I ran away from her, but I never respond.
Being stuck in the house is tough, though, and kind of depressing, especially since Christmas day was yesterday and it went unnoticed. But it’s always kind of been like that I guess. My mother has cleaned out the knives and razors and every sharp object in the house. Whether it’s for my dad’s benefit or my own, I’m not sure. My oldest brother, Tyler, is still hanging out. I guess he lost his job and house, so now he’s crashing in the downstairs room we used to hide out in when we were kids. He’s also drinking about as much as my mother. My father hasn’t been home since I came back. My mother says he’s on a business trip but I secretly wonder if he’s hiding until they can be sure I’m not going to talk about what happened that night.
“Good news,” my mom says when I enter the kitchen. It’s early in the morning, but she’s dressed up, her hair’s done, and she’s already got her makeup on. She’s sitting at the table sipping coffee with a magazine in front of her and a half-empty wine bottle.
I head for the cupboard. “Oh yeah.”
She picks up the coffee mug. “Yes, if you consider not going to jail good news.” She takes a sip of the coffee and then puts the cup back down on the table. “I think Caleb and your father have come to an agreement. We’ll give him ten thousand dollars and in exchange he won’t press charges.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Does it matter if it is?”
I open the cupboard and take out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Kind of… And besides, how do you know he won’t just take the money and still press charges. He’s not a good, honest guy.”
“No, he’s the guy
you
beat up.” She picks up the creamer and pours some into her coffee. “Now quit arguing. This is how your father’s handling it. And be grateful that he’s handling it.”
I unintentionally snort a laugh. “Be grateful.” I gesture at my side, which is starting to scar over. “For what? For this?”
She raises the cup to her mouth and
Tears threatened to come out of my eyes as I leave her behind at the café and the pain and sadness is making me want to pull over. I can’t let the feelings surface, not when I have no way to turn them off. I’ll have to deal with them and I can’t. But my eyes keep pooling with water and it’s become harder than hell to see. Everything looks white and sloshy and I can’t focus on the road. I need to stop the tight knot in my chest from tightening anymore.
Holding onto the steering wheel, I reach across the console for the glove compartment, hoping my mom will have a screwdriver or something sharp inside there. I just need a quick fix to temporarily turn it off. I keep glancing up at the road as I dig through the glove box. There’s a stack of papers, a tube of lipstick, and a packet of air fresheners. “Fuck!” There’s nothing sharp. I slam the console and sit up just in time to see a small blue car stopped in the middle of the road with the exhaust huffing a cloud of dark smoke into the air.
I slam my foot down on the pedal and my car screeches to a halt. Snow and slush flip up into the air as the back end of the car loses control and glides to the side. It stops sideways about a foot before ramming the other car.
I slam my hands against the wheel as the car inches forward and angles to the side. I’m losing control over everything—over how I feel, and it’s going to end up killing me.
The thing is I’m not sure if I’m terrified about that or relieved.
Chapter 7
#2 Don’t overthink so many things
Kayden
It’s been a little over a week and a half since I got released and I’m fucking pissed. And shocked. And a whole lot of other stuff I can’t sort through. The last time I saw Callie was when I left her at the café. She’s tried to call and text me a few times since I ran away from her, but I never respond.
Being stuck in the house is tough, though, and kind of depressing, especially since Christmas day was yesterday and it went unnoticed. But it’s always kind of been like that I guess. My mother has cleaned out the knives and razors and every sharp object in the house. Whether it’s for my dad’s benefit or my own, I’m not sure. My oldest brother, Tyler, is still hanging out. I guess he lost his job and house, so now he’s crashing in the downstairs room we used to hide out in when we were kids. He’s also drinking about as much as my mother. My father hasn’t been home since I came back. My mother says he’s on a business trip but I secretly wonder if he’s hiding until they can be sure I’m not going to talk about what happened that night.
“Good news,” my mom says when I enter the kitchen. It’s early in the morning, but she’s dressed up, her hair’s done, and she’s already got her makeup on. She’s sitting at the table sipping coffee with a magazine in front of her and a half-empty wine bottle.
I head for the cupboard. “Oh yeah.”
She picks up the coffee mug. “Yes, if you consider not going to jail good news.” She takes a sip of the coffee and then puts the cup back down on the table. “I think Caleb and your father have come to an agreement. We’ll give him ten thousand dollars and in exchange he won’t press charges.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Does it matter if it is?”
I open the cupboard and take out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Kind of… And besides, how do you know he won’t just take the money and still press charges. He’s not a good, honest guy.”
“No, he’s the guy
you
beat up.” She picks up the creamer and pours some into her coffee. “Now quit arguing. This is how your father’s handling it. And be grateful that he’s handling it.”
I unintentionally snort a laugh. “Be grateful.” I gesture at my side, which is starting to scar over. “For what? For this?”
She raises the cup to her mouth and
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