Get it over and done with.
“I’m glad you had a fun time,” Conner says after a minute of silence. I had not realised Spotify isn’t on. “Maybe you can come over after the talent show next Friday.”
“Talent show?” I question.
“Yeah. Our first date, remember?”
“Wouldn’t this be a date?” I question.
“I call it meeting the parents.” He leans into me, and my heart jolts when his hand rests on my leg. “Then after that, it’s your birthday, right? Next Sunday.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Did you want to move in on that day?” he asks, catching me off guard. “We can celebrate your birthday in the apartment.”
“I’d love that,” I breathe.
“When we go to the apartment tomorrow, we can write a list of things we need and go from there. See what you need to bring, and we’ll figure out what to get as soon as possible.”
I nod firmly. My heart is beating a little too fast with excitement.
He slows down in front of my house. I sag with relief when I notice Dad’s car isn’t there. Then I bite the corner of my lip while gripping my school bag. The phone Mrs Jones gave me is in the front pocket. I’m unsure what to do with it or where to hide it, so Dad never finds it or knows I have a new phone.
“Um, about your mum,” I begin.
“You don’t have to tell me, Noya,” Conner speaks softly. “My mum was your therapist. It’s in the past. I will not ask you or her why she was your therapist. You will tell me when you’re ready or not.” Conner shrugs. “I don’t mind either way.”
“You’re too kind,” I murmur.
“Only to people I respect,” he adds.
I breathe a laugh.
Conner leans in, his hand goes to my cheek, and we kiss. It doesn’t last long or feel as passionate as other kisses. I have two things on my mind that gnaw at me. One is Dad coming home earlier than expected. The other thought is of Andy. It’s disturbing to think about while I kiss Conner, but I need to get this conversation over and done with so it doesn’t eat me alive.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
Conner doesn’t drive off until I open the door of my home. Then, he turns around, and the lights fade the further away he gets.
It’s quiet inside. The TV is on, but the seat is empty. Mum is in the kitchen, cooking pasta. I can smell the stale tin of sauce. That scent moves through my lungs, and I want to vomit. I smell it almost every night, repeatedly for years. It makes me sick, especially after the salivating, delightful food I had at Conner’s home.
“Noya,” Mum calls when I reach my bedroom door. “Are you hungry?”
“I already ate at my friend’s place,” I answer.
“Who?” she asks.
I don’t answer. It’s too risky to respond. There’s a chance she might tell Dad. He already doesn’t like Conner. Now I’m wondering if it’s because he knows his last name. Therefore, he knows his mum is Mrs Jones, my old therapist.
It makes sense if that’s the actual case, and now it’s making me a little warier of mentioning Conner at all. Dad is clever and calculating. He’ll figure out who I’m with after I disappear and find us.
The lock clicks after I close my door. Then I crouch before my bag, grab the phone, and scan my messy room. Where can I hide this? Under the mattress? No, I recall Dad flipping it in his rage-filled state. There’s no use hiding them in any of my drawers or under clothes inside the drawers. He will search for them. I know he does when I’m not home. Even though my room is messy, I can still tell when someone goes in without my permission—unlike Dad, who would never ask for my permission.
I need to hide this safely.
Exhaling, I lean back until I hit my pillows. I gaze at the still fan, which will never move again: nothing but a dust collector. The only part that works is the light encased in its protector…
Light.