I tilt my head to the side and say, “You can drive me home tonight.”
I hope…I dearly hope that it’s enough for Conner not to keep pushing. Because what I’m most afraid of is hurting him.
The thought of Dad seeing me with a boy sends shivers up my spine. The idea of him being drunk, angry, and hurting me by placing someone’s life I put on the line sickens me.
I won’t let anyone else get hurt.
7
FAST FOOD
Would Anyone Care [Citizen Soldier]
Conner exhales deeplyas he jumps into his car. He parked towards the back of the parking lot because it took him some time to find a spot after he dropped me off. On the way to the car, he told me he waited five minutes for a lady to pack her groceries; he was that desperate for a spot.
I smile, but a sickening feeling swirls inside my stomach at the idea that Conner is so persistent in talking to me, he waited around a car park for half an hour.
“Do you work that long all the time?” he asks.
“Yeah, I need the money.”
“For what?”
“To repair the air-con.”
“Shouldn’t your parents fix it?” he replies.
I pause as I buckle my seatbelt.
Idiot! Why did I say that so casually? I have always been careful when answering questions about why I work so long and frequently. Is it because we have spoken so much throughout the shift that I’ve become reckless with my thinking?
“Uh, yeah…I thought of pitching in because of financial reasons.”
“Oh, sorry,” Conner says, his voice sincere. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
I smile. It hurts.
“Do you want to get something to eat before I take you home?”
I glance at the clock. It’s ten past nine.
“We can drive through, and I can take you home right after. It’s no big deal.”
“Um, no…It’s fine. I have time to spare.” Dad will get home at twelve. The bar closes at 11:30 on weekdays, except on Fridays. So, I should be fine as long as I’m home before then.
We agree on McDonald’s because it’s the closest and most affordable for me. But when I see the drive-through line, I rub my palms on my legs.
Conner grunts as he swerves into the car park, parking out the front of the fast-food place. I reach for the seatbelt when Conner raises his hand and steps out of the car. “I’ll go in. What do you want?”
“Uh…”—I reach into my bag and scramble for my wallet—“a six-pack nugget meal, small, please.”
Conner shuts the door and walks off while I straighten up with the seven dollars clutched in my hand. I lower the money into my lap and follow him with my line of sight. He walks into the fast-food place like he owns it.
He has a lot of confidence.
While I wait, I notice his playlist is still on. “Would Anyone Care” by Citizen Soldier plays. Shakily, as if I’m afraid of breaking anything in the car, I tap the arrow until the volume rises, loud enough for me to hear.
After the chorus plays, I add it to my playlist.