“What did you draw?” I ask.
“It’s not finished. I’ll do the rest tonight.” He leans toward me with a smirk. “I’ll send a pic. Promise.”
I smile as I look at my drawing. Touching the lifeless branches, my smile falters. “You told me you liked me last night.”
“Yeah…”
“Was it true?”
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice softer.
“But we’ve only spoken for a day.”
“Who says I need to know you longer than a day to like you?”
“It’s a little creepy,” I admit, laughing a hint at revealing something like that.
“To some, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Some people fall quicker than others, and that’s okay. Unless you find it to be a red flag,” he says, his hands pressing deeper into the grass.
“No,” I admit lamely. My focus then drifts to the earphones around his neck, the subtle sound of music playing. “What are you listening to?”
“Here.” He holds up one earpiece and shuffles closer to me as I lean into him. Our heads press together, and I place the earpiece in my drum. “Ready to Fight” by Roby Fayer and Tom Gefen plays.
“It’s slower than the other songs on your playlist.”
“I haven’t stopped listening to it since we got out of the car.”
“Why?”
“I love music. It’s my life, and sometimes I interject myself into the music I listen to. This time, I thought of you while having it on repeat.”
“I don’t like violence.”
“I remember,” he says, smiling the faintest. “But you never told me the reason.”
“Do I need one?”
Conner breathes a laugh. Those hazel eyes crinkle as he smiles, and those pearly white teeth dazzle in the sunlight. He leans away, his smile faltering and his brows pinching together. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“Yeah, why?” I touch my face. “Did I not smooth it down properly?”
“No, it looks perfect. Your complexion is so smooth that I can’t see your freckle above your right eye.”
“Oh…”
Conner goes on his phone and scrolls through his playlist. I point to the song I recognise, and he doesn’t hesitate to press play.
We lay there with our heads on our backpacks, baking in the sun. It’s uncomfortable, with the heat burrowing into the layers I wear, but I don’t want to leave. The music is perfect, and the silence away from everyone else draws me into another world.
A better world.
Another song comes on. “You’re Somebody Else” by Flora Cash. My heart stings, and I imagine myself inside the music.
As I stand there, looking in the mirror, I can’t see who I am, only what has happened to me.
Broken. Beaten. I’m withdrawn and torn.
The me I want to be is not the one I reveal to others. The dreams I hold, the burning memories, and the painful emotions buried deep inside leave me as nothing but a shell.