“Oh…”
“And I messaged your dad. He was totally fine with it!” She claps her hands in glee. “You’re coming camping!” She wraps her arms around my shoulders and jumps with excitement while I stand here, frozen and filled with fear.
She messaged Dad. She sentDada personal message without warning me first. And Dad responded, saying it was fine. That’s a lie. It has to be a lie. There is no way he would be okay with it. So, what changed? What happened? What do I need to do before I get home?
I might stay out all night until he cools off. There has to be a hidden meaning I’m missing. There must be.
In the corner of my eye, Conner’s presence is too present. Those hazel eyes assess me, narrowing suspiciously.
Samantha, what have you done?
23
LOSING YOU
Dear Insecurity [Fivefold]
The car ridewith Conner is silent on my end. My grip tightens on my phone, as if I’m expecting a threatening message from Dad. But it won’t happen. He never calls or sends messages. Yet, the thought makes me wait by the phone in case I need to answer and explain myself.
Despite the soft music, my mind is elsewhere, and I can’t seem to enjoy the gentle hum. Noya is cowering in her room and expecting the pain.
So much pain.
I clutch at my shirt, near where the bruises live, and relive him slamming his foot into my stomach. I bow, almost accepting my fate when the music gets louder as Conner plays an unknown song: “Dear Insecurity” by Fivefold. Tearing out of my thoughts, I eye him as he sings along with the music, and as he sings, he reaches out to me, his hand finding mine. “Sing along with me,” he says.
“I don’t know the lyrics.”
“Then the chorus.”
“I’m a horrible singer.”
“I don’t care. Sing with me, please.” His hand tightens on mine reassuringly. I bite my lower lip, listening to the lyrics and trying to remember the lines. It’s not until the third repeat that I have enough confidence to murmur the chorus.
He smiles, releases his hold on my hand, and sings with me. I wonder why he wants me to sing, but the more I listen to the lyrics, the more I know I’m in my head, and he’s aware of it. He is more aware than anyone I know, and when I interject myself in my mind, it's obvious to someone like Conner.
The more I sing, the more confident I become. I don’t care that Conner sits beside me and is a better singer. The anxiety and fear wash away from me, and I pour my heart into the lyrics in a desperate need to shake off the tight grip around my heart.
After the song ends, he turns off repeat and moves it into shuffle. “Do you feel better?” he says.
“A little,” I admit, a hint of a smile playing on my face. “Thank you, Conner.”
He stops at the lights. I think he’s doing it deliberately now that I see he could have made it. When he does, he faces me and says, “Sammy texting your dad bothered you, didn’t it?” I glare at the dashboard. “Is it because your parents are strict? You said your parents don’t like it when you go out on weekends—at least, that’s how I interpreted it.”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Is your dad replying that it’s ‘fine’ out of character for him?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re afraid to go home because he will yell at you.”
Yelling isn’t the word I’d use, but I nod anyway.
He faces the road and drives down the street. “If you ever get overwhelmed, call me. I don’t want you sitting at a bus stop all night again. I’ll take you back to mine.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whisper.
“If you ever become one, I’ll tell you,” he says in a smooth voice. “But I seriously doubt you would ever become a burden to me.”