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She opened Spotify, tapped something into the search bar, and hit play.
The sound of crickets and change clattering through a coin slot came through the speakers, followed by the howl of a wolf. Then, the cab filled with the electronic triplets of Nightcall by Kavinsky. As soon as the music began, my thoughts receded.
I could breathe again.
Then I looked over at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
Her eyes were pointed forward, for once.
“Why did you pick this song?” I asked, returning my gaze to the dark road ahead.
She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “I could lie to you and say that it just popped into my head. But the truth is, it’s been stuck in there all week. I was thinking of you…”
My interest sharpened. “Why does this song make you think of me?”
I expected Grace to answer me by saying it was the lyrics that reminded her of me, or the old-fashioned sound of it, or something surface-level like that. But instead, she turned to me and said, “It’s about being misunderstood. No one understands you. No one ever has.”
My throat tightened. I was glad it was dark in here, and she couldn’t see my face. I knew my eyes would betray me.
“You could say that about anyone and it would land.”
“You don’t live on the land, though,” she said, her voice crackly from her tears. “You’re submerged. You live underwater. That’s why you need noise, isn’t it? It’s lonely down there.”
So she did understand poetry.
Something twisted in my chest. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone truly saw me.
“That’s why your eyes look so sad sometimes,” she said.
“I’m not sad,” I said, hot tears sparkling at the corners.
Dammit, I had to fight it…
I had to fight the thing that was happening between us. I couldn’t afford it, emotionally. It didn’t make sense. Damn, my nose might even be broken from dealing with all this shit…
“Sure. You don’t seem sad,” she said. “Most of the time you can cover it up. But you’re not fooling me. I was there too, remember?”
My shoulders sagged. I knew she was talking about the first night we shared together. How I felt the overwhelming urge for her to stay.
I didn’t want to have to feel alone again after feeling so connected and close with someone.
I didn’t want to have to go back underwater.
“We’re here,” I said as I pulled into her parking lot.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said quietly.
I knew there were double and triple meanings to her words, but I didn’t have the energy or willpower to parse through them right then. All I wanted to do was be alone.
“You’re welcome,” I said softly, determined to stay on the surface.
She got out of the car and shut the door for the last time.
I drove home and listened to Nightcall on repeat the entire way.
When I got home, I expected to feel a sense of relief. I’d wanted to be alone so badly, but now that I was actually alone, it felt suffocating.
Noah was home too—I could see the glowing light leaking from the crack under his bedroom door.
