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I was kind, remember? Kind and unworthy.
I wished I could run out of this place and never look back. Now the idea of sitting in the car alone with him was not something I looked forward to but something to dread.
He hadn’t agreed with his parents’ words. But he didn’t disagree either.
“You’re welcome anytime,” his mom called as I fled out the massive front door.
I didn’t turn back. Fake. Fake. Fake.
Behind my eyes burned but not with tears. They felt dry and gritty as though someone scraped over them with sandpaper.
That’s when you know it’s bad. When you’re too upset to even cry.
Inside the car, the engine turned over, and he cast a glance in my direction. He had such a baby face. “You okay?”
“Never better.” I lied, plastering on a smile as fake as his parents. Once again, the urge to get out of this car and run home filled me. So much so my feet moved against the expensive mats under my feet.
I stayed in the seat, though. I wasn’t crazy. By the time I made it to my neighborhood on foot, it would be the middle of the night. Being outside in the middle of the night there was asking to become a headline on the morning news.
I really thought they were different.
They aren’t.
“Hey,” he said, laying his hand on my arm before I could climb out onto the shitty street in front of my dilapidated house.
I glanced at where he touched me, then up at him.
“You sure everything’s okay?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I countered.
He pulled his hand back, and, oh, I found the tears I thought I didn’t have.
“You know you’re my best friend, right?”
Any other night, I would have loved to hear those words. Tonight, they were a slap in the face.
A silent agreeance to his parents’ opinions.
“I thought Matt was your best friend,” I teased. I learned pretend from the best. I just ate dinner with it.
“He’s my best guy friend. You’re my best girl friend.”
Girl friend. Not girlfriend. There was a difference. One I would never get to know.
I nodded. “I know.”
“I’ll always be here for you.”
But not in the way I want.
“Me too,” I said, getting out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
“See you tomorrow at school?”
“I’ll be there,” I replied, slamming the door and then jogging across the dead minuscule lawn and going into the house, which wasn’t even locked.
The second the lock was turned, I collapsed back against the flimsy door and listened to the smooth purr of his engine fade.
