“You okay?” Eli asks, studying me.
I fidget with my fingers, trying to calm my brain. “Yeah.”
“Lydia? Talk to me.”
“It’s just…when I drink…” I start, trying to get the courage to speak. “Sometimes I get in my head too much, stuck with these looping thoughts…”
He reaches over and grabs my hand while keeping the other one on the wheel. “What thoughts?”
I look over at him, hesitating. He barely knows anything about me. I wonder if it would be too much for him. But the overwhelming thoughts force their way out anyway, trying to escape as if that will make it quiet again by just saying them. “You don’t know a lot about me…about…my life…”
He squeezes my hand once in reassurance. “Iwantto, Lyd.”
It all spills out, emotional and heavy, not even to or for him, really, but for myself.
“You know that I’m in foster care…and I told you both of my parents died…but I never told you how…how I watched them die…how they were arguing while my dad was driving. He was high on drugs and hitting my mom. We ran a red light and wrecked, and I watched them both lying on the ground, dead. That image from when I was eight is still burned into my brain. I still have nightmares reliving it…and sometimes in the dreams…I die too…”
I hear Eli exhale, and then he pulls the car over on the side of the road. He fully turns to me and brushes a hand over my cheek, wiping away the tears that are falling down my face.
“I’m sorry…I…I really can’t imagine that pain…I hate that you went through that…I hate that I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, you couldn’t have known, not many people do…”
He leans over and kisses my cheek, kissing the tears away. “I hate seeing you cry,” he whispers.
I sniffle back the tears. “Everything only got worse after they died…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I nod. “It feels good getting it out,” I admit.
He’s silent…letting metalk whenever I’m ready.
“My sister, Camilla, and I…we bounced around from foster home to foster home for years after that.”
“You have a sister? I didn’t know that.”
“Ihada sister…”
Eli’s face drops, understanding. He takes my hands again and just holds them tight.
“I came home one morning from spending the night over at Simone’s…and found her overdosed in our bed.”
My body starts to tremble with the grief. “I still…feel guilty that I wasn’t there.”
I feel Eli place his hands on my arms, trying to comfort me.
“Geez, Lydia…I’m so sorry.”
I can’t say anything back. I can’t speak. The grief is choking me. I’m so tired of it creeping up on me like this, pulling me under whenever it wants. I was doing so well.
Eli pulls me across the center console and wraps me in a hug, not saying anything, just sitting in the grief with me, doing his best to understand and be there for me.
I’ve never been this open with anyone other than Simone. It feels…freeing to let him in—like he’s supposed to be there.
10
Lydia
